“What is a bai?

“Bai” is the generic name that the pygmy people of the Congo Basin give to various types of clearings in the forest. Bais often have seasonal or year-round watercourses running through them, but vary from swamp-like flooded meadows, to mostly dry pans, to something not much more than a widening of a riverbank. There are many bais in the Congo Basin rainforest. Most of them are difficult to access; indeed many have probably never been visited by humans. Some of the larger bais, such as the one in the Dzanga-Ndoki National Park and Special Reserve in the Central African Republic, attract more than 100 elephants at a time, while others may have no more than one or two elephant families at once, or only a solitary bull.

What’s the attraction?

Forest elephants are just one of many visitors to bais. Other mammals include forest buffalo, lowland gorillas, various antelope such as bongos and sitatungas, and red river hogs. The open water also attracts many birds. Flocks of African Gray Parrots are commonly seen. It’s possible that the grazing and browsing of the animals causes the formation of the bais. Forest elephants, feeding along the edges of the clearing and pulling down small trees and digging under their roots, certainly keep the space open and probably enlarge the bai over time.”

Source Cited: www.birds.cornell.edu

The home page for the Elephant Listening Project (ELP), is the place to find reports on their studies of elephant behaviors, environments and ecosystems. If you’re interested in elephants check out more information and some amusing videos by ELP.

Have you come across any interesting words this week? Do tell!

So your office has one or two gym balls? Do you know how to use them properly? Here in BlastAsia we thought about how to use these wonderful devices and extend their functionality beyond the original design; here in our company we greatly value extensibility. Lol.

So here are some our resident software engineers’ suggestions:

Seats - In the picure below you can see Bot sitting on his ball while developing. Not only do you excercise your abs while coding but you also feel like a 10 year old kid: 10 year old dev + gym ball = quality code. Note: Do not bounce when there are bosses around, they might get dizzy just by looking at you which can result to you losing your job.

Barricade – Does your office face the imminent threat of Alien invation or attacking hordes of imaginary friends? If that is the case, gymballs are the perfect tools for barricading your office. Just stack them tightly (as illustrated by Bot) at the corridor you want to make your final stand and viola: instant wall. Note: Just make sure no boss in on his way to the comfort room or you may also lose your job.

Toys – As you can see, Keith is enjoying balancing while brainstorming with Bot. Sometimes we kick them around, use them as huge marbles or billiard balls, play passing games with them or hit friends (in a friendly way ofcourse). Here’s a video of eli using the gymballs to the max: Eli Video (I’m trying to find Engr. Gilbert’s video but no luck). Note: Throwing balls to people are ok but throwing people may not be a good idea, because, well, you can lose you job.

Dream Catcher – As you can see below, no amount of bad dreams can ever penetrate this wall of gymballs stacked with love by your friends/co-workers. Note: Be sure to place the balls gently so that the subject will not be disturbed. Also, do not do this with bosses. Again, you may lose your job.

Hope you guys had fun reading as we had fun playing around.

Good morning and God bless!

Recently our company BlastAsia Inc. moved into a more professional office space located at the 35th Floor, Orient Square Bldg, Emerald Ave, Ortigas. In view of the change of environment that improved work life for employees (well, it works for me :p), I decided to share to you guys alittle about BAI culture.

BlastAsia has its own unique culture that could be summarized as a “work-hard-play-hard” type. Blasters have their own unique way of dealing with the daily stress that we get from our work.  This attitude is evident even  in the most basic part of the office: the desk. This is practically where most of us spend the majority of the day working (or not :p) so most of us have their own way of decorating our desks. I went around for a little while to see what things people have on their work spaces.

So here are some of the things that I managed to photograph in the BlastSuites area (unfortunately I had little time to go around):

Scale Model Kits – Gundams, Transformers, Cars, Bikes, etc. One even has a custom painted Perfect Grade Gundam that costs more than 10k php! Too bad I forgot to take a photo.

Eli's Bike

Ken's OverFlag

Ken's Gundam 00

Figures / Action Figures – Detroit Metal City, Final Fantasy, Iron Man. One even has a whole table full of World of Warcraft action Figures.

My Johannes Krauser II Action Figure (riding my Husky :p)

Mickey's Zack and Cloud Action Figures

Mickey's FF8 Action Figures

Ramil's Iron Man

Stuffed Toys – Stuff toys all around, there’s even a giant bear holding little bear. =))

TJ's Mickey and Minnie Mouse

A lot more stuff could  be found on other teams desks but I decided to cover just my team. Bwahaha.

