The Haunting

We just came back from a short, ambulance cheapest information pills but nevertheless long-anticipated-with-relish, pulmonologist holiday to Bangalore and the Jungle Lodges Resort at Kyathadevarayangudi - KGudi for short. The resort itself is right inside the Biligiri Ranganna Hills Wildlife Sanctuary, life about 86 kilometres from Mysore. Its setting is quite picturesque - it has its own waterhole, and the tented cottages and log huts blend in perfectly with the surroundings. Since the resort itself is plonked right in the middle of the jungle, quite a bit of animal and bird life can be spotted right from one's balcony. The programme included two jeep safaris a day - one at daybreak and one at sunset. The safaris were the most strenuous ones I've been on yet - some of the trails looked difficult even to traverse on foot, but the jeeps (and the drivers - Nagesh and Thapa being the pick of the lot) handled them with ease. This being the dry season, we came across large tracts of the forest razed to the ground by forest fires. We were told that the fires had been set off by tribals angry at the ban on their collecting non-wood forest produce (a traditional right usually allowed to be exercised) from within the sanctuary, but I am a bit chary of the reliability of the source of this information. At quite a few places, we actually came across smouldering logs and blazing fires. Wildlife spotted included the usual suspects - chital, sambar, barking deer, gaur, langurs, bonnet macaques, wild boar, mongooses, a Malabar Giant squirrel and a solitary tusker. We did manage to see quite a bit of bird life though - woodpeckers (both green and goldenbacked), a crested hawk eagle polishing off its freshly-caught prey, a brown fish owl keeping vigil at a waterhole, an oriental honey buzzard majestically surveying its surroundings, pigeons, hill mynahs, chloropses, minivets, pittas and drongos (including the very cool racquet-tailed ones!). This was also the first real test for my new Fujifilm Finepix S9500 - I got a few decent pictures, but I think I still have not come to terms fully with the machine. Here are a few of them, using the cool embed feature from Webshots. Kyathadevarayangudi We just came back from a short, physician recipe but nevertheless long-anticipated-with-relish, holiday to Bangalore and the Jungle Lodges Resort at Kyathadevarayangudi - KGudi for short. The resort itself is right inside the Biligiri Ranganna Hills Wildlife Sanctuary, about 86 kilometres from Mysore. Its setting is quite picturesque - it has its own waterhole, and the tented cottages and log huts blend in perfectly with the surroundings. Since the resort itself is plonked right in the middle of the jungle, quite a bit of animal and bird life can be spotted right from one's balcony. The programme included two jeep safaris a day - one at daybreak and one at sunset. The safaris were the most strenuous ones I've been on yet - some of the trails looked difficult even to traverse on foot, but the jeeps (and the drivers - Nagesh and Thapa being the pick of the lot) handled them with ease. This being the dry season, we came across large tracts of the forest razed to the ground by forest fires. We were told that the fires had been set off by tribals angry at the ban on their collecting non-wood forest produce (a traditional right usually allowed to be exercised) from within the sanctuary, but I am a bit chary of the reliability of the source of this information. At quite a few places, we actually came across smouldering logs and blazing fires. Wildlife spotted included the usual suspects - chital, sambar, barking deer, gaur, langurs, bonnet macaques, wild boar, mongooses, a Malabar Giant squirrel and a solitary tusker. We did manage to see quite a bit of bird life though - woodpeckers (both green and goldenbacked), a crested hawk eagle polishing off its freshly-caught prey, a brown fish owl keeping vigil at a waterhole, an oriental honey buzzard majestically surveying its surroundings, pigeons, hill mynahs, chloropses, minivets, pittas and drongos (including the very cool racquet-tailed ones!). This was also the first real test for my new Fujifilm Finepix S9500 - I got a few decent pictures, but I think I still have not come to terms fully with the machine. Here are a few of them, using the cool embed feature from Webshots.

