<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526</id><updated>2011-04-21T20:03:19.617-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sunshine view</title><subtitle type='html'>This is my view on things... may not be the brighter side in everyone's view but in my view it is!!!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-2974125968573020470</id><published>2008-05-30T01:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-30T02:11:54.689-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends and forwards</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Friends - Love them forever&lt;br /&gt;Forwards - Hate the way they clog up my mail box&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Forwards from Friends - Brings a smile to my face. Some of them seem so appropriate (at the right time and place!)... Here is one I recieved this morning.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************************************************************************************&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My mother used to ask me what the most important part of the body is. Through the years I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct Answer. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to us as humans, so I said, "My ears, Mommy." She said, "No. Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Several years passed before she asked me again. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time I told her, "Mommy, sight is very important to everybody, so it  must be our eyes." She looked at me and told me, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge and over the years, &lt;br /&gt;Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No. But you are getting smarter every year, my child." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one year, my grandfather died. Everybody was hurt. Everybody was crying. Even my father cried. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I saw him cry. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;My Mom looked at me when it was our turn to say our final good-bye to my grandfather. She asked me, "Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear?" I was shocked when she asked me this now. I always thought this was a game between her and me. She saw the confusion on my face and told  me, "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I have told you  were wrong and I have  given you an example why. But today is the day you need to learn this important lesson." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;She looked down at me as only a mother can. I saw her eyes well up with tears. She said, "My dear, the most important body part is your shoulder." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I asked, "Is it because it holds up my head?" &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;She replied, "No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life, my dear. I only hope that you have enough love and friends that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is made for others and not for yourself. It is sympathetic to the pain of others. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did . But people will NEVER forget how you made them feel. &lt;br /&gt;*************************************************************************************&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-2974125968573020470?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/2974125968573020470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=2974125968573020470' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/2974125968573020470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/2974125968573020470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2008/05/friends-and-forwards.html' title='Friends and forwards'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-26359821722091634</id><published>2008-01-08T17:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T17:42:15.478-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year!</title><content type='html'>Happy new year to everyone! This is a year of MYSELF! :D so, plan to do more of what I want, wish and need. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listening to Amy Winehouse. Valerie is a cover but I quite like it and enjoy the video as well. I am thinking of sporting a beehive! heheheh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nice song... This is dedicated to all my blogger friends! (Especially Aria - Thanks for your Diwali wishes!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*************************************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;Well Sometimes I Go Out, By Myself, And I Look Across The Water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I Think Of All The Things, Of What You're Doing, And in my head I Paint A Picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I've Come Home, Well My Body's Been A Mess, And I Miss Your ginger Hair, And The Way You Like To Dress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Wont You Come On Over, Stop Making A Fool Out Of Me, Why Dont You Come On Over, Valerie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did You Have To Go To Jail, Put Your House Out Up For Sale, Did You Get A Good Lawyer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I Hope You Didnt Catch A Tan, I Hope You Find The Right Man, Who'll Fix It For You.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are You Shopping Anywhere, Change The Color Of Your Hair, And Are You Busy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did You Have To Pay That Fine, That You Were Dodging All The Time, Are You Still Dizzy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well Since I Come Home, Well My Body's Been A Mess, And I Miss Your Tender Hair, And The Way You Like To Dress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh Wont You Come On Over, Stop Making A Fool Out Of Me, Oh Why Dont You Come On Over, Valerie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well Sometimes I Go Out, By Myself, And I Look Across The Water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I Think Of All The Things, What You're Doing, And In My Head I Paint A Picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I've Come Home, Well My Body's Been A Mess, And I Miss Your Tender Hair, And The Way You Like To Dress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;Valerie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why Dont You Come On Over Valerie...