Well that’s it for now. I’ll be sharing more about BAI culture in my future posts.

Good night and God bless!

Grand Villas, Bay, Laguna

Încep prin a vă dedica pula mea . E o metaforă . Rumegaţi-o .
Vroiam să scriu ceva interesant , dar am dormit până acum şi nu cred că vrea careva să ştie dacă am mâncat brânză cu ceapă sau icre negre , deci nici asta nu merge .
Dacă vă zic că vreau să îmi fac o clismă , se pune ? Mi se pare că nu alunecă destul de bine căcatul când mă cac . Poate am mâncat prea multe coji de roşii şi s-au depus în anus ca lipitorile pe penis când îl scoatem afară să ne pişăm . Mai ales în Marea Neagră . Nicio aluzie .
Nici asta nu e interesant . Vreţi să ştiţi de sex-apel ? N-am . Poate că sunt dotat pe mai multe părţi , dar asta nu contează . Că dacă mă duce mintea numai la pula mea , asta, cultura mea , parcă aş fi Hortensia Papadat , nu interesează pe nimeni .
Dar ce vă interesează pe voi ? Cum mă cac eu ? Asta va veni în alte posturi , după ce voi avea o diaree şi mă taie o idee de filosof . O să fac şi un imn al căcării , mai frumos decât cel anterior . Parcă Mărgineanu a scris aşa ceva . La ce pula mea ma interesează pe mine căcatul ? Cred că din cauza faptului că mi-am adus aminte de un mare clasic în viaţă , ce zicea : “Băi cacatule , eu te mănânc pe tine !”
Acum luaţi aminte şi , dacă vă ştergeţi la cur cu şerveţele parfumate , să nu fie de mentă !

S-a dus vara românească cu arşiţa ei cu tot. Au plecat zilele de vacanţă când singura preocupare era semnarea condicii la ştrandurile cu apă binefăcătoare. S-au închis decolteurile şi fustele atât de scurte încât se identificau cu dosurile în nuanţe vergeturii ale domnişoarelor. Dar nu pentru toată lumea. Nu mă refer aici la norocoşii care îşi pot bălăci trupurile în apa termală specifică vestului ţării. Vorbesc despre grupurile de politicieni aflaţi în campanie electorală. Pentru ei sezonul estival abia s-a deschis. Băile de mulţime sunt cele mai atractive. Nimic nu se poate compara. Să te scufunzi în marea nesărată a gloatelor cu ochii cât ceapa după mutre de demnitari face bine la voturi. Chiar mai poţi fraieri unii loviţi de naivitate precum Ron Sparks de piciorul lui Ignashov. Condimentate cu vorbe de duh aruncate de câte vreun profesor de grad secund nemulţumit de salariul indecent, periplurile tomnatice sunt sarea şi piperul chefurilor politice. Întotdeauna se găseşte o replică, mai mult sau mai puţin adaptată momentului, mereu există cineva care să urle mai tare decât eventualii oponenţi.

Câştigători în plimbările pe estradele localităţilor vizitate, politicienii sunt eterni perdanţi în lupta cu aplicarea promisiunilor. O luptă pe care n-o vor câştiga decât atunci când Pământul îşi va opri mişcarea de rotaţie înjurul axei proprii. Adică niciodată sau atunci când va fi mult prea târziu pentru a mai conta. Revenind la băile noastre, cura de toamnă face deliciul cetăţenilor. Este practic singura perioadă din cei patru ani când îi poţi vedea “live” pe artizanii legilor autohtone. Pe indivizii care ne-au adus în pragul deznădejdii, al disperării, sărăciei şi mizeriei. Cu toate acestea singura sufocare este aceea din dragoste, de parcă toate relele ar fi uitate la apariţia “marelui conducător”. Oricare ar fi el. Lumea e prea sfioasă, prea nedreaptă cu ea însăşi, acceptând să înghită încă patru ani de jaf pentru o strângere de mână. Natura umană…    

Accept faptul că e greu să ai o soluţie democratică de sorginte paşnică pentru a putea înlătura un regim falimentar, dar ignorarea prezenţei canaliilor dornice de voturi poate fi o soluţie. Discursul liderului politic de pe o scenă suspendată deasupra unei pieţe goale mi s-ar părea o formă adecvată. Poate fi sufocarea pe care le-o dorim în clipa când lipsa leilor aduce lacrimi pe chipurile celor dragi. Vă urez succes tuturor celor care sunteţi pe traseul “băilor” de toamnă. Hai să lăsăm “ştrandurile” goale, fără apă, fără suflete, fără nimic…

