tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-186564462012-02-16T19:47:38.332+05:30Twisted thoughts told the incomprehensible way.Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-83485975745540703142011-12-10T19:13:00.002+05:302011-12-10T19:34:30.849+05:30

While driving back home from college after a long day today, I saw from a distance a white mass lying on the road. A polythene bag might have been dragged in by wind from somewhere, I first thought. Or may be a piece of a newspaper. Or a torn vest that was being used to clean a bike before getting dropped without the biker's knowledge. I drew closer and saw it was a white dog. Without life. It

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-28651918119284192182011-03-09T14:37:00.003+05:302011-03-09T14:40:06.117+05:30

You are the origin of life, but also the biggest killer of the male species. You are peace-loving but start many a mutinies. You feed the world and yet leave men so hungry for more. You drive slow on fast lane and teach men the art of overtaking. You take away their pain and teach them loving. You give us the weekend columns and the malls and romantic movies. They don't probably know, but you

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-12848881748917614842011-02-07T21:54:00.001+05:302011-07-08T10:47:16.289+05:30

While cycling back home from a morning cycling trip to the Bhubaneswar Golf Club, I passed a Luna overloaded with gunny sacks hanging on its slender sides, moving up a slope. I was slow, tired as I was from over an hour of cycling. But the Luna beat me. It was slower, decisively, moving up the slope with a painful grunt and a consummate unwillingness. The sight brought back several memories from

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-72600926772947452432010-09-23T11:51:00.000+05:302010-09-23T11:51:59.175+05:30

Did you notice that I am not really sleeping, even if I desperately want to? I am listening to your feet movements; I am guessing your location from the pressure on the bed sheet; and keeping myself ready to turn like a spring and catch you before you fall down from the bed. Did you see that while you play under the table, I keep my left palm on the table corner and try to chat with a long-lost

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-63960091149433395642010-09-16T16:47:00.001+05:302010-09-16T16:54:26.047+05:30

I had shortlisted a few titles for this post. It goes like this: - Ye Kahan Aa Gaye Hum - Ek Moad Aaya - Kaisi Paheli Zindegaani Pretty atypical title for my posts. I know. But things of late have not been quite the same. Even though the title says "Ek moad...", its actually thousand "moads" (that too of the ghat types, hairpin bends you may call them, or even blind turns) that landed me where I

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-30550198896044661002010-05-21T12:37:00.000+05:302010-05-21T12:37:46.016+05:30

I wake up into a lazy sunday morning, the yellow rays of a mellow sun pushing through the fluttering curtains. I can't see the sun, but the distant horizon running parallel to my window sill has turned orange. The twinkling lights of the previous night have disappered. In their place, I see a distant hill, that has drawn oscilloscopic lines in the sky. Someone has woken up early. Through the

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-80205906229808387172010-05-21T12:15:00.000+05:302010-05-21T12:15:07.011+05:30

One morning, I wake up not to the hoarse sound of concrete mixers and diesel generators, but to birds tweeting and chirping invisibly atop the trees around my house. Sitting on the verandah, I see squirrels scurry about, pausing at little fruits dropped from the trees nearby, straighten their moustache, look around and run away. Instead of burning diesel in my SUV and leaving behind a streak of

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-14709347610934811752010-03-16T03:12:00.007+05:302010-05-16T20:47:35.950+05:30

As the age of night grows and the whistle of the night watchman falls silent, time plays hide and seek games with you. If you are still awake, that is. I tell you, this bloody time is a slippery cunning bastard. It hovers around and irritates you when you don't need it and it slips away faster than Rakhi Sawant's dresses when you need it the most. It's almost 3 am now and what was supposed to be

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-18863965424651360832010-02-28T00:03:00.002+05:302010-05-16T22:00:28.869+05:30

It's a slippery slope out here. Corporate world, that is. It's where the big mostly eats up the small and the shrewd eats up the naive. There is competition, alright, but not always a fair one. I hear many complain about the politics at workplace, favoritism, exploitation and mindless delegation of work. Some are quick learners. However, there are always others who just refuse to learn and make

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-42662607437497179992010-02-07T17:29:00.001+05:302010-02-07T17:35:56.005+05:30

"Does it have a SiRF III chip inside?" I ask. The poor sales guy thought for a while and then said, "Sir sirf chip nahin hai...GPS bhi hai. Par kitna chip hai maloom nahin". I didn't know what to say. Well, those of you who are still wondering what the heck I am talking about, SiRF III is a high-sensitive chip that helps quickly lock on to GPS satellites. I was at a Croma store asking a sales guy

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-52545666598692421212010-01-15T12:50:00.002+05:302010-01-18T18:39:09.186+05:30

Yes, it seems, going by all the moolah the movie is raking in. But I think it's foolish to debate whether or not a movie is the greatest movie (Bollywood movie, that is) of all time. Moreover, who cares? If the definition of greatness is so vague and relative, why do you care what is the greatest movie anyway? The idea of writing this post germinated from one of the reviews of the movie that a

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-49828316991005196542009-12-15T07:37:00.001+05:302009-12-16T11:58:37.241+05:30

I am not feeling quite well today. Woke up in the middle of the night and not able to sleep anymore. But just before I woke up, I was having a dream. Of listening to music in my old Philips two-in-one. After waking up I was feeling a bit nostalgic about the old days and because I haven't written on this blog for quite some time now, I thought why not write something on that. The earliest days of

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-21676937765100393582009-08-21T14:37:00.000+05:302009-08-21T17:43:43.770+05:30

The more I think about it, the more intriguing it becomes. How on earth can a company get everything - just about everything - right, in the mind-bogglingly complex world of consumer electronics, with established deep-pocketed players, a demanding and hence extremely fickle consumer mindset and booming technology that renders every novel thing "so yesterday" in a few months (or even few weeks)

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-88783997682094883392009-08-07T15:31:00.001+05:302009-08-07T16:21:09.502+05:30

I tore open the packet hoping nothing except what I thought it would contain. And then as I was about to throw the envelope into the trash can, a neatly folded paper floated out, settling quickly onto the floor. I picked it up and there it was! A letter. A Letter in the truest sense. An old-world letter. The kind that is written with fingers joined. When an impatient pen touches a waiting paper.