Kyathadevarayangudi We just came back from a short, physician recipe but nevertheless long-anticipated-with-relish, holiday to Bangalore and the Jungle Lodges Resort at Kyathadevarayangudi - KGudi for short. The resort itself is right inside the Biligiri Ranganna Hills Wildlife Sanctuary, about 86 kilometres from Mysore. Its setting is quite picturesque - it has its own waterhole, and the tented cottages and log huts blend in perfectly with the surroundings. Since the resort itself is plonked right in the middle of the jungle, quite a bit of animal and bird life can be spotted right from one's balcony. The programme included two jeep safaris a day - one at daybreak and one at sunset. The safaris were the most strenuous ones I've been on yet - some of the trails looked difficult even to traverse on foot, but the jeeps (and the drivers - Nagesh and Thapa being the pick of the lot) handled them with ease. This being the dry season, we came across large tracts of the forest razed to the ground by forest fires. We were told that the fires had been set off by tribals angry at the ban on their collecting non-wood forest produce (a traditional right usually allowed to be exercised) from within the sanctuary, but I am a bit chary of the reliability of the source of this information. At quite a few places, we actually came across smouldering logs and blazing fires. Wildlife spotted included the usual suspects - chital, sambar, barking deer, gaur, langurs, bonnet macaques, wild boar, mongooses, a Malabar Giant squirrel and a solitary tusker. We did manage to see quite a bit of bird life though - woodpeckers (both green and goldenbacked), a crested hawk eagle polishing off its freshly-caught prey, a brown fish owl keeping vigil at a waterhole, an oriental honey buzzard majestically surveying its surroundings, pigeons, hill mynahs, chloropses, minivets, pittas and drongos (including the very cool racquet-tailed ones!). This was also the first real test for my new Fujifilm Finepix S9500 - I got a few decent pictures, but I think I still have not come to terms fully with the machine. Here are a few of them, using the cool embed feature from Webshots.

Kyathadevarayangudi The 25th of March will no longer be known as an ordinary day, information pills but as the day the hamlet of Hafeezpet declared in one voice, viagra here "We will not remain quietly in the dark! We will not remain unwired for long! We are going online! We have Internet! Heh heh - just couldn't resist that! Finally, almost four months after moving to Hafeezpet, I have internet. Granted, it is just cable, and from an unheard of ISP (called Teja network I think), but it is still better than no internet at all. The speed seems to be decent, and the price is not too high. Of course, time will tell how reliable this supposedly always on connection really is! We just came back from a short, physician recipe but nevertheless long-anticipated-with-relish, holiday to Bangalore and the Jungle Lodges Resort at Kyathadevarayangudi - KGudi for short. The resort itself is right inside the Biligiri Ranganna Hills Wildlife Sanctuary, about 86 kilometres from Mysore. Its setting is quite picturesque - it has its own waterhole, and the tented cottages and log huts blend in perfectly with the surroundings. Since the resort itself is plonked right in the middle of the jungle, quite a bit of animal and bird life can be spotted right from one's balcony. The programme included two jeep safaris a day - one at daybreak and one at sunset. The safaris were the most strenuous ones I've been on yet - some of the trails looked difficult even to traverse on foot, but the jeeps (and the drivers - Nagesh and Thapa being the pick of the lot) handled them with ease. This being the dry season, we came across large tracts of the forest razed to the ground by forest fires. We were told that the fires had been set off by tribals angry at the ban on their collecting non-wood forest produce (a traditional right usually allowed to be exercised) from within the sanctuary, but I am a bit chary of the reliability of the source of this information. At quite a few places, we actually came across smouldering logs and blazing fires. Wildlife spotted included the usual suspects - chital, sambar, barking deer, gaur, langurs, bonnet macaques, wild boar, mongooses, a Malabar Giant squirrel and a solitary tusker. We did manage to see quite a bit of bird life though - woodpeckers (both green and goldenbacked), a crested hawk eagle polishing off its freshly-caught prey, a brown fish owl keeping vigil at a waterhole, an oriental honey buzzard majestically surveying its surroundings, pigeons, hill mynahs, chloropses, minivets, pittas and drongos (including the very cool racquet-tailed ones!). This was also the first real test for my new Fujifilm Finepix S9500 - I got a few decent pictures, but I think I still have not come to terms fully with the machine. Here are a few of them, using the cool embed feature from Webshots.