1.- Nối câu đi pé!
- Chấm điểm đi thầy
- Good! “Big zero”

2.- Chết còn sướng hơn. ọc ọc

3.- Bài này thầy Thoại cho 10 điểm. Quá chính xác “six = 6″

4.- Dựa vào ví dụ trên, hãy tính…

5.- Tìm x. – ở ngay đây nè thầy, vậy mà ko thấy à.

6.- Expand có nghĩa là làm cho nó rộng ra đấy mừh!

7.- Tìm nghịch đảo hả thầy…? Dễ ẹc!

8- Dạ sau khi đơn jản thì còn lại cái căn ạ!

Dear Bai,

I love you. No really I do. If it was not for you I have no idea how I would live my life. It is because of you that my white baniyans are still closer to the colour of cream rather than mud.

It is because of your dedication that people are forced to say [first thing they say every single time btw]: “Wow. I cannot believe how clean it is.”

You dear bai, yes you, have helped me get rid of the ghosts of the rotten past. That and the urban myth involving fungus and t-shirts.

And for this, I shall always remain grateful.

It is this gratitude which is reflected in my obedience to your whims and fancies. Never have I complained when you decide that the mattress would be better suited in antoher corner, nor have I even raised an eyebrow when you decided where the dishes should be kept. Or when the pillow covers should be washed etc etc.

But.

Could you please not decide to play hide-hide with my belt every day. It is undoubtedly funny to my neighbours who peer into me home, but searching for a fuckin belt every bloody day kinda gets annoying. Surely there must be one place which you deem to be belt-worthy?

Also, the next time you decide to wash the only towel that Ipossess, could you please give me advanced warning so I can procure/steal/buy another one?

And lastly, the entire point of buying a newspaper is so that I can read it. If you fold it and carefully place it in the big box of raddi before I even get to ogle at pg. 3, things could get mighty ugly.

Remember bai I love you and it is only my love which makes me write these words. Forgive me if I have been too harsh.

Yours Truly,

KS

Hostels. Wonderful places where you can lodge like a king (a small king, but still) and spend 5 EUR per night. And they’re mostly there, on hostelworld, ready for you.

Hostels in Yunnan were great, as they are often old houses with a courtyard and nice balconies overlooking it from the upper floors. The houses fit the local architecture style, so Lijiang hostels were Naxi houses, Dali hostels had Bai features.

Panba guesthouse in Lijiang was the most beautiful. Here is the inner courtyard.

The balcony overlooking the ourtyard in the Panba guesthouse, Lijiang.

The bar within 58 guesthouse in Shaxi. The old village's 'main street' is just out of the window.

The courtyard of Jade Emu in Dali. Brilliant to sit and chill in the evening. Pool available, if you beat the Aussie owner, you get a free night

The Tibetan Lodge is one of the most famous in Dali. (fake?) prayer flags are used as a Tibet-style decoration

The place in Guilin did a good job, considered the ugly neighbourhood. No quaint old house here, but bamboo to liven up a nondescript tile building.

Wada hostel in Guilin was a very friendly environment to come back to in the horribly muggy night. They have breakfast, too.

Finally, Hong Kong. Things are different here… you could probably get a lot of vertical space, but surface, no.

Paris guesthouse. Forget the common patio, windows, walking space... still, great maintenance and friendly staff. Persistent curry smell

Next time I’ll tell you about some easy trekking in Dali.

While strolling around Shaping, i comment about the huge loads women carry on their backs. Jolie them tells me of a local goddess, who embodies the quintessential Yunnan woman: at the time of the Nanzhao kingdom (let’s say 1000 ago, during the Tang dinasty), she appeared to the invading eastern army as an old lady carrying a huge boulder. That scared the soldiers enough, as if an old lady could be that strong, what of the men?
Yunnan women do carry huge weights, hence the legend. The men’s occupation seems mostly to smoke, drive and squat around waiting. I’m told they bring the bread home, so they must be working at some point.

I can't help wondering what would happen if they got angry...

