<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438</id><updated>2012-04-15T22:05:44.768-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Dream Diary</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>30</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-1818298411035832715</id><published>2008-07-01T22:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-23T11:47:40.218-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A tryst with Kat</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Of late, Katrina Kaif is one actress I love to watch, and so, she happily agreed to meet me in my dream.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The dream didn't have much content. The setting is of some restaurant I think. I am a journalist, ready to meet Kat for an interview. I am sitting on a chair and then I see her coming towards me. She's dressed in a red top and blue jeans, looking amazing as usual. She sits on the chair opposite mine. I then notice that for some strange reason she is wearing orange contact lenses. Weird. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I sit there staring at her. That's it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-1818298411035832715?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1818298411035832715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=1818298411035832715' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/1818298411035832715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/1818298411035832715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2008/07/tryst-with-kat.html' title='A tryst with Kat'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-2925697692045722168</id><published>2008-05-18T21:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-18T09:21:52.518-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ambilight</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;I am at my friend PK's house in Singapore ( How he managed to get a house there is a mystery. Al l that I know is that he did an intern there) and we are sitting in the hall (all of its walls are painted white) watching TV. On the wall against which is the sofa we are sitting on,  is a huge glass screen that has a wire going from it to a box on the left wall. We do some tp and then he shows me whats in that box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The box is a controller for the glass screen. He clicks some buttons on the panel inside the box and the glass screen changes color and with it the ambient light in the room since its placed infront of the twin tubelights on the wall . It was transparent earlier. I then understand wot that contraption does. One can change the lighting in the room with just a few button presses that have some presets defined.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go ahead and play with the controls. Interestingly there's a small mirror too on the panel. Then something strikes me and I pull out my cellphone. (In real life, a few days ago, I had installed an app on the phone that makes the screen go crazy with all kinds of colors flashing... basically the phone becomes a flashlight with presets of color patterns.) I start the app and flash my phone at the mirror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now's the best and the last part. The room's lighting syncs with the patterns on the phone's screen. It looks amazing. I play with it for some time and then...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-2925697692045722168?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2925697692045722168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=2925697692045722168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/2925697692045722168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/2925697692045722168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/ambilight.html' title='Ambilight'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-5915980619978710365</id><published>2008-05-03T22:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-25T10:47:26.681-07:00</updated><title type='text'>From Sun-n-Sand to Imambara</title><content type='html'>This one is pretty brief.. I don't remember the details.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's supposedly a gr8 day in my life. I decide to propose to the girl I love. We go to Sun-n-Sand here in Pune, have our lunch. I propose, she accepts ! Wow..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We come out of the restaurant, give each other a smile and then I give her a big hug. Eyes blink and.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am standing in the middle of the road and its NOT EVEN PUNE.. its Lucknow.. the Imambara's dome shines in the distance. My bag with a gud amt of cash, the ring I gave her and most importantly the girl.. all go missing..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. : I don't even remember her face :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-5915980619978710365?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5915980619978710365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=5915980619978710365' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/5915980619978710365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/5915980619978710365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2008/05/from-sun-n-sand-to-imambara.html' title='From Sun-n-Sand to Imambara'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-7561648089142805888</id><published>2008-01-03T21:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T09:24:18.329-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back With a Bang !</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The stories start again! This one, though is not an adventurous tale. It's about something that I wanted to be done and it got done :D&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The Maharashtra electricity board has a nice website where one can pay bills directly by credit card etc. We (Neo and me) used that option way back on 30th Nov of last year but as we all know, govt. matters take their time. And it did take more than a month !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Till the 31st of Dec the site showed that we hadn't paid the bill and the next bills kept on inflating. Last night, I had this dream where I saw that the payment was now showing online and that the subsequent bill had been adjusted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;So the first thing I did today morning was to check the website; and BANG! IT DID SHOW UP AS PAID !&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;What a start to a new year :D&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-7561648089142805888?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7561648089142805888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=7561648089142805888' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/7561648089142805888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/7561648089142805888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2008/01/back-with-bang.html' title='Back With a Bang !'