Kyathadevarayangudi The 25th of March will no longer be known as an ordinary day, information pills but as the day the hamlet of Hafeezpet declared in one voice, viagra here "We will not remain quietly in the dark! We will not remain unwired for long! We are going online! We have Internet! Heh heh - just couldn't resist that! Finally, almost four months after moving to Hafeezpet, I have internet. Granted, it is just cable, and from an unheard of ISP (called Teja network I think), but it is still better than no internet at all. The speed seems to be decent, and the price is not too high. Of course, time will tell how reliable this supposedly always on connection really is! House of Noise and Dust After much house-hunting and agonising, disease found a new flat about four kilometres from work - in the small and backward village of Hafeezpet. No broadband, viagra 40mg newspapers that are delivered well after 8:00 a.m., people who speak nothing other than Telugu, no roads, though we have a highway and a railway track nearby, stone-breaking yards within shouting distance, buffaloes grazing around, a village pond, open defecation all around, hot dusty winds all afternoon - these are but a few characteristics of the charming rural life we lead. On the plus side, it's a mere four kilometre ride for me to work, while for Vidya it's closer to seven. The flat we have moved into is new - in the sense that a few of the others are still being built, and hammering and drilling workmen have to be sent away on a daily basis as it is well after dark. We also tasted the locals' appalling lack of social or civic sense last night - we were woken up by the loud and raucous noise of two drummers and two pipers at 1:45 a.m. I stumbled blearily out of bed and walked out of my front door, only to find the corridor adjoining ours taken up by a bright and awake band of men, robustly drumming and piping away. Upon enquiring with a young man dressed in a tight shiny shirt who happened to step out of the neighbouring flat, I was told that it was the only muhurtham (auspicious time) they had, and that a house-warming ceremony was going on, and that this was their custom. When I appraised him of the time and asked him how long it would go on, he told me it would be over in half an hour. Okay, I said, and went back and tried to sleep. Sure enough, the noise subsided after a while. Just as we were nodding off, it started again, and this time I was mad, and joined by a madder Vidya. We went up to the flat, and told them that it was our custom to sleep at night, and would they please pack up and let everyone else sleep. I was getting a little aggressive and it seemed to work, as the noise totally stopped after that. And so goes on our sojourn at the House of Noise and Dust... Shadab - Real Hyderabadi Biriyani Finally, more than two months after arriving in Hyderabad, I got to taste real Hyderabadi biriyani last Sunday. Sameer, who has been for a few weeks now raving about the biriyani at Shadab, took us for lunch. Located within sight of the Charminar, you cannot ask for a more Hyderabadi atmosphere. If ambience is what you are looking for, then Shadab is definitely not for you. Crowded, with an overflowing waiting area, filled with the aroma of biriyani, the constant chatter of patrons, peeling plaster, questionable upholstery - all this make for atmosphere. If you are lucky enough to get a seat near a window, you can actually catch a glimpse of the Charminar (we did not). The biriyani itself was totally different from anything I have eaten before, no matter what I was told about its provenance. Even the much-vaunted Paradise pales before the biriyani turned out by the ustads of Shadab. Sameer described to us the way the biriyani was made - the rice being cooked in a marinade of meat, wet spices, and a combination of dry spices, the actual contents and proportions of which are known only to the ustad. The portions too were generous - between us, Sameer and I managed to finish off one portion of mutton biriyani, while Vidya's vegetable biriyani went mostly uneaten. We rounded off the meal with a walk around the lanes surrounding the Charminar. Kite Festival 2007 After a sumptuous lunch at Shadab, we went off to the Kite Festival on Necklace Road. We were joined by Ravipprasad, and a most enjoyable time was had by all. The best part was when the kitists (yes, it's a word!) from Mumbai and Mysore flew their fantastic kites and kite trains. A more detailed posts and pictures will follow. I promise! The Police Station After enjoying the local public transport (read shared autos!) for more than two months, we got ourselves a bike last weekend. Nothing spectacular in that, except that on the very next day it was carted away by the traffic police after I had left it parked in an unmarked 'No Parking' zone. I had to go all the way to the police station at eight in the night, pay a fine of two hundred rupees and get it back. Now, the process was simple enough, but I was given two receipts by the policeman who collected the fine from me, one for fifty rupees and another for a hundred and fifty rupees. It was only the next morning that I noticed that the fifty rupee one was for parking in a 'No Parking' zone, but I still haven't been able to figure out what the second one was for. Restaurant-hopping For a long time, the only restaurants we had patronised was Cook's Touch in Jubilee Hills (for its decent afternoon meals), La Calypso in Hafeezpet (yes, we have a restaurant in our village!) for its decent (though pricey) food and location, Angeethi, and Zafraan, where we went with Ritesh and Amrita long ago. Over tha last two weeks, thanks to Dhruv's initiative mostly, we have added to our list - Zafraan Exotica, a small beef biriyani stall called Miraij in Hafeezpet, and Aromas of China. It's good to go with him and Ravipprasad, both hotel-industry refugees, as you can ask stuff like "What the heck is creme broule (or some such)?" and get a real answer for once. We just came back from a short, physician recipe but nevertheless long-anticipated-with-relish, holiday to Bangalore and the Jungle Lodges Resort at Kyathadevarayangudi - KGudi for short. The resort itself is right inside the Biligiri Ranganna Hills Wildlife Sanctuary, about 86 kilometres from Mysore. Its setting is quite picturesque - it has its own waterhole, and the tented cottages and log huts blend in perfectly with the surroundings. Since the resort itself is plonked right in the middle of the jungle, quite a bit of animal and bird life can be spotted right from one's balcony. The programme included two jeep safaris a day - one at daybreak and one at sunset. The safaris were the most strenuous ones I've been on yet - some of the trails looked difficult even to traverse on foot, but the jeeps (and the drivers - Nagesh and Thapa being the pick of the lot) handled them with ease. This being the dry season, we came across large tracts of the forest razed to the ground by forest fires. We were told that the fires had been set off by tribals angry at the ban on their collecting non-wood forest produce (a traditional right usually allowed to be exercised) from within the sanctuary, but I am a bit chary of the reliability of the source of this information. At quite a few places, we actually came across smouldering logs and blazing fires. Wildlife spotted included the usual suspects - chital, sambar, barking deer, gaur, langurs, bonnet macaques, wild boar, mongooses, a Malabar Giant squirrel and a solitary tusker. We did manage to see quite a bit of bird life though - woodpeckers (both green and goldenbacked), a crested hawk eagle polishing off its freshly-caught prey, a brown fish owl keeping vigil at a waterhole, an oriental honey buzzard majestically surveying its surroundings, pigeons, hill mynahs, chloropses, minivets, pittas and drongos (including the very cool racquet-tailed ones!). This was also the first real test for my new Fujifilm Finepix S9500 - I got a few decent pictures, but I think I still have not come to terms fully with the machine. Here are a few of them, using the cool embed feature from Webshots.

