Let's work on that from this Valentine day on wards

Dear Babu,

Days roll out without penning a letter. Let me right now browse Flickr to pick a nice picture for you.

(Picture from Flickr. Thanks to

)

While browsing Flickr for picking a picture for you, I'll be flavoriting some images which will queue up for posting in tumblr blog.Here is the one picked for you.

Now let me see what useless site I can direct you to!

There I am directing you to blue ball machine. See the path of the blue balls....a very good time pass!! The quality control the lever......

Let's have letters more often. Let's work on that from this Valentine day on wards

Expecting another useless site pick from you. And I think you will pick a nice picture from Picasso

Remind me in your next letter.....

I've a beautiful write up on "How to be perfect" This I'll make as a special letter to you. I have in store another special letter also in my mind: A story told by Armstrong ~ the Man who set his first foot on the Moon.

I've two special letters for you.

Expecting a quick reply from you, so that I can post the two special things soon.

It will be off my mind and I can go in search of more goodies for you on the internet.

With love,

yours

jan.

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Comments

The Big Bang Theory.

He is robbed including his pants. He can’t fix himself to change in life. He calls Leonard. — Girmit (^‿^) (@cgBalu) 🚆 → 🚉 → 🚆 → 🚉 A funny moment from The Big Bang Theory (Season 8, Episode 1). Sheldon decides to tour American cities by train. New York. Arizona. A few others. But there is a Sheldon twist. He never actually goes into the cities. He remains inside trains and railway stations, orbiting them like a cautious satellite. Then disaster strikes. He is robbed. Everything goes. Even his pants. And Sheldon being Sheldon, he cannot recalibrate his personality. So he does the only logical thing in his universe: he calls Leonard. ❤😎

Gunshot Piercing

Chill Gunshot Piercing It began, as all life-altering decisions do, with someone else’s fashion. My younger cousin walked in wearing purple ear studs—confident, casual, as if he had always been this stylish creature. I looked at him. He looked at me. The studs looked back at me and whispered, “Upgrade pending…” My wife sealed the matter in one line: “You will look good.” That was it. Proposal passed. No further discussion. A few days later, we went to the jeweller’s shop to buy a chain for our daughter. A normal, respectable outing. But destiny had other plans… and a small device that makes a sound like a stapler with attitude. My five-year-old grandson came along, purely for moral support—his own, not mine. The jeweller inspected my ears like an archaeologist discovering ancient ruins. “Ah! Old holes are there,” he declared, as if announcing hidden treasure. My wife took charge. She marked the exact spot on my earlobes with the seriousness of a surgeon and the confidence of ...

Same ease. Same certainty. No performance.

We went to the community departmental store, my grandson and I. I like walking with him. I’m quietly proud of it. Long ago, when I was young, I travelled in a car with a prominent man from our small town. My uncle sat beside him; I sat in front with the driver. He wasn’t loud. Didn’t instruct much. Authority sat on him like it had always belonged there. We had gone to a bigger town for Deepavali shopping. At one stop, my uncle got down, ran into a shop, and brought back two veshtis. The man didn’t touch them. Didn’t examine. Just glanced and said, almost lazily, “Take the one with the green border.” That was it. Decision made. No noise, no effort. Now I’m in a store again. Different time. Different company. My wife has given me a list. My grandson walks beside me, scanning shelves. At the biscuit aisle, he doesn’t fumble through brands. No debate. His eyes settle on a purple pa...

BLOGGING TO SOOTHE THE NERVES.

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