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-6797043431456740469</id><published>2007-09-14T22:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-08T20:14:35.109-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Be back pretty soon!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="FONT-STYLE: italic; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;It's been more than a year since I last scribbled somethin here.. Lots of things happened and I didnt pay attention to this baby of mine. Doesn't matter now.. some new stories will be up in the coming days!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="FONT-STYLE: italic; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#f0f0f0;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="FONT-STYLE: italic; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div style="FONT-STYLE: italic; TEXT-ALIGN: justify"&gt;edit : days ~= a few months -&gt; Jan 2008&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-6797043431456740469?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6797043431456740469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=6797043431456740469' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/6797043431456740469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/6797043431456740469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2007/09/be-back-pretty-soon.html' title='Be back pretty soon!'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-6994134349283505390</id><published>2006-06-17T22:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-07T23:00:35.971-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Runaway Groom</title><content type='html'>I am a village boy and the scene start with me running away from home. It's a pretty poor village with people living in lowly conditions. There have been rains for the last few days and so muddy pools can be seen all around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I run and run and reach some other village where I hide in a corner of a abandoned house. I stand there for a few hours without food or water covered up in mud gathered over the past few hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The scene changes. I(I here on my bed , not that village boy) see a search party being formed from the village. They go to look in the neighbouring villages. After a few hours of desperate searching, one young lad with a &lt;em&gt;danda&lt;/em&gt; finds me. Because he had that danda which shook off the thoughts of fighting and running away again, I had to submit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am brought back to village and it is here that the story becomes clear. The time setting is somewhere in India around 50 years back when child marriages were common. I didn't want to marry and hence ran away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now the twist. Since I had run away ,so the girl was married off to some other fat kid and she actually turned out to be my very close friend. What a sad day! I had run away coz of the thought that the girl to be dumped on me was some ugly fat lass.  DHOKHA ho gaya...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-6994134349283505390?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6994134349283505390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=6994134349283505390' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/6994134349283505390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/6994134349283505390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/05/runaway-groom.html' title='The Runaway Groom'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-115280669995098954</id><published>2006-06-05T08:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-27T05:39:25.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I am Hitman</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This is really cool… I just got my hands on the latest Hitman game and the first night after playing a bit of it, I am already into it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen only a few levels, and the second one with a waterfall as the backdrop is the location of this adventure. I am Hitman, and I walk into a hut like structure on the cliff opposite the waterfall. Mr. Target is standing by the window, gazing at the beauty of the falling hydrogen and oxygen atoms; not having the slightest of idea as to what comes up behind him. I approach him, and as silently as ever, release his soul from the evil body by a clever use of a contraption called a fiber-wire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I casually walk outside to have a look at what the deceased was looking at moments ago. And as an alibi of sorts, there comes a lady teacher with a group of blind children to have a picnic at the place. The way it is to be put is that I have accompanied her from the school to this place along with the children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty foolish actually, since Hitman is a shadowy figure and an alibi is definitely not what he needs. Nobody has proof he exists, so why this alibi thing?&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-115280669995098954?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/115280669995098954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=115280669995098954' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115280669995098954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115280669995098954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/06/i-am-hitman.html' title='I am Hitman'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-115219170663193858</id><published>2006-05-24T22:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-06T06:43:20.036-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A plethora of questions and a marriage procession</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The women activists wud surely like this one as it shows some place and time where the bride gets to ride on a royal horse chariot to her wedding unlike the normal way where the to be slaughtered &lt;em&gt;gadha&lt;/em&gt; goes on a &lt;em&gt;ghoda&lt;/em&gt;.  