Kyathadevarayangudi The 25th of March will no longer be known as an ordinary day, information pills but as the day the hamlet of Hafeezpet declared in one voice, viagra here "We will not remain quietly in the dark! We will not remain unwired for long! We are going online! We have Internet! Heh heh - just couldn't resist that! Finally, almost four months after moving to Hafeezpet, I have internet. Granted, it is just cable, and from an unheard of ISP (called Teja network I think), but it is still better than no internet at all. The speed seems to be decent, and the price is not too high. Of course, time will tell how reliable this supposedly always on connection really is! House of Noise and Dust After much house-hunting and agonising, disease found a new flat about four kilometres from work - in the small and backward village of Hafeezpet. No broadband, viagra 40mg newspapers that are delivered well after 8:00 a.m., people who speak nothing other than Telugu, no roads, though we have a highway and a railway track nearby, stone-breaking yards within shouting distance, buffaloes grazing around, a village pond, open defecation all around, hot dusty winds all afternoon - these are but a few characteristics of the charming rural life we lead. On the plus side, it's a mere four kilometre ride for me to work, while for Vidya it's closer to seven. The flat we have moved into is new - in the sense that a few of the others are still being built, and hammering and drilling workmen have to be sent away on a daily basis as it is well after dark. We also tasted the locals' appalling lack of social or civic sense last night - we were woken up by the loud and raucous noise of two drummers and two pipers at 1:45 a.m. I stumbled blearily out of bed and walked out of my front door, only to find the corridor adjoining ours taken up by a bright and awake band of men, robustly drumming and piping away. Upon enquiring with a young man dressed in a tight shiny shirt who happened to step out of the neighbouring flat, I was told that it was the only muhurtham (auspicious time) they had, and that a house-warming ceremony was going on, and that this was their custom. When I appraised him of the time and asked him how long it would go on, he told me it would be over in half an hour. Okay, I said, and went back and tried to sleep. Sure enough, the noise subsided after a while. Just as we were nodding off, it started again, and this time I was mad, and joined by a madder Vidya. We went up to the flat, and told them that it was our custom to sleep at night, and would they please pack up and let everyone else sleep. I was getting a little aggressive and it seemed to work, as the noise totally stopped after that. And so goes on our sojourn at the House of Noise and Dust... Shadab - Real Hyderabadi Biriyani Finally, more than two months after arriving in Hyderabad, I got to taste real Hyderabadi biriyani last Sunday. Sameer, who has been for a few weeks now raving about the biriyani at Shadab, took us for lunch. Located within sight of the Charminar, you cannot ask for a more Hyderabadi atmosphere. If ambience is what you are looking for, then Shadab is definitely not for you. Crowded, with an overflowing waiting area, filled with the aroma of biriyani, the constant chatter of patrons, peeling plaster, questionable upholstery - all this make for atmosphere. If you are lucky enough to get a seat near a window, you can actually catch a glimpse of the Charminar (we did not). The biriyani itself was totally different from anything I have eaten before, no matter what I was told about its provenance. Even the much-vaunted Paradise pales before the biriyani turned out by the ustads of Shadab. Sameer described to us the way the biriyani was made - the rice being cooked in a marinade of meat, wet spices, and a combination of dry spices, the actual contents and proportions of which are known only to the ustad. The portions too were generous - between us, Sameer and I managed to finish off one portion of mutton biriyani, while Vidya's vegetable biriyani went mostly uneaten. We rounded off the meal with a walk around the lanes surrounding the Charminar. Kite Festival 2007 After a sumptuous lunch at Shadab, we went off to the Kite Festival on Necklace Road. We were joined by Ravipprasad, and a most enjoyable time was had by all. The best part was when the kitists (yes, it's a word!) from Mumbai and Mysore flew their fantastic kites and kite trains. A more detailed posts and pictures will follow. I promise! The Police Station After enjoying the local public transport (read shared autos!) for more than two months, we got ourselves a bike last weekend. Nothing spectacular in that, except that on the very next day it was carted away by the traffic police after I had left it parked in an unmarked 'No Parking' zone. I had to go all the way to the police station at eight in the night, pay a fine of two hundred rupees and get it back. Now, the process was simple enough, but I was given two receipts by the policeman who collected the fine from me, one for fifty rupees and another for a hundred and fifty rupees. It was only the next morning that I noticed that the fifty rupee one was for parking in a 'No Parking' zone, but I still haven't been able to figure out what the second one was for. Restaurant-hopping For a long time, the only restaurants we had patronised was Cook's Touch in Jubilee Hills (for its decent afternoon meals), La Calypso in Hafeezpet (yes, we have a restaurant in our village!) for its decent (though pricey) food and location, Angeethi, and Zafraan, where we went with Ritesh and Amrita long ago. Over tha last two weeks, thanks to Dhruv's initiative mostly, we have added to our list - Zafraan Exotica, a small beef biriyani stall called Miraij in Hafeezpet, and Aromas of China. It's good to go with him and Ravipprasad, both hotel-industry refugees, as you can ask stuff like "What the heck is creme broule (or some such)?" and get a real answer for once. Just finished reading Crichton's latest - Next.