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-26359821722091634?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/26359821722091634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=26359821722091634' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/26359821722091634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/26359821722091634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2008/01/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year!'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-5795590687124133535</id><published>2007-11-13T15:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-13T16:21:39.222-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cant get it out of my head!</title><content type='html'>Heard this about 10 times today!!! Looks like am losing it... :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lovely song. amazing words and well, the movie is exceptional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrvqMgpszN4"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;tujhase naaraaz nahi zindagi, hairaan hoon main&lt;br /&gt;o hairaan hoon main&lt;br /&gt;tere masoom savalon se pareshaan hooN main&lt;br /&gt;o pareshaan hoon main&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;jeene ke liye socha hi na tha, dard sambhalane honge&lt;br /&gt;muskuraoon to, muskurane ke karz utaarne honge&lt;br /&gt;muskuraoon kabhi to lagata hai&lt;br /&gt;jaise hontonn pe karz rakhaa hai&lt;br /&gt;tujhase ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aaj agar bhar ayi hai, boondein baras jaayengi&lt;br /&gt;kal kya pata inke liye aakhen taras jayengi&lt;br /&gt;jaane kahan gum kahan khoya&lt;br /&gt;ek aansu chhupake rakha tha&lt;br /&gt;tujhase ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;zindagi tere gum ne hamain rishte naye samajhaye&lt;br /&gt;mile jo hamain dhoop main mile chhaanv ke thande saaye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;o tujhase ...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-5795590687124133535?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/5795590687124133535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=5795590687124133535' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/5795590687124133535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/5795590687124133535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2007/11/cant-get-it-out-of-my-head.html' title='Cant get it out of my head!'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-6359087616809772036</id><published>2007-10-07T16:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-10T04:55:04.775-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trust</title><content type='html'>It has been a looooong time since I last wrote about something. Been busy. Been lazy... but never been a dull moment!:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will write more. My promise to self. random rambles, grumbles, aches, pains, cheers and all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;**************************************************************************************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Trust -&lt;/strong&gt; slowly, this is becoming the most important thing to me. Dont get me wrong on this, it was always very important but now it has become more or I understand the significance more. I have done many things blindly 'in trust'... I wonder if I will do that now. Am I becoming more suspicious? Am I losing it? I dont know but hoping some thinking and self examination will help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I tend to confuse friendliness and trustworthiness&lt;br /&gt;- Quick to trust people (May not be completely gullible though!)&lt;br /&gt;- Once I realise that the trust is broken, I find it difficult to confront and resolve the issue. It keeps running in my head for a while. Needless to say, I am grumpy at these times. :(&lt;br /&gt;- Personally and professionally, I have had my trust in individuals broken. Personal : well, I make the choice and walk out. Professional : I cant walk out unless I decide to walk out on my job! So unfair!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This makes so much sense to me though Friedrich Nietzsche said this maybe a 100 years ago - &lt;em&gt;I'm not upset that you lied to me, I'm upset that from now on I can't believe you&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;well...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-6359087616809772036?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/6359087616809772036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=6359087616809772036' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/6359087616809772036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/6359087616809772036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2007/10/trust.html' title='Trust'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-116219147756622240</id><published>2006-10-29T22:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-10-29T22:57:57.580-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Never Say Goodbye"</title><content type='html'>***&lt;br /&gt;Hayley Westenra! Dint know she existed till a few days back and suddenly there has been an overdose of her. :) Loved quite aa few songs and the maori ones are really lovely. Watched her perform a song yesterday and listened to 'Pure' all the way home. 'Never Say Goodbye' was the first song I heard and still the one I love the most. Listen to it... &lt;br /&gt;***&lt;br /&gt;If I could take this moment forever&lt;br /&gt;Turn the pages of my mind&lt;br /&gt;To another place and time&lt;br /&gt;We would never say goodbye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could find the words I would speak them&lt;br /&gt;Then I wouldn't be tongue-tied&lt;br /&gt;When I looked into your eyes&lt;br /&gt;We would never say goodbye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could stop the moon ever rising&lt;br /&gt;Day would not become the night&lt;br /&gt;Wouldn't feel this cold inside&lt;br /&gt;And we'd never say goodbye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish that our dreams were frozen&lt;br /&gt;Then our hearts would not be broken&lt;br /&gt;When we let each other go...