I find myself among this huge crowd going somewhere. There's a horse chariot in the middle and people all around it consisting of bandwallahs and kids and aunties and uncles and of course the bride. It is more like a &lt;em&gt;rath-yatra&lt;/em&gt; that the good for nothing &lt;em&gt;neta log&lt;/em&gt; of this country take out every now and then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somebody on the loudspeaker then starts calling my name as if they are looking for me. I get the impression that I am the bride's brother and that some ritual needs to be performed before the procession enters the grooms' territory. I move towards the chariot and take a look at the girl. A flash in the inner sanctums of my brain says &lt;em&gt;'No way in the world could that girl possibly be your sister'&lt;/em&gt;. Sensing trouble, (by the way, in my dreams I have senses more powerful than what that kiddo Peter Parker calls his &lt;em&gt;spidy-sense&lt;/em&gt;) I try to move out of the crowd and towards the sidewalks from where I run towards the building that looms large straight ahead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is the railway station, but quite unlike the ones we have here in India. Again, my senses tell me that it looks more like a British station, somewhat like they have in &lt;em&gt;Harry da Puttar&lt;/em&gt;. The platform is huge. I pause, drink water and then keep moving forward until I enter a large hall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A large audience is seated in that auditorium. As soon as I enter, a few attendants come by my side and escort me to the stage as if I was expected there. I don’t have a clue as to what is going on. A quiz competition is what the audience is there for and I am a member of one of two teams. I take my place and the questions start.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Round after round passes on and we collect very few points. My teammates look annoyed with my performance as if I was the genius supposed to give all the answers. We lose and ….&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-115219170663193858?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/115219170663193858/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=115219170663193858' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115219170663193858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115219170663193858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/05/plethora-of-questions-and-marriage.html' title='A plethora of questions and a marriage procession'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-115219115157654410</id><published>2006-05-08T06:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-07-06T06:10:02.610-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where r the Nazis ?</title><content type='html'>This one is not so clear... I am a part of some army squad and we are attacking some house that supposedly has Germans hiding. The place is a real mess. We had never thought of conducting a raid at such a place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The building has been heavily hit because of the continuous shelling from our side... All I can relate to is the bunkers and the areas that the enemy soldiers used to frequent in Call of Duty and Wolfenstein.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In searching the place, we make it even more shabby and rotten. Food, clothes, oil, bullet shells all are lying about here and there. Small blood pools can also be seen. After some inspection, when no Nazi is found, the commander gives an order to burn down the house. So we do as ordered and watch the flames touch the feet of God who is seeing the war and destruction going on in this world from His balcony seat. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-115219115157654410?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/115219115157654410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=115219115157654410' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115219115157654410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115219115157654410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/05/where-r-nazis_08.html' title='Where r the Nazis ?'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-115008806288989118</id><published>2006-04-20T23:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-11T21:54:22.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Water from a laptop</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The setting is of a time during or around the WW II. The place resembles the many towns that were shown in Saving Private Ryan or any of the WW II games. Mom, dad and I are hiding behind a wall that has a considerable portion blown off to form a U shaped cut in the wall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We jump across and take cover behind a van parked there. All is quiet. The houses around are in rubble. Quickly we run across the road and dad takes us up a flight of stairs. We enter a room which looks pretty normal. No signs of any damage whatsoever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An elderly man is sitting on a chair. Dad goes up to him and talks about something. Then he asks us if we need water. Now, water was definitely needed as we had been running and hiding for over two hours. We walk to the other side of the wooden partition and there we see a tap's nozzle. But there's no controller on top of it. It's attached to the bottom of a stupid looking IBM laptop which in turn is connected to a pipe coming from the wall. Very strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man shouts from across the room that we need to press the left-click button on the laptop to get water. We do accordingly and quench our thirst. Pretty innovative considering its the 1940s. Isn't it ?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-115008806288989118?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/115008806288989118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=115008806288989118' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115008806288989118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115008806288989118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/04/water-from-laptop.html' title='Water from a laptop'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-115008496700538455</id><published>2006-04-11T20:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-06-11T21:02:47.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Free Dinner</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It's an unforgettable day. The opposition parties have somehow enforced a complete closure of all the shops, businesses etc. in Delhi for a day to oppose the government's policies. Even the hostel mess and the canteen are down. It's dinner time and all of us in the hostel are hungry as hell. But, there's no option. All the restaurants, eating joints are closed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Mr. ----- comes up with something in his hand. On close examination it looks like a wedding reception invitation. All sorts of epithets come to my mind for him as he is gonna have a sumptuous dinner while we all here would just roll from side to side on our beds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He hands over the invitation card to me. I think he's giving it to me to have a look. I open up the envelope and take out the card. It says '----- weds -----' ( I don't remember the names). He then points to us that it's his gf's sister's wedding. I take another look at the card and an anomaly crops up. His gf's name starts with the same letter but it's a different name...which means a different girl. When did he end with his last endeavour that he is now into a new one ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, three of us get a free dinner invite and we are off to Noida in a car (supposedly his gf's car).