The market is as expected: women in local Bai minority costumes, mysterious food, tea, chili, skin baked by the mountain sun. I drink some minty jelly with white gizmos floating in it and i immediately receive a star wars-style message from my father “young man, do not eat from street markets, do not have anything with ice…” i dismiss it and give my drink to Jolie just in case. Everything will be fine at the end of the day, despite a day of street market eating. Take that, family paranoia!

Later in the day, we stop in Zoucheng. The market here takes place  under two giant trees, which shield the people from the blazing sun. I’m kind of pushed gently towards the tie-and-dye workshop of a friend of Jolie’s and it’s ok. People making stuff always interest me and the scenery of bright yellow corn drying and indigo blue vats is a great memory and it’s ok to buy two slightly tacky indigo blue pieces of tie-and-dye. It looks better than the crap ones the hippies sold in Berkeley, a long way from here…

As we get back to the bikes, I notice some murals for kids, teaching them about the basic dangers electrical appliances can be.

Jolie also explains that everyone thinks we’re poor since we biked here instead of taking the bus. That is funny on many levels.

Corn drying is a common sight in the courtyard of Yunnan houses, or even on the street of the village.

It’s time to go back to Dali: we try the smaller road, supposedly a nice ride as opposed to the crowded highway. After a while though, we must leave it. It’s continuous roadworks, lots of dust, after one hour of it I truly hate the place. I bike in front of a school and get the usual HALLOO routine from the kids, but i’m such a bad mood I wish them a life of struggle and lack of civil liberties. It’s not cute anymore little f.ers, don’t you have a television?
I stop after the school and for the first time in two hours I realise I am covered in dust, sunglasses included. And I still wear a cowboy hat, mind you. No wonder the kids were laughing… I feel quite silly. The kids were still annoying, though.

Today is “people day”: we will visit markets and villages by bike. We will end up biking for 60 km…

The road is busy and noisy with the trademark honking and one-cylinder roar of mini vans. It rolls by rice paddies and further away, Erhai Hu, the lake.

Rice is ready to be harvested in Yunnan. Behind this, coughing exhausts and honking.

First stop, Xizhou: surrounded by a wall in the Bai style, whitewashed with painted panels on the walls. Very different from Lijiang, it’s a bit run down. We are here to taste the best “baba” bread around Dali. Xizhou delivers: the filled bread is delicious, both in the sweet and savoury versions! I would not stop for a second to buy something from those guys sweating over the crude ovens on the square. One more point for Jolie

Baba bread is cooked by stacking two trays full of embers on top of each other.

The Qing era house is also interesting: it is a huge wooden mansion, formerly owned by a merchant with an interest for the West. At the back of it we find in fact a little palace, whose 19-century style stone walls and mini-garden feel awkward as they sit right by a wooden two-storey house with open terraces.

We try to get Chinese tourists to pay money to take pictures with the foreigner (me), but they don’t buy it. Dammit! On to the next village.

I follow Jolie’s advice and we leave Lijiang on the old road, going to Shaxi. The minibus huffs and puffs through the suburbs, as the city wakes up, then briefly uphill.

Passenger number 1 is a charming cigar-smoking old man who wears the same cheap tacky cowboy hat I wear. The hat is a bit of a long story, let it be known that it features a bull’s head fantastically similar to the ball team’s logo. I will learn to hate it with passion as it’s very impractical to carry around. Anyway, the old man is very polite and only spits in the street, not inside.

We’re going to see old stuff, which makes me happy.

Is that... gas? It's water, you idiot tourist.

Part 1

Going to Shaxi was indeed a great idea. The center of this former tea caravan station is picture perfect, the guesthouse we stop in as well (owner was an interior designer), the mixed Buddhist temple a wonderful sight. It’s a pity that frescoes and statues were destroyed during the Cultural Revolution. The temple offers itself as a series of cool, quiet courtyards, painted red. See further why I call it “mixed Buddhist”.

Let me now introduce Herr Wolf, backpacker extraordinaire: 66-year old, German, 50th time in China, a true lone wolf. We hire a tuc tuc up to Shibaoshan together, another hour on a bumpy road in a vehicle of questionable safety, but completely worth the hassle.

The locals turn around when Herr Wolf passes by, not only because of his slight B.O.; Jolie tries to get business tips from the seasoned guide.

What we find is a 1000-year or so old complex of carved buddhist statues. Apparently it survived the fate of the temple because Chairman Mao knew about it and sent a bunch of renowned scientist there “so that they could understand the origin of man”. Read further, there was probably humour in his request.

