Sunday, November 30, 2008

[FAO] Regarding Azam's insistance upon killing him.

Dear friend,

Killing him will create a controversy world over by Human Rights Commission.
 If he is not eating, he should be injected some injections so that he could
maintain his health so as to undergo the legal process in offing. He is a precious
evidence in order to prove Pakistan's role in allowing alshkar-e-Toiba to conduct
terrorists camps in Pakistan and thus the evidences can unravel Pakistan's role
world over. I congratulate Niti for having gathered all this information.
So, thanks a lot.
RCD

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[FAO] Arrested terrorist Azam Amir Kasav is saying "Kill Me"


 
                                                                                                                                                   







Arrested terrorist Azam Amir Kasav, alias Ajmal Kasab has stopped eating for the last two days. Kasab, currently in crime branch custody, has been lodged in the lockup at the commisserate's office since he was caught near Girgaum Chowpatty on Wednesday night. Since Kasab's arrest, the police have been trying hard to get more information from him about his group, but he seems to be a tough nut to crack.

Kasab has stopped eating to avoid police torture since he was discharged from the Nair hospital on Thursday afternoon.
"Neither is he eating anything nor has he agreed to reveal anything about his links," an officer from the crime branch said.

Interrogators have tried feeding him a couple of times. The officers have also revealed that Kasab has been repeatedly requesting them to kill him.

Kasab was arrested by D B Marg Police, his companion Abu Ismail was killed. Kasab was injured. Both were taken to Nair hospital at Mumbai Central.


According to an on duty policeman at Nair hospital, Kasab was treated and Abu's body is lying in the mortuary.

"Azam was saying he was cheated. Abu was his boss and the mastermind. Abu had ordered him to kill people," the policeman said.

In earlier interrogations Kasab revealed that his team undertook the assignment in the belief that they would come out alive and it wasn't a suicide mission. The police found a chart of their proposed return route by sea.

Kasab, the sole surviving terrorist is a 21-year-old allegedly from Faridkot in PoK, (Pakistan occupied Kashmir). He reportedly told the police that they wanted to do replicate the attack on Islamabad's JW Marriott hotel, and reduce the Taj Mahal hotel to rubble. They also wanted to replicate the 9/11 attacks in India.

Kasab allegedly made another important disclosure, that all terrorists were trained in marine warfare in Pakistan. The training camp was conducted by the Lashkar-e-Taiba .



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Mushkilon se bhag jana aasaan hota hai
Har pahlu jindagi ka imtihaan hota hai
Darne walon ko kuch nahi milta hai
Ladne walon ke kadmon mai jahaan hota hai




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[FAO] Sand Piper : Worth Reading


 
                                                                                                                                                   




The Sandpiper
 

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.  I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.  She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.
"I'm building," she said.
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring.
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.  A sandpiper glided by.  "That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy.  My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."  The bird went gliding down the beach.
"Good-bye joy," I muttered to myself, "hello pain," and turned to walk on.  I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Robert," I answered.  "I'm Robert Peterson."
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy."
She giggled.  "You're funny," she said.   In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on.  Her musical giggle followed me.
"Come again, Mr. P," she called.  "We'll have another happy day."


The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: A group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater.  "I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat.   The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.  The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.  I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.

"Hello, Mr. P," she said.  "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know, you say."
"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again.  "I don't know what that is."
"Then let's just walk."  Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.  "Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there."  She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.  Strange, I thought, in winter.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school.  Mommy says we're on vacation."  She chattered little girl talk as we
strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things.
When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.  Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.  I was in no mood to even greet Wendy.  I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.  "Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today."

She seems unusually pale and out of breath.  "Why?" she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, "My God, why was I saying this to a little child?"
 

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."


"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away!"
"Did it hurt?" she inquired.
"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.
"When she died?"
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.  I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.  Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said. "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much.  I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.
 If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."
"Not at all - she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said.

"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson.  She had leukemia.  Maybe she didn't tell you."
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.  I had to catch my breath.

"She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.  She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.  But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly.  Her voice faltered, "She left something for you ... if only I can find it.  Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, to say to this lovely young woman.  She handed me a smeared envelope, with MR. P. printed in bold childish letters.  Inside was a drawing in bright crayon of a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird.  Underneath was carefully printed:  "A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY."

Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms.  "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.

Six words - one for each year of her life - that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.  A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand - who taught me the gift of love.



NOTE:

This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.


There are NO coincidences!  Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.  Never brush aside anyone as insignificant.  Who knows what they can teach us?




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[FAO] Cool Thoughts To Brighten Your Day

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[FAO] My time

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Saturday, November 29, 2008

[FAO] How to insert YouTube movies into PowerPoint slides?

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