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-115008496700538455?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/115008496700538455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=115008496700538455' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115008496700538455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/115008496700538455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/04/free-dinner.html' title='Free Dinner'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-114581896285750879</id><published>2006-03-31T12:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-04-23T12:05:35.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cola with Parizad</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The setting is of a place which looks quite like my Nani's. I am in my room sitting and doing something. A few moments later I come downstairs because of the noise that is constantly hitting my ears. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Across the road is a plot enclosed in a walled boundary having a big iron gate. A few vans and cars are parked nearby blocking the small colony road. I go in through the small gate within that big one to find a guard sitting inside with a tent type partition made. Puzzled because of the happenings, I ask him, "Kya ho raha hai yahan ?". He says, " Shooting chal rahi hai." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Surprised, I look for some way to get in. After much cajoling, the guard lets me in. Inside, it's a village scene with a charpoy towards the far end and a few crew members with equipment on the side I enter from. A lady is sitting on that charpoy with her back towards me, talking to a guy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;All of a sudden, that guy stands up..I see him and he sees me..It's ----- from IIT K. He comes up to me and explains the whole business. And then, I get to meet Parizad Kolah of TGILC right there! We have a bit of a chat and some cola and I ask them to wait right there. I go back to my room to fetch my camera. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The camera clicks a few times and I have a photo right there with a famous TV personality. Then out of nowhere, I find that a set of stairs has come up at the rear end of that plot leading to a lower level of land. They resemble the steps Farcry has in it's monkey-treehouse level. I go down and ....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-114581896285750879?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/114581896285750879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=114581896285750879' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114581896285750879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114581896285750879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/cola-with-parizad.html' title='Cola with Parizad'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-114492009647315252</id><published>2006-03-19T21:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-04-13T02:33:34.536-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Friend visits me</title><content type='html'>&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt; It is sometime around 6 in the evening. I have just got up from my afty-evening nap. I take a look around and go down again. A few minutes later there is a knock on the door. I get up, open the door to see Prof. Vishu standing there with a TA. I shake my head and then realise that it's not him. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;It's one of my friends from school and his dad. I am a bit surprised but I ask them to come in. Just then I see two glass tumblers soaked in dust, lying on the lower level of the table. ( In reality, I haven't used any of those in the hostel). I pick them, get up to go and wash them so that my guests can have water, but he stops me. Instead he picks up my glass kept on the table, takes a hard critical look at it and then puts it to use. Uncle does not seem to be interested in having water.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;We have some chat for a while and the clock ticks to 7:30. So dinner comes into the picture. They decide to have it in the hostel mess itself although I have already informed them of the possible consequences. I lock my room and we go down.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p style="text-align: justify;"&gt;The scene downstairs is a mirage of sorts. The entire dining system has been changed. Instead of the usual stuff, it is more like a buffet system with lots of dishes to choose from. Can this be true? I got confused as to whether I was dreaming in that dream. Maybe I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-114492009647315252?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/114492009647315252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=114492009647315252' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114492009647315252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114492009647315252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/friend-visits-me.html' title='A Friend visits me'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-114464871361264411</id><published>2006-03-12T22:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-04-09T22:59:50.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Two in One</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;[1] I am Hanuman (LOL) and a gargantuous demoness is chasing me. I keep flying for sometime and then I reach the Himalayan region. It is becoming difficult for me to keep myself away from her huge claws. I am on some peak and she is coming straight at me. With great strength I throw a huge snowball and she bites the floor. Then she thinks for sometime and casts a spell. The whole snow field turns into a salty one. There is salt everywhere. The salty air makes me sick and then....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;[2] This one is about cricket in the hostel wings. The one involved looked like the C-15 wing but actually much wider. I am bowling. I don't remember which guys were playing that day. I get someone out and then a big fight starts about him being out or not. As usual I get in the mood and start up my shoutbox. It continues for a while and then all is normal.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-114464871361264411?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/114464871361264411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=114464871361264411' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114464871361264411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114464871361264411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/two-in-one.html' title='Two in One'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-114190593397208049</id><published>2006-03-09T03:52:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-03-09T04:05:33.