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could steal this moment forever&lt;br /&gt;Paint a picture-perfect smile&lt;br /&gt;So our story stayed alive&lt;br /&gt;We would never say goodbye&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-116219147756622240?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/116219147756622240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=116219147756622240' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/116219147756622240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/116219147756622240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2006/10/never-say-goodbye.html' title='&quot;Never Say Goodbye&quot;'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-115542082048709912</id><published>2006-08-12T15:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-12T15:13:40.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Own Best Friend</title><content type='html'>Roxie: There's only one person who can help ya now, Roxie&lt;br /&gt;Velma: There's only one person you can count on now, Velma &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Miss Roxie Hart and Miss Velma Kelly sing a song of unrelenting determination and unmitigated ego&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing I know&lt;br /&gt;One thing I know&lt;br /&gt;And I've always known&lt;br /&gt;And I've always known&lt;br /&gt;I am my own&lt;br /&gt;I am my own&lt;br /&gt;Best friend &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Baby's alive&lt;br /&gt;Baby's alive&lt;br /&gt;But baby's alone&lt;br /&gt;But baby's alone&lt;br /&gt;And baby's her own&lt;br /&gt;And baby's her own&lt;br /&gt;Best friend &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many's the guy&lt;br /&gt;Who told me he cares&lt;br /&gt;But they were scratchin' my back&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I was scratchin' theirs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And trusting to luck&lt;br /&gt;And trusting to luck&lt;br /&gt;That's only for fools&lt;br /&gt;Only for fools&lt;br /&gt;I play in a game&lt;br /&gt;I play in a game&lt;br /&gt;Where I make the rules &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And rule number one&lt;br /&gt;From here to the end&lt;br /&gt;Is I am my own best friend'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three musketeers&lt;br /&gt;Who never say die&lt;br /&gt;Are standing here this minute&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;br /&gt;Myself&lt;br /&gt;Myself&lt;br /&gt;And I&lt;br /&gt;And I&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If life is a school I'll pass every test&lt;br /&gt;If life is a game I'll play it the best&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I wont give in and I'll never bend&lt;br /&gt;And I am my own best friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Watched Chicago (Theatre) yesterday and totally mesmerised...Loved the story, the songs, the lyrics, the cast ... EVERYTHING! even the dinner after - The tastiest Rissotto in London!!! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-115542082048709912?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/115542082048709912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=115542082048709912' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/115542082048709912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/115542082048709912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2006/08/my-own-best-friend.html' title='My Own Best Friend'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-114175238349647799</id><published>2006-03-07T09:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-07T09:26:23.500-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Gift From The Sea</title><content type='html'>- ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you love someone you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility! It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet, this is what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror, its ebb. We are afraid it will not return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only real continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity-------in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only real security is not owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what it was in nostalgia, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. For relationships too, must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits-----islands, surounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides. One must accept the security of the winged life, of the ebb and flow, of intermittency.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-----&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lovely words for a soul like me. I love to think I can shrug off my baggage from the past and forget the worries about the future and cherish the present... Wish I can do that more effectively.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These also remind me of a article I read somewhere on the Metro about a woman who had a 'long' marriage of 40 odd years. She said, 'There was a lot of love in our marriage. I kept falling in love with Matt and Matt repeatedly fell in love with me. Well, there were times when we did fall out of love but those times we were good friends who shared their days together... till we fell in love all over again.... '&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ebb and flow of the tide indeed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-114175238349647799?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/114175238349647799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=114175238349647799' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/114175238349647799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/114175238349647799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2006/03/gift-from-sea.html' title='A Gift From The Sea'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-113804128015358895</id><published>2006-01-23T10:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-24T00:52:21.243-08:00</updated><title type='text'>20 things....</title><content type='html'>Had to think hard and write it! Cant believe I dont know 20 things about myself.. :((( Anyway, here it goes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Never thought I will make friends on the internet and actually meet them one day! (I met Chay and Geebs!!!