At the end of this "novel, abortion " there is an Author's Note, click which explains five conclusions that Crichton arrived at at the end of his research for this book. However, approved it is hard to believe that these conclusions were made at the end of research for this book, for the whole book seems to be a moral fable that tells tales illustrating and reinforcing each of these conclusions. This renders the book a narrative of denouements - without enough of development on either side. But Crichton, being the brilliant author that he is, manages to make the book gripping enough. For Crichton fans, this is a must read, even if it is a bit preachy. Non-fans may find it a bit condescending, but what do they know! For someone who has never read Crichton before, stay away, and read Eaters of the Dead or Jurassic Park or Disclosure first.

For those who want to dive into Next, here is the collection of links titled "Internet Sources" that appears at the end of the book. Read these, and reading the book will be that much of a richer experience!

Berlusconi's fat becomes soap
'Berlusconi's fat' moulded to art
Blonde Extinction
Blondes 'to die out in 200 years'
Extinction of Blondes Vastly Overreported, Media Fail to Check Root of 'Study'
Genetic Savings and Clone
Marco Evaristti, Polpette al grasso di Marco, 2006 (to fry in his own fat)
It Really Hauls Ass
Families Sue Hospital, Scientist for Control of Canavan Gene
The Cactus Project
Tissue engineering: The beat goes on
Clarification of erroneous news reports indicating WHO genetic research on hair colour Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, help we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, help we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, tadalafil we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, help we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, tadalafil we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. I'm writing this on my phone, site using moblog. Everything so far has been good - the download was smooth and the installation was glitch-free. I was able to add my profile and blog without any hassle. Now is the big test - how easy is it to post? Since the whole thing runs offline on my phone, phthisiatrician actually writing the post is pretty straightforward and doesn't depend on the gprs. Basic formatting options - bold, italics and underline - as well as image insertion is available from the right menu while the left menu provides a few post options. Now I'm going to post this thing - here goes nothing! Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, help we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, tadalafil we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. I'm writing this on my phone, site using moblog. Everything so far has been good - the download was smooth and the installation was glitch-free. I was able to add my profile and blog without any hassle. Now is the big test - how easy is it to post? Since the whole thing runs offline on my phone, phthisiatrician actually writing the post is pretty straightforward and doesn't depend on the gprs. Basic formatting options - bold, italics and underline - as well as image insertion is available from the right menu while the left menu provides a few post options. Now I'm going to post this thing - here goes nothing! I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, ed on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, order I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, ed of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, help we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, tadalafil we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. I'm writing this on my phone, site using moblog. Everything so far has been good - the download was smooth and the installation was glitch-free. I was able to add my profile and blog without any hassle. Now is the big test - how easy is it to post? Since the whole thing runs offline on my phone, phthisiatrician actually writing the post is pretty straightforward and doesn't depend on the gprs. Basic formatting options - bold, italics and underline - as well as image insertion is available from the right menu while the left menu provides a few post options. Now I'm going to post this thing - here goes nothing! I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, ed on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, order I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, ed of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, drugs on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, denture I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, pills of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, help we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, tadalafil we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. I'm writing this on my phone, site using moblog. Everything so far has been good - the download was smooth and the installation was glitch-free. I was able to add my profile and blog without any hassle. Now is the big test - how easy is it to post? Since the whole thing runs offline on my phone, phthisiatrician actually writing the post is pretty straightforward and doesn't depend on the gprs. Basic formatting options - bold, italics and underline - as well as image insertion is available from the right menu while the left menu provides a few post options. Now I'm going to post this thing - here goes nothing! I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, ed on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, order I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, ed of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, drugs