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'>De-Evolution</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;This one is about Holi and a "de-evolutioning" act that takes place. My friends and I are playing Holi and then out of nowhere Mr. Laloo (our Railway Minister) comes in. LOL.  It's a surprise for all of us. He is all alone without any security and covered from head to toe in all sorts of colour patches. He joins in as if he were somebody from our group. All this is OK types i suppose but the real thing is what follows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;We had somebody who was capturing us playing Holi on his handycam. Mr. Laloo too gave some nice shots showing his big set of teeth as well. Evening came and we all gathered to have a look at the video. There was no Laloo in the video. In his place was a monkey showing off his white teeth. His face was quite like Laloo's. This was so strange. I mean, get Darwin out of his grave and show him this !!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-114190593397208049?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/114190593397208049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=114190593397208049' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114190593397208049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114190593397208049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/de-evolution.html' title='De-Evolution'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-114119808528094283</id><published>2006-03-01T12:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-28T23:29:56.283-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mini Bus Service</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It's been almost a month since I last wrote something here. I had quite a few dreams but somehow they didn't make it to this eternal message board. This one, by the way, is like a short extract of something big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friends and I are on some kind of a mini bus; we are not just there as passengers but someone from us is in the hotseat as well. The place we are travelling in is a village area with broken, pot-holed roads.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, there's appears a stack of bricks about a feet high, right in the middle of the road. All of us rush to the back end and the driver magically pulls off a bus-jump. Just then, when this brick layer ends we find no path for the bus coz there's a truck standing right in front and a car which had come swinging in from the right hand. Mysteriously again, we find ourselves as we were before this situation. The truck and car are left behind. I had closed my eyes and so can't describe how this second feat was done - did we teleport or did we shrink breadthwise ?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, I am thrown out of the bus and I catch hold of a handpump handle to avoid hitting the ground directly. Not much damage occurred here as the bus was moving slowly coz of the bad condition of the road. I shout out loud to stop the bus immediately and end the adventure. Nobody listens.....&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-114119808528094283?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/114119808528094283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=114119808528094283' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114119808528094283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/114119808528094283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/03/mini-bus-service.html' title='Mini Bus Service'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113898028522241636</id><published>2006-02-02T20:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-03T07:27:48.496-08:00</updated><title type='text'>RDB meets RPG</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This one is an unusual mix of a lot of things. I am in some place that looks like the remains of some old fort and hordes of enemies swarm in from all the sides. It's a cross b/w Japanese RPG games and a scene from the Matrix series where Neo fights of swarms of Agent Smith. The RDB element comes from the scene where British soldiers close in on two of the heroes in the film and surround them. Of course, they get caught but my story is different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Showing amazing fighting skills (as they show in the Japanese games) I fight off those evil souls until one last one remains. He is not the boss but I get a strange feeling. Then, as if in a virtual reality game I see a lot of weapon options on the screen (yeah, it seemed I was in a game in my dream). All sorts of weapons and the keycode to get them get displayed on top of the view I see. One option stands out from the rest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It says 190 : Nihilism cloth. I press the keys 1, 9 &amp;amp; 0 (but God knows on which keyboard) and there appears a maroon coloured cloth out of thin air right in my hands. I wrap it around the last one standing in front of me and he vanishes as if I sent him to some distant planet by casting a spell. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113898028522241636?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113898028522241636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113898028522241636' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113898028522241636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113898028522241636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/02/rdb-meets-rpg.html' title='RDB meets RPG'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113860357692272913</id><published>2006-01-27T16:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-29T22:48:00.080-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Japanese Magic</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Well this one is really weird. I don't remember the beginning very clearly but I do have the end. I am some kind of a saviour for the people in some place in Japan. There's some guy who is very ugly in his deeds. Some people have gone missing and it's assumed that this guy is responsible for it. Somehow, I find out where he is and go there to change the course of history (LOL!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a part of an amusement park. There is a giant wheel which is running all empty. One difference that I notice is the positioning of the platform from which people get onto it. At a level of around half the wheel's height there is circular platform with stairs on one side (for people to get in) and on the other side is the control room. It is like a ring structure in the middle of which the wheel is set.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The evil guy is in the control room reading some book on magic. This is shown to me by means of a moving camera that first shows the landscape view and then a close-up of the enemy as it happens in video games. I am right below the cabin. Seeing him I rush up and he too comes out for a fight. After a fierce battle (LOL) I finally overpower him and throw him down from the platform. He dies there and people rush in from all sides thanking me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what happens just after this but all I remember after this part is that I am sitting with that guy having a casual chat and his Japanese (Chinki !!) girlfriend. (and yes I was talking Japanese) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113860357692272913?