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Love my city very dearly - Bangalore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I talk to my parents everyday (have been living away from them for 3 years now).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Love dogs. Snoopy and Lena are the pets at home now but Sheeba (my previous doggy) is my first love!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Enjoy cooking and my hubbs is a foodie! The combination works very well I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* One of the many people in IT who just happened to get in and actually started loving it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Love watching cricket. Die hard fan of Rahul Dravid (and not Tendulkar!!!). Have even stalked Rahul Dravid's home in Bangalore in the hope of seeing him!. Nowadays, 'watch' the ball to ball commentory on cricinfo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Believe that Hindi movies are wholesome entertainment. Drool at Abhishek Bachchan and Hrithik Roshan and Akshay Kumar. (trivia : Saw Hrithik Roshan at the Heathrow airport last year! :)))) )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Sulekha provided me with solace when I was alone. I loved the comments section the most and almost lived there. This opened a new dimension to my life and I love being in the virtual world now! Thanks to you guys!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Love Horlicks! Its my comfort drink for late nights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Spend 4-5 hours of my day travelling and I quite like it. I travel by train and so spend the time reading / writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Like receiving letters (snail mail) and so have decided to write to friends and get replies. :) Also, the personal touch in letters is great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Enjoy putting a smile on the other person's face. I love giving gifts... and have a habit of 'just picking up' something for a friend.. dont wait for occasions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Believe am a strong minded person with a soft heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Have a friend who has literally been with me all my life - we went to kindergarten together, school together, Engineering together and even got our jobs in the same company. We do live continents apart though now... but only a phone call away still and still with the same company! ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Love all wildlife and have a special place for snakes. They fascinate me and I would love to work in a reptile park...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Loads of friends believe I should be a RJ!!! Well, Salaam Namaste indeed! ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Harry Potter expert (or so I like to call myself!)... wish dumbledore was not dead... dont believe he can die! *sob*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Proud owner of the complete Calvin and Hobbes collection. Love the nasty little kid!!!! and the father too... personal favorites are the ones where the father 'explains' things to calvin... heheheh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I remember the names of dogs in all comics I read - hot dog, snoopy, goofy, dogmatix, snowy... :)))&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I TAG Choco Priya and Lucifer!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-113804128015358895?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/113804128015358895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=113804128015358895' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113804128015358895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113804128015358895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2006/01/20-things.html' title='20 things....'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-113328510986965214</id><published>2005-11-29T09:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-29T09:27:19.133-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone</title><content type='html'>... and thats her full name!!!! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Songs have this quality of being able to change my mood. The toughest times need some special songs... The song that I draw some strength from when I have one of the 'down in the dumps' attack is the 'You'll see'. I have always loved this song... even when I was not touched by heartache and heartbreak... but now it means more than before. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'It takes more strength to cry, admit defeat.'... and as my history will show, i did just that! Cry... admit defeat...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You'll See - Madonna (Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone) :)&lt;br /&gt;----------------------------------------------------------&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You think that I can't live without your love&lt;br /&gt;You'll see,&lt;br /&gt;You think I can't go on another day.&lt;br /&gt;You think I have nothing&lt;br /&gt;Without you by my side,&lt;br /&gt;You'll see&lt;br /&gt;Somehow, some way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You think that I can never laugh again&lt;br /&gt;You'll see,&lt;br /&gt;You think that you destroyed my faith in love.&lt;br /&gt;You think after all you've done&lt;br /&gt;I'll never find my way back home,&lt;br /&gt;You'll see&lt;br /&gt;Somehow, someday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All by myself&lt;br /&gt;I don't need anyone at all&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll survive&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll stay alive,&lt;br /&gt;All on my own&lt;br /&gt;I don't need anyone this time&lt;br /&gt;It will be mine&lt;br /&gt;No one can take it from me&lt;br /&gt;You'll see&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You think that you are strong, but you are weak&lt;br /&gt;You'll see,&lt;br /&gt;It takes more strength to cry, admit defeat.