Jolie knows a lot about Buddhism and explains to me how peculiar Yunnan is in this respect: we are looking at types of Buddha and related divinities (the Eight Kings) which are typical of Tibet Buddhism, along with other groups that feature “normal Chinese” Buddhism. The largest group of statues is incredible and still keeps some ancient paint.

The peak of the experience is… a vulva. A 1000-year-old carving of a giant vulva which you can worship – but no pictures: what goes on in there stays in there, like Las Vegas. I clumsily, but respectfully bow to the origin of man and we leave. I resist and take no pictures of the statues. I feel a mix of reverence and surveillance cameras over me.

Even the rocks around Shibaoshan are special.

Part 2
It’s 6 pm and my butt has spent most of the day on buses big and small and a bumpy tuc tuc ride. The trip back home starts when we realize the tuc tuc to the remote statue sanctuary was too slow and we might miss the bus to Dali. Bus=anything on wheels capable of carrying people, mind you. No clear signs of what goes where.
The Chinese countryside solution is: flag anything that moves, discuss with the random driver, raise voice, exchange cell numbers just in case, rush to the bus town on yet another dodgy minibus, pay. We’re probably a high point in the driver’s day: two “waiguoren” and a crazy chick with a cowboy hat.
I realize that, behind the harsh, cheerless-sounding, loud tones of people’s conversations, everyone is being very helpful. Drivers stand by until we catch another bus (ok, I haven’t paid them yet), random bystanders chime in to tell us what bus goes where… It’s cool.

We have managed to catch the bus as I type this on my phone. It is a fantastic ride, continuous honking, horribly dangerous passes… But more important, it’s packed with old Bai ethnic granmas and their chests. We only miss chicken, but there’s a guy with a chest full of mushrooms. We have  just passed a goat herd – more honking.

Two more hours of switchbacks, an unexpected change of bus (thank god there’s Jolie) and we’re home in Dali.

The Yunnan sun must have some magic properties, since I’ve been walking a lot, sleeping too little and eating one big meal a day. Tomorrow promises to be less hectic. It will turn out that I was mistaken

Contributed by Mrs. Narmadha Sundar

During   the reign of the Pandavas Udaipur was a great holy town. It had beautiful buildings and temple towers. It was a flourishing town and the people were very pious. The people spent their free time in listening to religious lectures, devotional songs and participating in bhajans .They worshipped lord Krishna with great love.

The king of this region was a reverent bhaktha of Vishnu, to whom by the grace of god a beautiful girl baby was born and she was given the name Meera Bai. This Meera Bai grew up to be very devoted to lord Krishna. She would always have an idol of Krishna with her named “Giridhara gopala”. She would decorate the idol with beautiful silk dresses, pearl  malas and other jewels which made the idol so pleasing to look at and enchanting with his wonderful  broad smile. In the palace she used to listen to Bagavatham and Bhagavad-Gita lectures. With passage of time she developed intense bhakthi to lord Krishna and even firmly decided to marry Krishna when she grew up.

Meera with Lord Krishna

Soon Meera Bai came off marriageable age and her father decided to look for a worthy bridegroom and get her married. On hearing about this Meera Bai said in a sweet voice to her father, ”I have already chosen a husband for myself and  it is none other than lord Krishna ,whom you worship.”The king was taken by surprise and he tried to convince her, telling her that the Krishna she was so fond of was only an image and it would only be befitting for a princess like her to marry a prince belonging to a great dynasty. Meera Bai was reluctant and argued saying that Krishna was more than an image and was the most superior being ever. She was very strong willed  and on seeing her bhakthi the king was astonished and even gave her an exclusive  room in the palace  for her Krishna .Meera Bai  installed her Giridhara Gopal in that room and did aradhana, adorned him with beautiful ornaments and garments. She constantly chanted his nama and sang hymns which were outpourings of her divine bhakthi. Giridhari looked charming with vaijayanthi mala, a beautiful tulsi mala and he also adorned a crown and often in true visible form showed his beauty to her. Meera bai would often invite holy people and worship them and listen to them tell numerous interesting stories of Krishna and also performed nama sankeertanam with them.

