THIS is a clear case of how economic opportunism drives every so called innovation. It MUST be made mandatory to label GM foods to distinguish them from normal products. Personally, I would never touch anything of these things if they are put up for sale in the market.
It’s a shame that corporate well being is put ahead of well being of the people.
You can find more information on Greenpeace’s website here.
What is it about a bottle of beer or whiskey that makes so many people grin from ear to ear? I frankly don’t understand the concept of fun in drinking! I have seen people being normal when they are sober, but transforming in to something really disgusting, after they had their ration for the day of the sarakku.
Social drinking… you just get to a party, then you socialize, while drinking… that’s it? Oh… no way! Here’s more. How about vomiting all the crap you put inside your stomach on your girl( or boy)friend’s dress? yuck… not nice! Hey,how about letting out the secret of how you got to do the deed with some nameless bitch years ago? Ouch… that slap from your wife must hurt! Or How about having to lie all night in a ditch that you fell in to, until your friends realize that you took a step to the wrong side trying to get in to the car last night?
It is a shame that even the governments nowadays encourage this by opening liquor shops.
I guess I will never quite understand obsession that people have on this kazhudhai muthiram (donkey piss, tamil words courtesy of ‘Naan Kadavul’ film).
The next time you order take-away from a restaurant, carry a hotpack and some smaller metal vessels to pack the food from the restaurant.
That way, you can save a lot of plastic bags, heat-seal wraps and paper from getting wasted.
Sounds absurd? Think.
Our people have no originality. Even in cooking up reality shows, they need to ‘emulate’ their western ‘buddy’ networks.
Never seen this show on TV as such, but from what I hear, it sounds more like the Maury show or Jerry Springer shown across US networks… may be a bit more dignified in staging than the above, but yuck, nonetheless.
A poser to those who wish to come on the show:
Why not just let skeletons in the closet be just that and move on with your life? The temptation of money, even if it amounts to the risk of admitting your dark secrets and destroy a couple more lives, is too strong to resist, is it?
This is something I wanted to write about for the past year… yes, believe it or not, I never could get myself to pen my thoughts on this.
I walk to office daily (yeah, its about 15mins from my home 
). I always take the same route back and forth.
There are about 5 beggars sitting in various places in my way. A sort of old man with a torn bag, a muslim man with a clean kurta and ‘lungi’ but sporting an always bandaged hands and feet, a woman with very dirty clothes and crutches, an old man who has his hands eaten by leprosy and an old woman who… is just old.
I have been taking the walk to my office for the past 19 months or so by the same route everyday. I was freshly back from USA and you know, my emotions were at war with reason. (You will not understand it if you haven’t gone through it). Anyway, initially, I used to actually feel sorry for these people and if I had any change in my pockets, I used to drop them to these beggars twice or thrice a week.
But as time passed, I began to literally become numb to seeing these beggars… and stopped giving them alms. My feeling was that these were just trying to live off others’ pity and money. It was fueled by the fact I have seen many other people by now that have the same physical problems as these beggars but are doing some kind of work to earn their bread. That’s my ‘reason’ speaking.
My ‘emotion’ side says I have just become hard hearted… that I no longer reflect on the suffering around me… that I have become just one another machine doing its job day in and day out.
Ever had someone tell you, with a beaming face, that they are proud to be branded as belonging to a “backward” class?
I had a person tell me exactly that a couple of days ago.
Sad.
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