&lt;br /&gt;I have truth on my side,&lt;br /&gt;You only have deceit&lt;br /&gt;You'll see, somehow, someday&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus2:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All by myself&lt;br /&gt;I don't need anyone at all&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll survive&lt;br /&gt;I know I'll stay alive,&lt;br /&gt;I'll stand on my own&lt;br /&gt;I won't need anyone this time&lt;br /&gt;It will be mine&lt;br /&gt;No one can take it from me&lt;br /&gt;You'll see&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You'll see, you'll see&lt;br /&gt;You'll see, mmmm, mmmm&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-113328510986965214?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/113328510986965214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=113328510986965214' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113328510986965214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113328510986965214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2005/11/madonna-louise-veronica-ciccone.html' title='Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-113207652260354747</id><published>2005-11-15T09:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-15T09:42:02.613-08:00</updated><title type='text'>When We Two Parted – Lord Byron</title><content type='html'>When We Two Parted – Lord Byron&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we two parted&lt;br /&gt;In silence and tears,&lt;br /&gt;Half broken-hearted,&lt;br /&gt;To sever for years,&lt;br /&gt;Pale grew thy cheek and cold,&lt;br /&gt;Colder thy kiss;&lt;br /&gt;Truly that hour foretold&lt;br /&gt;Sorrow to this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dew of the morning&lt;br /&gt;Sank chill on my brow - &lt;br /&gt;It felt like the warning&lt;br /&gt;Of what I feel now.&lt;br /&gt;Thy vows are all broken,&lt;br /&gt;And light is thy fame:&lt;br /&gt;I hear thy name spoken,&lt;br /&gt;And share in its shame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They name thee before me,&lt;br /&gt;A knell to mine ear;&lt;br /&gt;A shudder comes o'er me - &lt;br /&gt;Why wert thou so dear?&lt;br /&gt;They know not I knew thee,&lt;br /&gt;Who knew thee too well: - &lt;br /&gt;Long, long shall I rue thee&lt;br /&gt;Too deeply to tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In secret we met - &lt;br /&gt;In silence I grieve&lt;br /&gt;That thy heart could forget,&lt;br /&gt;Thy spirit deceive.&lt;br /&gt;If I should meet thee&lt;br /&gt;After long years,&lt;br /&gt;How should I greet thee? - &lt;br /&gt;With silence and tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Lord Byron is gooood. I am reading his works.. works of a passionate and kinda crazy man I think. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-113207652260354747?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/113207652260354747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=113207652260354747' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113207652260354747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113207652260354747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2005/11/when-we-two-parted-lord-byron.html' title='When We Two Parted – Lord Byron'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-113076781499390019</id><published>2005-10-31T06:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-10-31T06:10:15.003-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fighter</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;Was listening to 2-Ten FM and waiting for a colleague to come over with lunch. The song that was playing is something I have heard before and liked before but today it is stuck in my head. Feel like there are bits in the song which were written by me... feels like I am singing! :) &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;*** This is Christina Aguilera singing Fighter****&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I, thought I knew you&lt;br /&gt;Thinking, that you were true&lt;br /&gt;I guess I, I couldn't trust&lt;br /&gt;'Cause your bluff time is up&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I've had enough&lt;br /&gt;You were, there by my side&lt;br /&gt;Always, down for the ride&lt;br /&gt;But your, joy ride just came down in flames&lt;br /&gt;'Cause your greed sold me out of shame, mmhmm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all of the stealing and cheating&lt;br /&gt;You probably think that I hold resentment for you&lt;br /&gt;But, uh uh, oh no, you're wrong&lt;br /&gt;'Cause if it wasn't for all that you tried to do&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't know just how capable I am to pull through&lt;br /&gt;So I wanna say thank you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause it makes me that much stronger&lt;br /&gt;Makes me work a little bit harder&lt;br /&gt;It makes me that much wiser&lt;br /&gt;So thanks for making me a fighter&lt;br /&gt;Made me learn a little bit faster&lt;br /&gt;Made my skin a little bit thicker&lt;br /&gt;Makes me that much smarter&lt;br /&gt;So thanks for making me a fighter&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, ohh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never, saw it coming&lt;br /&gt;All of, your backstabbing&lt;br /&gt;Just so, you could cash in&lt;br /&gt;On a good thing before I realized your game&lt;br /&gt;I heard, you're going around&lt;br /&gt;Playing, the victim now&lt;br /&gt;But don't, even begin&lt;br /&gt;Feeling I'm the one to blame&lt;br /&gt;'Cause you dug your own grave, uh huh&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all of the fights and the lies&lt;br /&gt;Yes you wanted to harm me but that won't work anymore&lt;br /&gt;Uh, no more, oh no, it's over&lt;br /&gt;'Cause if it wasn't for all of your torture&lt;br /&gt;I wouldn't know how to be this way now, and never back down&lt;br /&gt;So I wanna say thank you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause it makes me that much stronger&lt;br /&gt;Makes me work a little bit harder&lt;br /&gt;Makes me that much wiser&lt;br /&gt;So thanks for making me a fighter&lt;br /&gt;Made me learn a little bit faster&lt;br /&gt;Made my skin a little bit thicker&lt;br /&gt;It makes me that much smarter&lt;br /&gt;So thanks for making me a fighter&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-113076781499390019?