However there were some crooked minded men in the town remarking that Meera Bai was ruining the reputation of the king and spoke ill of Meera Bai’s activities. They thought that it was improper for the royal princess to engage with sadhus and poor bhaktas by singing and dancing in their presence. Rumors about Meera’s immoral character and unbecoming behavior were afloat throughout the town and they soon reached to the kings ears. The king due to a gross lapse of judgment grew angry with Meera and decided to punish her. He asked his wife to control and put an end to Meera’s bhakti related activities and expressed his desire to get her married right away.

The queen went to Meera Bai and told her about her father’s unhappiness with her behavior and  his wishes. Meera Bai replied, ”Tell my father I will marry only Krishna and none other. My heart has no fear. Some say, I have become crazy, but those ignorant people do not understand my heart. I am determined to walk the path of bhakthi.” Unable to convince Meera, her mother came back and told the king about Meera Bai’s strong determination .Hearing this the king became very angry and replied,” then I have no choice other than to poison her. “He gave the queen a cup of deadly poison and asked her to give it to Meera with her own hands.

The queen was shocked. But due to the king’s order, crying bitterly she took the cup of poison and went to the temple where Meera was. She said to Meera, ”oh lovely child, your father has sent this cup of poison to you.” Meera pacified her mother with her sweet voice  ,”Ma, Don’t worry, nothing will happen, due Krishna’s blessing and grace this poison which you have brought will turn into a nectar.” Meera took Krishna in one hand and the poison on other hand and said, ”Oh Lord, my father has sent poison for me. Now I will reach your lotus feet. But my only worry is who will look after you when I am nomore.” She offered the poison to Giridhara Gopal  as she habitually  always offered  everything to him before par taking it and drank it  as Prasad at once.

A wonderful thing happened. The poison Meera Bai drank really  became harmless nectar. But the idol began to change its colour due to the poison’s effect. On hearing about this the king rushed there immediately, his throat choked with emotion. He then pleaded, ”I am a sinner and a wicked person, I have made god drink this poison.” He grasped the feet of Meera Bai and begged her to forgive him for his gruesome deed. She lifted the head of her father and prostrated in front of him and said, ”O father, it is because of you that the lord has shown and demonstrated that he is integral with me.”

Everyone who spoke ill about Meera felt ashamed of themselves as they failed to recognize Meera’s supreme stature. On the other hand all the bhakthas on seeing this miracle became ecstatic and burst out singing and dancing with joy. The entire place reverberated to the namavali ,”Giridhari Giridhari Govardhana Giridhari ….”

The king severely regretted his misdoing and begged Meera to pray to Lord Krishna so that his form be restored to its original color. This, he said would let him feel relieved and indicative of the lord’s forgiveness. But Lord Krishna however chose to retain his changed colour around his throat so as to demonstrate to the world the greatness of Meera’s bhakthi.

Another version of bhaktha Meera charitra which is very popular is as follows.

Right from her childhood Meera was totally in love with lord Krishna and her bhakthi was known far and wide. She held her idol “Giridhara Gopala“ even dearer than her own life. This extreme form of bhakthi was an obstacle to her father who tried to get her married to some deserving prince. However Prince Kumba Rana who himself was a great devotee of Krishna respected Meera for her bhakthi and asked for her hand in marriage. Meera too agreed to the wedding as lord Krishna appeared in her dream and asked her to marry.

After their wedding, Kumba Rana erected a beautiful temple for Meera’s Giridhara Gopala as a token of appreciation of Meera’s bhakthi. Meera, then spent most of her time in the temple itself singing  bhajans, conducting poojas and assembling  sadhus and  other devotees and  her bhajans gained great popularity far and wide. With passage of time Meera’s activities were misunderstood by the people of Mewar who did not realize her greatness. Due to sheer ignorance they spoke badly about her. On one occasion Tansen the renowned singer in King Akbar’s palace sang one of Meera’s compositions and that emotionally moved King Akbar and haunted him that he decided to visit Mewar in disguise to hear Meera herself sing. In Mewar, Akbar in the disguise of a sadhu listened to Meera’s bhajans and rewarded her with a garland of precious stone and she accepted it as Krishna Prasad. But this incident made Jaimal Kumbarana’s brother cast an evil eye on Meera and talk badly about her doings. Even though Kumbarana heard many of his relatives talk badly about Meera for negating her royal duties he never mistook her.