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113860357692272913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113860357692272913' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113860357692272913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113860357692272913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/01/japanese-magic.html' title='Japanese Magic'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113844949476765848</id><published>2006-01-22T23:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-28T03:59:59.016-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Alphabet Sudoku</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;This one is a short incident. I am in some lecture hall which looks like a cross b/w the LTs &amp;amp; the OAT we have. It was more like the LT in Munnabhai. There's some lady teacher and she gives me a card which has an empty grid made on it and she asks me to fill it up with whatever words I want but there should not be mismatch. I ask her what she means by mismatch and all I get is an angry reply. I am asked to leave the class, but to my surprise all the other guys seem to have no problem with what the card thing is. The look on their faces gives me a hint that such thing has happened earlier as well and that this was my second outing from the class. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113844949476765848?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113844949476765848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113844949476765848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113844949476765848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113844949476765848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/01/alphabet-sudoku.html' title='Alphabet Sudoku'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113782142820991957</id><published>2006-01-18T21:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-20T21:32:52.246-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Quite a long break</title><content type='html'>It has been more than 45 days since I unleashed something here. And all these days I travelled to god knows what all dimensions and places. There were a lot of things that caught my attention (of course, while sleeping). Dragons, witches, soldiers, battles, sci-fi worlds, ultra techie weapons and gadgets....they were all there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One incident that really stands out is what follows. It was a terrifying one with both me and my dream-self getting involved. The story goes like this. I am in Pakistan as a spy. (LOL....) I clearly remember getting a briefing from the commander at the station and secretly passing on this information to India. There were some other Indian spies there although all of us were unaware of each other. It was all going well until one day....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were watching some program going on at the OAT (which incidentally looked more or less like the OAT we have here at IIT D). Suddenly, the program was stopped and the commander came forward to make an announcement. The gentleman next to me was declared to be an Indian spy. "Oh god! Is it my D-day as well", I said to myself. He was taken away by two security guards. And behind this one there was the lady who was his newest friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it was my turn (damn it!). I too was taken away by two security guards. And the reason why I was caught was because they had found an Indian Railways ticket inside a parcel that had supposedly come from my home in Pakistan. (Why are Indian agencies so foolish always ???) It was then that my real self began conflicting with this virtual one. The thought that came to my mind was - "Oh man! how am I to get my B.Tech. now? " (LOL)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both of us were taken to a distant part of the establishment under tight security. It was a hell of a place, and of course similar to some of the Pakistani prisons we have seen in movies. Before putting us into cells a demo (read demostration of extreme hatred and torture) was given to us. One of the jail inmates was pulled out of the cell and he was forced to eat like a dog. Some food was thrown on the dirty floor and he was made to eat it by licking the floor. It was terrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were doomed....and this is where the story ends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113782142820991957?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113782142820991957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113782142820991957' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113782142820991957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113782142820991957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2006/01/quite-long-break.html' title='Quite a long break'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113370410928266376</id><published>2005-12-03T23:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-07T22:23:29.710-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What a ride !!</title><content type='html'>This one is really a mix of all sorts of things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to give a presentation in Prof. Raju's (LOL) course. The time is around 10 o'clock. I find myself at the desired place (It was not the departmental committee room but a room on the first floor of a house somewhere distant.) Presentation's have started and suddenly I remember I haven't got the CD. Mine is due in 20 min. PANICK....&lt;br /&gt;I don't have a cycle to go back and get the CD. Then I find one Abhinav (one junior elec dulla) right there but I don't know why he was there. He gives me his bike key and I rush down the stairs to get back.&lt;br /&gt;Its a Bullet like bike. I start it up and then proceed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;INTERMISSION...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now this is the first time that the hero's bike changes during the interval. I find myself riding on not a normal bike but some weird fantasy machine. Its a flat 3x3 piece of quilt that has a handle and wheels. On my way (well I forgot to say that since the presentation was not in the department so I too wasn't goin to the hostel.I was going home. Yippee!! I am an attachee now) I see dad in his car. I know now that I wud have to give my presentation right at the end since dad wud have locked up the house. Anyway I reach the place..well let me describe this place as well. I never knew before this that we lived in main Hazratganj (Lucknow's main shopping place).