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/113076781499390019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=113076781499390019' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113076781499390019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113076781499390019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2005/10/fighter.html' title='Fighter'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-113016716809284104</id><published>2005-10-24T07:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-24T08:19:28.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Velveteen Rabbit</title><content type='html'>Remembered the Velveteen Rabbit as I was reading (another book) on the train this morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking whether I have a 'Velveteen rabbit'... &lt;br /&gt;Sis dear has / had! A doll named Honey which was with her for almost 10 years I think.. Lost a eye and looked hideous but it remained with her always... on all vacations too... wonder if she misses it... should ask her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7969/1769/1600/christmas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7969/1769/320/christmas.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;THERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all. For at least two hours the Boy loved him, and then Aunts and Uncles came to dinner, and there was a great rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and in the excitement of looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was forgotten. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon every one else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles. Even Timothy, the jointed wooden lion, who was made by the disabled soldiers, and should have had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected with Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a person called Nana who ruled the nursery. Sometimes she took no notice of the playthings lying about, and sometimes, for no reason whatever, she went swooping about like a great wind and hustled them away in cupboards. She called this "tidying up," and the playthings all hated it, especially the tin ones. The Rabbit didn't mind it so much, for wherever he was thrown he came down soft. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she made a swoop. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here," she said, "take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!" And she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the night-light burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so time went on, and the little Rabbit was very happy–so happy that he never noticed how his beautiful velveteen fur was getting shabbier and shabbier, and his tail becoming unsewn, and all the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spring came, and they had long days in the garden, for wherever the Boy went the Rabbit went too. He had rides in the wheelbarrow, and picnics on the grass, and lovely fairy huts built for him under the raspberry canes behind the flower border. And once, when the Boy was called away suddenly to go out to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the lawn until long after dusk, and Nana had to come and look for him with the candle because the Boy couldn't go to sleep unless he was there. He was wet through with the dew and quite earthy from diving into the burrows the Boy had made for him in the flower bed, and Nana grumbled as she rubbed him off with a corner of her apron. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You must have your old Bunny!" she said. "Fancy all that fuss for a toy!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Boy sat up in bed and stretched out his hands. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Give me my Bunny!" he said. "You mustn't say that. He isn't a toy. He's REAL!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the little Rabbit heard that he was happy, for he knew that what the Skin Horse had said was true at last. The nursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real. The Boy himself had said it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night he was almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred in his little sawdust heart that it almost burst. And into his boot-button eyes, that had long ago lost their polish, there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that even Nana noticed it next morning when she picked him up, and said, "I declare if that old Bunny hasn't got quite a knowing expression!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Near the house where they lived there was a wood, and in the long June evenings the Boy liked to go there after tea to play. He took the Velveteen Rabbit with him, and before he wandered off to pick flowers, or play at brigands among the trees, he always made the Rabbit a little nest somewhere among the bracken, where he would be quite cosy, for he was a kind-hearted little boy and he liked Bunny to be comfortable. One evening, while the Rabbit was lying there alone, watching the ants that ran to and fro between his velvet paws in the grass, he saw two strange beings creep out of the tall bracken near him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were rabbits like himself, but quite furry and brand-new. They must have been very well made, for their seams didn't show at all, and they changed shape in a queer way when they moved; one minute they were long and thin and the next minute fat and bunchy, instead of always staying the same like he did. Their feet padded softly on the ground, and they crept quite close to him, twitching their noses, while the Rabbit stared hard to see which side the clockwork stuck out, for he knew that people who jump generally have something to wind them up. But he couldn't see it. They were evidently a new kind of rabbit altogether. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They stared at him, and the little Rabbit stared back. And all the time their noses twitched. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why don't you get up and play with us?" one of them asked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't feel like it," said the Rabbit, for he didn't want to explain that he had no clockwork. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ho!" said the furry rabbit. "It's as easy as anything," And he gave a big hop sideways and stood on his hind legs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't believe you can!" he said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can!" said the little Rabbit. "I can jump higher than anything!" He meant when the Boy threw him, but of course he didn't want to say so. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can you hop on your hind legs?" asked the furry rabbit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a dreadful question, for the Velveteen Rabbit had no hind legs at all! The back of him was made all in one piece, like a pincushion. He sat still in the bracken, and hoped that the other rabbits wouldn't notice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't want to!" he said again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the wild rabbits have very sharp eyes. And this one stretched out his neck and looked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He hasn't got any hind legs!" he called out. "Fancy a rabbit without any hind legs!" And he began to laugh. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have!" cried the little Rabbit. "I have got hind legs! I am sitting on them!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then stretch them out and show me, like this!" said the wild rabbit. And he began to whirl round and dance, till the little Rabbit got quite dizzy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't like dancing," he said. "I'd rather sit still!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But all the while he was longing to dance, for a funny new tickly feeling ran through him, and he felt he would give anything in the world to be able to jump about like these rabbits did. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The strange rabbit stopped dancing, and came quite close. He came so close this time that his long whiskers brushed the Velveteen Rabbit's ear, and then he wrinkled his nose suddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He doesn't smell right!" he exclaimed. "He isn't a rabbit at all! He isn't real!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am Real!" said the little Rabbit. "I am Real! The Boy said so!" And he nearly began to cry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then there was a sound of footsteps, and the Boy ran past near them, and with a stamp of feet and a flash of white tails the two strange rabbits disappeared. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come back and play with me!" called the little Rabbit. "Oh, do come back! I know I am Real!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But there was no answer, only the little ants ran to and fro, and the bracken swayed gently where the two strangers had passed. The Velveteen Rabbit was all alone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, dear!" he thought. "Why did they run away like that? Why couldn't they stop and talk to me?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a long time he lay very still, watching the bracken, and hoping that they would come back. But they never returned, and presently the sun sank lower and the little white moths fluttered out, and the Boy came and carried him home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, one day, the Boy was ill. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His face grew very flushed, and he talked in his sleep, and his little body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when he held him close. Strange people came and went in the nursery, and a light burned all night and through it all the little Velveteen Rabbit lay there, hidden from sight under the bedclothes, and he never stirred, for he was afraid that if they found him some one might take him away, and he knew that the Boy needed him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a long weary time, for the Boy was too ill to play, and the little Rabbit found it rather dull with nothing to do all day long. But he snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to. All sorts of delightful things he planned, and while the Boy lay half asleep he crept up close to the pillow and whispered them in his ear. And presently the fever turned, and the Boy got better. He was able to sit up in bed and look at picture-books, while the little Rabbit cuddled close at his side. And one day, they let him get up and dress. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a bright, sunny morning, and the windows stood wide open. They had carried the Boy out on to the balcony, wrapped in a shawl, and the little Rabbit lay tangled up among the bedclothes, thinking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Boy was going to the seaside to-morrow. Everything was arranged, and now it only remained to carry out the doctor's orders. They talked about it all, while the little Rabbit lay under the bedclothes, with just his head peeping out, and listened. The room was to be disinfected, and all the books and toys that the Boy had played with in bed must be burnt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hurrah!" thought the little Rabbit. "To-morrow we shall go to the seaside!" For the boy had often talked of the seaside, and he wanted very much to see the big waves coming in, and the tiny crabs, and the sand castles. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just then Nana caught sight of him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How about his old Bunny?" she asked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That?" said the doctor. "Why, it's a mass of scarlet fever germs!–Burn it at once. What? Nonsense! Get him a new one. He mustn't have that any more!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so the little Rabbit was put into a sack with the old picture-books and a lot of rubbish, and carried out to the end of the garden behind the fowl-house. That was a fine place to make a bonfire, only the gardener was too busy just then to attend to it. He had the potatoes to dig and the green peas to gather, but next morning he promised to come quite early and burn the whole lot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That night the Boy slept in a different bedroom, and he had a new bunny to sleep with him. It was a splendid bunny, all white plush with real glass eyes, but the Boy was too excited to care very much about it. For to-morrow he was going to the seaside, and that in itself was such a wonderful thing that he could think of nothing else. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And while the Boy was asleep, dreaming of the seaside, the little Rabbit lay among the old picture-books in the corner behind the fowl-house, and he felt very lonely. The sack had been left untied, and so by wriggling a bit he was able to get his head through the opening and look out. He was shivering a little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection to him. Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden–how happy they were–and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then a strange thing happened. For where the tear had fallen a flower grew out of the ground, a mysterious flower, not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had slender green leaves the colour of emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves a blossom like a golden cup. It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to cry, and just lay there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out of it there stepped a fairy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was quite the loveliest fairy in the whole world. Her dress was of pearl and dew-drops, and there were flowers round her neck and in her hair, and her face was like the most perfect flower of all. And she came close to the little Rabbit and gathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his velveteen nose that was all damp from crying. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little Rabbit," she said, "don't you know who I am?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Rabbit looked up at her, and it seemed to him that he had seen her face before, but he couldn't think where. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am the nursery magic Fairy," she said. "I take care of all the playthings that the children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don't need them any more, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into Real." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wasn't I Real before?" asked the little Rabbit. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You were Real to the Boy," the Fairy said, "because he loved you. Now you shall be Real to every one." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she held the little Rabbit close in her arms and flew with him into the wood. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was light now, for the moon had risen. All the forest was beautiful, and the fronds of the bracken shone like frosted silver. In the open glade between the tree-trunks the wild rabbits danced with their shadows on the velvet grass, but when they saw the Fairy they all stopped dancing and stood round in a ring to stare at her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've brought you a new playfellow," the Fairy said. "You must be very kind to him and teach him all he needs to know in Rabbit-land, for he is going to live with you for ever and ever!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she kissed the little Rabbit again and put him down on the grass. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Run and play, little Rabbit!" she said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the little Rabbit sat quite still for a moment and never moved. For when he saw all the wild rabbits dancing around him he suddenly remembered about his hind legs, and he didn't want them to see that he was made all in one piece. He did not know that when the Fairy kissed him that last time she had changed him altogether. And he might have sat there a long time, too shy to move, if just then something hadn't tickled his nose, and before he thought what he was doing he lifted his hind toe to scratch it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he found that he actually had hind legs! Instead of dingy velveteen he had brown fur, soft and shiny, his ears twitched by themselves, and his whiskers were so long that they brushed the grass. He gave one leap and the joy of using those hind legs was so great that he went springing about the turf on them, jumping sideways and whirling round as the others did, and he grew so excited that when at last he did stop to look for the Fairy she had gone. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was a Real Rabbit at last, at home with the other rabbits. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, the Boy went out to play in the wood behind the house. And while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur, as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the Boy thought to himself: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why, he looks just like my old Bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-113016716809284104?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/113016716809284104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=113016716809284104' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113016716809284104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/113016716809284104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2005/10/velveteen-rabbit.html' title='The Velveteen Rabbit'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18159526.post-112997997546322466</id><published>2005-10-22T04:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-22T04:19:35.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Starting here...</title><content type='html'>Well, I have been one of the fence sitters for a while now. Wondering if I should blog here or not. Not because I am not sure if I should blog or not... I am sure I enjoy that. The questions are more like ' Do I need both a yahoo and a hotmail e-mail id?'.. would it be an excess.. :Well, sulekha has closed down (or thats what I think!) and am here... I NEED Blogspot now.. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am beginning to like the place too... off on the blogger journey again now!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/18159526-112997997546322466?l=doooka.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/feeds/112997997546322466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=18159526&amp;postID=112997997546322466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/112997997546322466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/18159526/posts/default/112997997546322466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://doooka.blogspot.com/2005/10/starting-here.html' title='Starting here...'/><author><name>Dooka</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17188502350112820978</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