However considering his duties to his subjects more important than his own opinion and due to severe  lapse of judgment Rana decided to poison Meera, but the poison did not affect Meera one bit. Then he finally decided to bring down the temple that he himself once constructed for Meera’s Giridhara Gopala. Unable to bear the insult that her husband inflicted on her lord Giridhara  Gopala Meera decided to leave the palace and left for  the holy land of Vrindavan. The queen of Mewar who until recently was bejeweled with priceless ornaments made a home for herself and settled on the banks of Yamuna. It is said in the puranas that dwelling in Vrindavan is evermore a greater blessing than Vaikunta itself and Gopi Bhava is special to this place.

Once Meera was standing on the banks of Yamuna and was singing Kirtans on Krishna. Some Vaishnavas passing that way recognized her and knowing her greatness, they prostrated in front of Meera and said,” we have come from Dwaraka. The doors of the temple of Dwaraka have remained closed for sometime now and we are of the collective opinion that only a person of your stature can get the doors open and enable everyone have darshan of Srinathji” (the presiding deity of Dwaraka). Meera said, ”I am not a great bhaktha as you think, But  I cannot refuse the  wish  of vaishnava sadhus like you and I will come along with you.” Then along with Meera they left for Dwaraka, singing bhajans all the way.

At Dwaraka Meera Bai sang, ”oh, Krishna, Govardhana prabo, Pranams. Oh, Bhaktavatsala, srinatha, In this world you are the only one I know. You are my father, mother, husband and guru. There is no other protector in this world other than you. I have suffered a lot of trials and tribulations in this samsara. Kesava, please take me in your lotus feet, your leela of shutting yourself in is unbearable for us. So ,oh, Gopala, Accept my prayers, bless me and give darshan. ”To the joy and exclamation of the devotees of srinathji who had gathered around, “The doors  opened, Lord Krishna with his beautiful lotus eyes and broad smile welcomed her and immediately Meera Bai ran into the temple and embraced Krishna .There was a flash of bright light and  She became one with the lord and her form vanished.”

Our Sath Gurunath Maharaj, Sri Sri Krishna Premi says the specialty of Meera’s charithram is that those who read it or listen to her life stories will develop absolute Prema bhakti.

Monday:

NOOOOO!!!! The weekend flew by! UGH. I HATE A days because we have math. I hate math! It’s so UGH! We took a test today. Then we took another one but we didn’t finish. D< Some stupid drama in math because I forgot my math book and had to do part of it on the internet.  ):< I wasn’t the only forgetful one! Then we went to science, we really didn’t do much there. Went to lunch, ate, then went to music. Whoop-de-doo. I got my trombone. ):< Can’t take it home yet though. The case is two things.

1. HEAVY

2. BIG

Not so fun ):< it gets even bigger than it already is AND it’s half my height in the case! God, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna hit the kid in front of me. I didn’t know it was gonna sound funny either when I volunteered for it.

Did my homework and my friends got all snobby because I didn’t want to continue 6-waying with them XD I kept telling them I had homework left, which was true. >:3 I am not up for that stuff. Plus, every time I answered they screamed in my ear D< NOT FUN.

‘ Til tomorrow! Bai-Bai

Tuesday:

D< Today was BLEH.  L.A was okay, then geography was awful, and we got geography homework, plus, in computers we barely had any play time ): Then I was completely angry at Sophia because she  left me on hold for like 10 mins. Then I saw that wordpress didn’t let GIFS actually move. So, I can’t put moving pics or anything. Care to complain anyone? Oh, and I made a poll :3

He turned his eyes back to the table. The diary he was staring at was replaced by a plate of food. There was a chapatti, some cooked vegetables and curry.

The meal was delicious. At least it looked to be so. She would make him a different type of curry and use different vegetables everyday. She ensured that he had three meals every day. He did not have much strength in his body, but he would eat his meals well. He had a good appetite and a taste of good food would always linger in his mouth.

He looked at the TV and broadcast had resumed. Using the towel that was hanging from his chair he wiped his mouth after finishing the meal. The hands retracted to a convenient position on his lap and eyes fixated to the CRT.

“I will come a little late tomorrow”, she told him while lifting his plate from there.

“Why? Everyday you come late anyway!”, with a shrewd smile he replied.

“I need to go to the market, the vegetables in your fridge are all over.”

“Why don’t you make some black chana for me tomorrow?”, saying this his face lit up. “If you don’t have the time, just soak them in water before you leave and I will make it myself.”

He really liked chana (black chickpeas). It was also something that he could cook. It is simple. Just stir fry in some oil and add some pepper and salt to taste. Voilà! The chana were ready, as he liked them! There were some more simple recipes that he could prepare. One of them was French Toast. For him it was as simple as dipping the bread in a batter of egg, milk, and sugar and then shallow frying it in some oil.