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I reach the Ganj crossing and it shows a red light. So I stop ( India has adopted a right side of the road drive system by then). The guy on the side selling magazines tells me not to leave the vehicle on the road as I was going to. So I lift it up in my hands and take it upstairs. Surprisingly, no one notices anything about the weird ride I am on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The door is locked. Oh man!!!! Then I see someone coming up the stairs. It's dad. I quickly get in the house take the CD and...........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOW WE HAVE  A BREAK IN THE STORY....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then again it resumes and instead of being in Ganj I am at my own house ready to go back. And oh my god the bike (LOL) isn't starting up. I then sit down and analyse its tiny engine. Its like a steel pipe that blows out fire from one end and some fuel gets pumped in from the other. I try a few times but in vain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I wake up.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113370410928266376?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113370410928266376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113370410928266376' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113370410928266376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113370410928266376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2005/12/what-ride.html' title='What a ride !!'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113370293477157752</id><published>2005-11-29T21:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-04T05:30:14.716-08:00</updated><title type='text'>All messed up</title><content type='html'>Exams hv come and all things are messed up including my dreams. I hv been getting up too late for the past few days and in that hurry of getting up and start magai I forget wotever fantasies the Peter Jackson in me (LOL !!) was developing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only one thing I remember is that I am in some place and I ask a local tea stall guy about some cycle shop. Then I find myself crawling through some place which sort of looks like a sort of godown or warehouse. The tunnel is a bit sticky and I am pushing hard to overcome that thin section and then I WAKE UP..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113370293477157752?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113370293477157752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113370293477157752' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113370293477157752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113370293477157752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2005/11/all-messed-up.html' title='All messed up'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113309528932244006</id><published>2005-11-27T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-27T04:41:29.323-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Robbery</title><content type='html'>I am in some house. It looks a familiar one although I don't get it exactly partly because the lights are off and partly because I am not sure.&lt;br /&gt;Surprise! Surprise! - there's someone else with me. Its a girl..LOL....how cud that have happened even in a dream !!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then the story unfolds. We two are robbers and we had done away with all we cud find lying without cover. Only the safe was left. I guard the main door while she tries her skills at the iron container containing god knows how much. There are some clicks and ticks and then suddenly I see a man coming up the stairs towards the door. We quickly hide. He gets in switches on the light and.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113309528932244006?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113309528932244006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113309528932244006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113309528932244006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113309528932244006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2005/11/robbery.html' title='Robbery'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113309496581969073</id><published>2005-11-25T23:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-27T04:36:05.826-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gaming Hell</title><content type='html'>I find myself in some sort of hall that has been partitioned into blocks of some kind. It looks like some kind of setup for an exhibition. (It reminded me of the Book Fair at Pragati Maidan that I had been to.)The exhibits are not there; in fact the place looks like its going to be cleaned and repaired for the next exhibition to be held there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, out of nowhere, I see something spectacular. Its a Killer Rig (if u don't get this term refer to any gaming mag). Its a huge thing- to say the truth about twice the size of a normal CPU we have nowdays.  And the best part - there are huge thick ducts for liquid cooling inside it as visible from the see through side. On the side of it I see a label. Wanna guess wot it says - 5000 $ is the price it quotes for that box alone, leave aside the other essentials.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113309496581969073?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113309496581969073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113309496581969073' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113309496581969073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113309496581969073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2005/11/gaming-hell.html' title='Gaming Hell'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19037438.post-113285535994173117</id><published>2005-11-22T21:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-11-24T10:03:09.150-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Numbers</title><content type='html'>Nothing much today except that I saw( or heard) a sequence of numbers :&lt;br /&gt;100, 150, 175, 500, 1000 ..&lt;br /&gt;Maybe its an effect of 'LOST'.&lt;br /&gt;thats abt all I remember.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/19037438-113285535994173117?l=dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/feeds/113285535994173117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=19037438&amp;postID=113285535994173117' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113285535994173117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/19037438/posts/default/113285535994173117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamdiaryblog.blogspot.com/2005/11/numbers.html' title='Numbers'/><author><name>Tarun Varshney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07288700143144745934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Xc9KPTaSgUw/STIk7yECTFI/AAAAAAAAAZo/e8Pu9pZPdfE/S220/pt.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