on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, denture I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, pills of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, migraine on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, approved I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, weight loss of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. Finally, thumb medic after months of teasing, sovaldi cost the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. Finally, unhealthy after months of teasing, the price of the Airtel iPhone was revealed. Any hopes I had of buying one were dashed when I got an SMS earlier today with the absurdly high prices of Rs. 31000 (~USD715) for the 8GB version and Rs. 36100 (~USD833) for the 16GB version. Another SMS told me I could book the phone by paying Rs. 5000 at an Airtel retail showroom. A third SMS told me I would then get an appointment to pick up an iPhone after I paid the full price. Even if the price was split into two parts - an upfront payment and a monthly payment of say, Rs. 500 (apart from plan charges) for the next 24 months, that still means I will have to pay Rs. 19000 to get the phone. This of course is idle speculation, and will be proved wrong by the full details which will be announced in a few hours. Pricing it higher than any other phone in the market (practically) seems to be a deliberate ploy to keep the demand within handleable limits. So, like all other Apple products, I will give this too the go by, as it is way beyond anything I'm willing to spend on a phone right now. To put the cost in perspective, the splendid computer I'm using right now to write this post - I paid Rs.23000 for a couple of months ago, and for the bike I have, I paid about Rs. 28000 a year ago! If I had that kind of money to spare, Vidya and I would go and watch the F1 race in Singapore, or make that trip to the Himalayas we've been putting off for so long. If I had that kind of money to blow on electronics, I'd buy myself a D40 and some decent accessories. When we were in Coimbatore recently, ampoule we drove past where the Pannikoil, decease or the Temple of the Pig, case flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, disorder we drove past where the Pannikoil, pills or the Temple of the Pig, cardiologist flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, help we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her.  Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. When we were in Coimbatore recently, tadalafil we drove past where the Pannikoil, or the Temple of the Pig, flourished for a brief period. Here is the story of the unlikely prophetess. This happened sometime between 1982 and 1986 - these were the years we spent in a house on VNK Thevar Street in the Ramanathapuram area in Coimbatore. If you come down Nanjundapuram Road from the Ramanathapuram junction, just after you pass Amsa the fishmonger's shop, a left turn takes you past a Murugan temple to a Mariamma temple. This is our setting. One day, some people saw a sow behaving strangely. She kept going round and round, making circles like a puppy chasing its own tail. The rather simple-minded folk that inhabited those parts came to the only logical conclusion possible to them – the sow had been possessed by Aaththaa – a generic name given to any of the local mother-goddesses (manifestations of Parvathi, the Little-tradition-Great-tradition proponents will scream, but never mind). The goddess had chosen the humble sow as her Prophetess, and the populace would do their best to make things comfortable for her. Accordingly, a shelter was made under the sacred pipal tree that was conveniently nearby. Green coconut fronds were fashioned into a rough shelter, where the sacred sow was confined. She was smeared with turmeric, an honour usually reserved for cattle during the annual cattle festival (Maattu Pongal, for those in the know), and her forehead covered with vermilion. People came from all the surrounding villages to see the sow that was favoured by the goddess and they brought gifts of fruits and vegetables. Traffic jams in the area were frequent occurrences. The local people were gratified that they had been lucky enough to be chosen by the goddess, and they shed tears of joy. The Porcine Prophetess herself, however, was not too impressed. She would frequently escape from her shelter, seeking the company of others of her kind. None too often, devotees of the goddess would run after her, and wrestle her back into the shelter they had made for her. Catching her was made rather easier by the fact that her diet of the choicest fruits and vegetables had made her a bit porky, and she couldn’t run very fast, nor very far. After a few such escape attempts, she realized that running away during the daytime was frowned upon, while in the nights there wasn’t anyone watching over her and she could do as she pleased. So she took to remaining indoors during the day and escaping during the night. She took care to return before daybreak, and all was well. Like all good things, this too had to come to an end, and it did a few weeks later, when the Prophetess gave birth to a litter of twelve small piglets. Suddenly, the local populace decided that the goddess had left the Prophetess, and drove the sow out with oaths and sticks and stones. The rude shelter was pulled down, and the Temple of the Pig was no more. I'm writing this on my phone, site using moblog. Everything so far has been good - the download was smooth and the installation was glitch-free. I was able to add my profile and blog without any hassle. Now is the big test - how easy is it to post? Since the whole thing runs offline on my phone, phthisiatrician actually writing the post is pretty straightforward and doesn't depend on the gprs. Basic formatting options - bold, italics and