Before leaving, she refilled the glass of water on the table. Once she left, the house was back to the state it was in before she came. Only now it felt a bit hotter after all the cooking. He was tired. There was a photo of a lady hanging from the wall in front of him. She looked a bit old, though not so old as him. She was wearing a simple sari with a piece of it covering her head. There was an enigmatic smile that at first sight seemed natural. Though it was more like the smile on a person’s face once he or she has realised the truth out there. The smile showed satisfaction and completeness. Looking at her would make you feel happy from inside.

Turning off the television, he looked at the photo and closed his eyes in silence. Almost as if to pray. Yet another day had got over…

Please note: This story is part 1.5 in continuation of Melody of Life

During  recent  years  there  has  been  an  unprecedented  expansion  in  the  range  of commercial  banking  products  labelled  as  “Shari`ah  compliant”  in  many  countries  of  the world.

Popular  interest  among  Muslims  in  the  Shari`ah  of  financial  transactions  has increased  likewise,  and  in  the  United  Kingdom  the  permissibility  of  so-called  “Islamic mortgages”  is  among  the  most  frequent  topics  of  enquiry.  We  therefore  thought  it
appropriate  to record here what we see as  the main problems associated with  this product class from  the perspective of Shari`ah,  knowing  that many  of our criticisms can be equally well applied  to other  types of  product  that are  currently available from the  Islamic banking sector.  Scholars who  have  approved  the  main  forms  of  Islamic mortgage  will no  doubt
disagree  with  some  elements  of  our  criticism. We mean  them  no  harm,  and  remind  the
reader  that  Allah  has  decreed  the  existence  of  differences  among  people,  including

Muslims, as one of  the  tests by which Paradise may be attained.

Download full book below

Islamic_mortgages

Source : Islamic-finance.com

He opened up his diary kept in the drawer. And started flipping pages, trying to read hard, and find something in it.

Running his finger line by line through the diary, his eyes became as narrow as a slit used in Fraunhofer’s experiment. The pages had turned yellow and the binding had come loose. A blue plastic on the cover of the diary read ‘Allahabad Bank’ with the year ‘1989’ written below it. It had hundreds of names, numbers, addresses, accounts and a lot of other information. I believe, diaries are always like that, especially if they belong to a few decades in the past. Today the world is moving to a paper-free note-keeping and diaries are rare, but go back to those days and you would find almost everyone running around to get the latest diary at the beginning of a new calendar year. There used to be different types of diaries to keep daily notes, and different ones to keep phone numbers and addresses. While the notes diaries were by date and month, the address books would be by the alphabet. Even today you would find those in the stationery stores, but people have moved on to computers.

However, there was something special in that diary that would catch anybody’s eyes. Each page had a repetitive feel to it. There was a pattern.  Each page started with neatly written names and numbers, written perhaps with a black ball point pen. As you would scroll down the page, the letters would get more slanting. At the very bottom of the page, the letters no longer resembled those on the top of the page. There was a distinct blur in each letter of the alphabet caused by shakiness of an unsteady hand. Loss of grip was caused by a loss of strength. While each letter on the top of the page was made by a average single stroke of the pen, each letter on the bottom of the page looked as if made by thousands of horizontal zigzag strokes. Many of them were written in pencil. The last few words on each page were almost illegible to anyone other than him.

One would almost think that his life was scribbled in that diary.

Suddenly, his face lit up as if he had found his lost treasure. His wrinkled face extended to bear a semi-full smile. “Six-three-five-zero-two-four-one”, he read out, and once again.

Picking up the receiver he dialled the six digits.

“This number does not exist, please check the number and dial again”, was the rude reply he got from the other end.  The wrinkles on his face slowly went back to form the shape of the expression, the type when his back pains terribly. He kept the receiver back on the phone and slowly closed the diary. His eyes were still on the cover of the diary and his sight was fixed. His mind was certainly nowhere around. It was wandering somewhere else.

She came out from the kitchen with his dinner. He looked at the her. She was quick to take the diary from the top of the table and put it back in the drawer, she made some space to keep the plate. He turned his eyes back to the table. The diary he was staring at was replaced by a plate of food. There was a chapatti, some cooked vegetables and curry.

Please note: This story is part 1.4 in continuation of Melody of Life