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-4881767412512640862009-08-01T03:33:00.000+05:302009-08-07T16:25:21.437+05:30

How do you really define "Success"?What do people mean when they say someone is successful? Do they mean that the person they call "Successful" has reached a certain threshold that they aspire to reach themselves? Or there is an absolute minimum to be reached? Is there a threshold of achivement beyond which one could be called 'Successful'? Who decides that threshold? Why can't I call myself

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-21005697945255553012009-06-09T21:23:00.000+05:302009-07-28T00:39:35.570+05:30

As I type these letters from my dirt-covered keyboard (did you know that keyboards are among the dirtiest places in a household, next only to the toilet?), I am not sure whether I want to write this post at all. It's a late hour of night, 12:08 am to be precise and I am, as usual, almost. However, I do have an odd liking towards sleep-writing (is there a specific word for it - may be

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-83548019018383146532009-02-25T00:33:00.000+05:302009-07-31T13:03:41.467+05:30

You look at the clock. It's 5 minutes to 10. You know you have five minutes to gather yourself, draw the legs of your pressed pair of trousers upon yourself, wrap the trouser waist around your hanging striped shirt with buttons yet to find their respective holes, plug that fattening (from credit card slips, forgotten invoices, occasional self-photos and a motley of obscure visiting cards) wallet

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-9864990263447465082009-02-13T22:48:00.000+05:302009-07-31T13:09:20.827+05:30

They saw Heaven get emptied. They knew timing was everything. Because who doesn't want a piece of the Heaven? So they both came running. From opposite sides. The thin fast. The thinner a little slow. While they ran for the Heaven, the Gods watched. But how did they watch? Amused? Confused?The climb was steep. But who thinks the Heaven is in easy reach, anyway? They both clambered, fell, retried.

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-46351802560277151762009-02-04T22:05:00.000+05:302009-02-04T22:36:15.811+05:30

The muddy amber light in a shape of a round-edged square flashed through my windscreen as I waited at the signal. The rusted wood-metal body of the weathered truck stood in front of me, its tattered tires still on the tar of the drain-water polished road, blocking my view of the signal lights. Slightly irriatated, I turned my car a little to the left and could see the hanging digital clock

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-19045501756829914792008-12-02T14:44:00.000+05:302009-02-04T22:44:03.896+05:30

As most of us seated on their drawing room sofas watched with horror the terrible turn of events unfold on the tv screen and read from the internet real-life terror accounts of survivors - for whom clock had stopped inside the two ill-fated luxury hotels Taj and Oberoi-Trident in Mumbai - I couldn't stop looking at the business angle to all this. You can call me perverse, but let me tell you, I

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-29786719110096964732008-11-21T06:53:00.000+05:302008-11-21T06:54:50.653+05:30

Every time I go into a discussion with someone on the kind of things (read blasts) happening in our country, I come out frustrated. People talk about how the members of a community should be out of this country, how they are better off in Pakistan and how they are meant to do things like that, because their religion is like that only. How true! And what about us? We hindus? We are a great bunch

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-19406170554003944982008-10-16T08:59:00.000+05:302008-10-16T14:05:12.956+05:30

Exactly one year ago, after my dinner at night, my mom had called me to say that my grandfather is probably no more. She used probably to lessen the shock it would have on me, because last time I had seen him, he showed no signs of the plans he had in his mind. Plans to leave us, me, unexpectedly, for a place from where painful memories stream into you for as long as you live. He was perfectly

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-71185559887701282582008-10-14T23:58:00.000+05:302008-10-16T14:48:01.676+05:30

All human beings are like matchsticks.Lined up in the womb you wait for the day, when you slither through the anatomy of your mom into the world. To get a name. And to take up your role in the crowd. Much like a stick lined up inside the box waiting for its turn. Looks apart, fundamentally there isn't much difference between an unborn baby and an idle stick. It's when you come out, your worth is

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-53870159056783387592008-06-23T13:50:00.000+05:302008-09-16T18:05:29.875+05:30

I had decided not to buy the book. I had read quite a few reviews on the net and more importantly, the maturity I was hoping to see with his successive writings was missing in the excerpts. Assuming that the excerpts of a book are some of its best texts, I was disappointed. I was disppointed even with the first few pages. The starting pages, where Chetan receives an email from an Ahmedabad based

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18656446.post-7294794629534969462008-05-19T22:39:00.000+05:302008-05-19T23:18:01.504+05:30

The other day, I was reading an article on how to cut down on expenses, in one of the weekend issues of Time of India. The author talked at length about how you should shop fewer times in a month, how you should track and payoff credit card bills regularly, how you should make a note of where most of your money is getting burnt etc. All that is fine. I think most of us know that paying credit

Ashutosh Karhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00867054005610260976noreply@blogger.com1