underline - as well as image insertion is available from the right menu while the left menu provides a few post options. Now I'm going to post this thing - here goes nothing! I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, ed on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, order I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, ed of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, drugs on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, denture I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, pills of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. I am suddenly faced with a dilemma. I've written a lot of stuff and it is located at different places on the Internet. Whatever is offline now lives here, migraine on Blogocentricity. For the past few days, approved I've been wondering if I should "bring everything home." I would, weight loss of course, leave the originals where they are and credit them as the original sources. So, what's the dilemma, you ask? Two things really - one from my point of view, and another from the original publisher's point of view. From my point of view, it's rather simple - will it be worth the time and effort I put into it, and where in Blogocentricity will I slot them in? The time and effort bit can easily be answered by the fact that most of these are really old writings and republishing them might just give them a new lease of life. Where to slot them is really an operational question, and I would do well to treat everything as fresh content. From the original publisher's point of view, again, what I do will be merely giving their content more exposure. I am, however, worried about how they will react - will they send me a notice to take it down, or will they ignore it? Most probably, they wouldn't even notice. As always, writing it down seems to have solved it for me - I am going to bring them home, and I will start with my favorite, a short story I wrote under a pseudonym back in 2002. Originally published on Sulekha, web back when it was a creative writing community, in June 2002 It all started eight days ago. It was a hot and sticky night, like all summer nights in the coastal city where I live. Paru and I were sleeping together -- as all long-married couples do I'm sure -- on the same bed, but slightly apart, unable to bear each other's touch in the heat. The humidity was killing, and the madly-spinning fan hardly helped. Paru was asleep, asleep with the sleep that comes after a sixteen-hour workday. I was awake, awake with the wakefulness that comes after an unproductive day writing. Slowly, as I drifted into sleep, I began to paint. People sing in bathrooms. When they are alone, they hum their favourite tunes to keep themselves company. Sometimes, the tunes they hum are indicative of their mood -- happy, sad, aggressive, ecstatic, down in the dumps -- whatever. But me, I have always painted. Ever since I was a kid, I never sang. Rather, I painted everything around me. My bathroom is my Sistine Chapel, my bedroom rivals the Louvre, and my works are right up there with the da Vincis and Picassos. Whenever I am alone, I paint. And my painting reflects my moods very accurately. A black day has paintings in sombre shades of blue and grey. A great day has vivid reds and yellows screaming happiness. That night, my painting was as a soft, longing melody. Slowly caressing me, as in pastels I drew abstract figures of love and longing. My senses were heightened and the pleasure I experienced grew and grew. As my painting became more and more pleasurable, I drifted into a sleep where I was one with ecstasy. It would have been difficult to get to sleep otherwise on a hot humid night like that one. When I began dreaming, it was like most of my dreams -- vivid and in screaming colour. I was at a wedding in a large wedding hall. Paru was somewhere -- I couldn't see her, but I knew she was there. I went looking for a wash-basin to wash my hands. Why, I never knew -- I simply had to wash my hands -- the ununderstandable logic of dreams was in full flow. I finally found the wash-basins in a narrow corridor. There were two of them, on opposite walls, positioned in such a way that when one was using one wash-basin, there would be little space left in front of the other one. I set about washing my hands, and as I was rubbing them vigourously, I felt rather than saw someone coming to use the other wash-basin. I pressed myself against the wash-basin, giving the other person as much space as possible. I could see in the mirror that it was a young woman, dressed in a white cotton top and jeans. She squeezed into the space between my back and the other wash-basin. As I went back to washing my hands, I could feel her pressing into me from behind. More than anything, I was embarrassed, and stepped aside with an “Excuse me.” “It's okay,” she said, and stepped around to the wash-basin I was using. She looked brightly at me and smiled. When I saw her face, it was as if something hit me. She was pixie-faced, Arwen Evenstar without her ethereality, an earthy fairy, a sensuous angel. And all I saw of her was her face -- I could see nothing more, and I knew that I was bewitched. She did not say anything else -- just smiled at me and walked away. After that, I kept seeing her at different places, but always as a fleeting image in a distance. I woke up breathless and in a flutter. I did not know what to do. I was bewitched by a woman in my dream. I gulped down half a bottle of cold water. It made me sweat even more. I sat under the fan in the living room till the sweat dried before making my way back to the bedroom. And through this all, blissfully oblivious to everything, Paru slept on. Paru and I have been married for six years. We have slipped into a comfortable relationship with each other. I love her with everything I have, and she loves me with a fierce possessiveness that is sometimes terrifying, sometimes comforting. Her earning keeps the home fires burning, while I have been trying to be a writer for the past year and a half. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. But not Paru. She shares my dream. Or at least she says she does. I have been moderately successful, though not in the monetary sense. Paru waits patiently for the Book that will release us from the drudgery of having to work for someone else. Six years of living together has made me acutely aware of her sensitive points and I avoid them studiously. It makes life much more easy and there is so much more companionship. Occasionally, I am careless, and fights happen, but they are patched up very quickly. We both feel that each fight leaves us more securely bonded to each other. I tried to go back to sleep, but was unable to for a long time. Finally, when I fell asleep, I dreamt of being back in college, and everything was so vivid. I was just beginning to look around, when she flashed by at a distance. At first, I thought I was imagining it (It does sound weird, doesn't it – “thought I imagined it” indeed! It was a dream damnit!). Then I caught sight of her -- the same pixie face. She was not looking at me, she was not doing anything to attract my attention. She was just there, and I knew it. As I tried to get closer to her, she vanished into a crowd. Thrice I saw her, and thrice I got no more than a passing glimpse of her. I woke up again, this time with an ache that I could not explain. I sat up in bed, trying to work things out. Why was this happening? Why was this girl haunting me? And who in the name of all that's sacred and profane was she? “Come on,” part of me said, “you're being paranoid. You've seen the girl in two separate dreams on the same day. Surely you cannot imagine that she's 'haunting' you.” But the voice was weak. I knew, from deep down inside to right up above, that I was bewitched. I stayed awake the rest of the night. I must have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion -- I was shaken awake from a dreamless sleep by Paru. Throughout the day I was distracted, and my mind kept wandering back to my pixie-faced tormentor. This was a very strange thing that was happening. I went over what I had done over the last few days. I could not put my finger on any event that could have triggered off this haunting. I could not concentrate on anything else and could not write a word. And I dreaded the arrival of the night when I would have to face her again. It was worse the second night. No sooner had I closed my eyes than she was there. Flitting away at the slightest sign of my approaching her. I recall nothing else about the dream, except that I kept seeing her at a distance, and she kept going away whenever I tried to approach her. I could not bear it any more and resolved to stay awake the entire night. I sat up in bed, but did not switch on the light -- Paru hates the light to be on while she slept. Again, I must have fallen into a dreamless sleep from exhaustion, and was shaken awake by Paru in the morning. Over breakfast I told Paru about it. I expected her to shrug it off and say that it would be gone in a couple of days. Her reaction surprised me. She reacted sharply, accusing me of dreaming of other women when she was there. With that she turned away, carrying her now-empty bowl of cornflakes and coffee cup to the kitchen and dumping it in the sink. The sound of the bowl hitting the sink told me she was upset. The day was agony -- Paru took an autorickshaw to work, and responded to my phone calls in monosyllables. She was still hurting, and was letting me know it. In the evening, she was tearful, though not apologetic. I calmed her down saying that it was all right and I would get over it. That the haunting seemed to be over and that I would sleep well that night. She chose to believe that and was happy. That night, I curled up to sleep with my head in the crook of my arm, staring into the darkness, not daring to close my eyes. For I knew she was waiting just beyond consciousness. Waiting to lead me from agony to more agony. I did not sleep that night at all, and was awake when the milkman rang the bell. The first thing Paru asked me when she woke up was whether everything was okay. “Yes, everything's fine,” I lied to her. My burden was mine alone and I could not share it with even Paru. I desperately thought of whom I could talk about this. As I sat and took stock, I found that I had no one to whom I could even tell my tale of woe. Slowly, over the years, Paru and I had had only each other for company and had phased out all other friends. And the only person with whom I could share this was not taking this with equanimity. A wild thought occurred to me. Maybe I could talk to Suri about this. He and I were best buddies since college and had shared everything. But that was before Paru came in and claimed me for her own. Suri was in fact the only friend I had for a long time after the wedding. But he had left two years ago in pursuit of a better career and a better love life. He was now somewhere in the US. Three hours of fruitless searching on the Internet left me where I had been -- alone with my haunting. So went by eight sleepless and semi-sleepless nights. I was a wreck. Paru could see it, but was unwilling to acknowledge it. As I searched in vain for a way out of this conundrum, an idea struck me. It occurred to me that I could actually write about it. This very writing has been cathartic. Having put my burden into words, I feel lighter, freer, and rid of my pixie-faced tormentor. I feel, in my heart of hearts, that she will return no more. That my slumber will be peaceful and full of exciting dreams. I am already painting in reds and yellows. Huge butterflies soaring like eagles. Gaugin would have killed to paint like me. I am free… perhaps.