Friday, May 8, 2015

Facebook Photo Uploader

Technology has made a huge difference in human life.We are judged and analysed by our social profile which includes not only the intellectual factors but a constant knowledge of upcoming technological aspects and new gadgets launched to make life easy and efficient.

The integration of mobile apps and social networking sites is becoming a trend these days. Modern software development practices take into account the need to sync content with sites like Facebook due to their wide reach and popularity. There are many online soft wares and apps available to make a proper sync of your photo albums to various social and bookmarking sites including facebook,twitter,linked in,stumble upon,tumbler etc.

By making a proper use of Cloud Cam v2.0 you can now take and upload photos and videos directly to Google Drive or Drop box.SocialAuth Android is an easy to use open source SDK that allows integration with Facebook and provides simple code to access its various functionalities along with free support. 

SDKs available now-a-days help you to integrate other social networks in your Android App along with Facebook.By using this SDK,we can easily connect with Facebook and share status updates.  Users can easily view profiles, contacts, photo albums and feeds. 

The SDK also enables you to upload images to your Facebook profile in a breeze.In order to start using Photo Sync, you'll need to manually enable all the photo uploading options.To enable Photo Sync,you need to launch the Facebook app and view the side menu. Later on,Scroll down and tap on Photos. At the bottom of the screen customized photos of you and your family will appear aong with a new Sync tab. If the Sync tab is present, you're account is ready to go.You can access those photos and make them secure by protecting their security by changing security options.

Notice how many times the word "private" is used now-a-days.Everyone is concerned about their privacy. You need to take special care when it comes to security aspects.It is one of the baffling problems in Internet marketing and e-commerce optimization now-a-days.

Tap on Sync Photos if you'd like to enable Photo Sync and you will be able to access all your private photos and data shared among the secure platform.Your photos will then begin uploading a new private album in your Facebook Account. Going forward, any new photo taken will automatically upload without the need for you to launch the Facebook app, even on your IPHONE. You don't need to worry about any further processing as it is always done in background as an application and real-time operating features.

Operating Systems have their own significance and help to make various amendments and mobile operating platforms follow the same features using same key values.When you view your photos from the Web site, you can decide which photos to share by making them public, or which to delete or make further amendments into them.

When you view the Sync tab in either app, you can see a Settings icon. Tapping it will let you limit photo uploads to Wi-Fi and CELLULAR, Wi-Fi only, or disable to feature altogether. As you can see, you get a total of 2 GB worth of space to store uploaded photos.

With the feature having been in testing for awhile now, you won't need to update the Facebook app in order for it to show up.This is how you will easily be able to sync and upload facebook photos using your Android application or Mobile gadgets.

Autistic Brain

Every sound pings his brain.
Although his hearing is fine,
he rarely meets my gaze.
He fidgets, paces, or circles
as his mind travels mazes of thought.

Contact is not needed, unwanted
touch disrupts circuits,
dislocates the signal from nerves to brain.
He holds my hand on rare occasions,
the ultimate sign of affection.
Sharp as a tack, recalling detail
at the drop of a hat.
He searches the recesses of his mind,
processes questions,
retrieves data along encyclopedic relays.
Mental rifling, through
an accordion file folder mind.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The End

Whole night the candle burnt
Spreading evenly it's divine light
The wax melted
Like running water
But the wicker happily burnt
rejoicing the dance of life
Unmindful of its plight.

Suddenly there were crackling sound
The light burnt higher and higher
As it sensed the end was near
the candle was evermore sombre

"I lived my life to the fullest...
then why be sad "thought the candle.
So it burnt with all its might
Rejoicing as the end came near.
Then it flickered hardest one more time
In a bid to say goodbye
One last time to all its friends
Then snuffed out peacefully
With a serene smile
For it had fulfilled
the purpose of its life.


The sun, a cauldron of fury shone mercilessly that summer,
Burning the porches and verandahs,
Curling the silent leaves within.

The reluctant children dragged in to take a nap
created more havoc within the burning bricks.

Her delicate, tiny fingers molded Ganapati idols
Out of the clay dug from the corner of children's park.

And all of a sudden the scorching universe
seemed to empty its full fury
over her little butterfly shoulders
heaving like a butterfly's wounded wings.
She seethed from within and ran away from the chattering friends
To her mother sleeping in the room.

Mummy I want to say something
She heard a slight murmur and gulped in hot air for courage
I know I will have to stay inside from now
- like didi
Please mummy, don't thrash me-
I didn't do anything wrong deliberately.

She heard a yell and pushed
herself further in the corner

Your sister will deal with it.
My blood pressure has surged suddenly.

She scurried away, careful
not to be too light on the slight feet.

The butterfly wings, soaked in blood,
Fluttered in anticipation of more fragrant meadows
And drooped, heavy with the weight of metamorphosis.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015


The train pulls away
just as I settle into my window seat
"Lucky you, every holiday you visit a new home"
My friend's refrain makes me smile

Three uncles and an aunt
from both sides
Four destinations
Two vacations a year
Every fourth trip to the same house
Very clockwork
Very precise

Ever since I could remember
That had been the routine
They were all kind
and loving
The rest of the time I was in the hostel
Shorter holidays were spent with
the sisters in the convent
who loved me even more
Orphan that I was

You wanted me to write on roots?
Yes of course
I do have them
No tap root
Only fibrous ones
Spread across
Four cities.

Monday, April 20, 2015


Mirror mirror on the wall
be not proud,
You are but human,
reflecting what I permit you to

Switch off the lights above
My spots and moles are hidden
leaving me softly beautiful

Leave the window open
the sunlight forms a halo
Sainthood forced on me

Sometimes I appear garish
cruel and hypocritical
when lights are in overdrive

Darkness defeats you
my shadow is all you see

If only you could peep in
and see emotions raw
Heartbreak and jealousy
Anger , ire and sorrow
Dreams and hopes
Suppressed passions

But you are just a painted piece of glass
Reflecting only what I allow you to.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Beautiful Slave

I don’t know where I am
They’ve taken all that I had
smuggled in for a lucrative trade
beaten, bartered
broken in, until I obey
I used to be childlike
innocent and safe
now I’m someone Else's treasure
a stranger's pleasure
smothered in shame
succumbed with drugs
but I’m not numb
all I feel is pain
is this all a dream
will I ever be the same?

can anyone hear me?
will anyone break these chains?
who will free me?
from this dark place?
does God see me?
what is His name?
will He help me?
I’m just a beautiful slave

my worst fear is my fate
I’m getting older each day
every girl too old in years
mysteriously just disappears
they never mention her name
they take away piece by piece
I don’t think I have any left
I’ve slowly given up all hope
given in to this sleepless bed
inside these bars
I feel so seared
by each new face
how could this ever be
every memory be erased?

He can hear you
He’s seeking you,
He wants to heal you
Jesus knows the real you

Jesus Loves The Little Children
All The Children Of World
Red and Yellow, Black and White
They’re Precious In His Sight
Jesus Loves The Little Children Of The World
He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands


“The Oppressed Will Be Set Free.” –Jesus Christ
Please share this music freely with others.
Use it as a tool to stop this injustice.

Friday, April 17, 2015


Something pulls at my sleeve--
 in the middle of the night--
 like a tide-- pulling me to shore--
 I rise out of bed and hug--
my mother's absence--
I place a record on her old victrola--
and watch my face spinning around--
 I am a happy child again--
on a merry go round--
The old needle catches--
a strand of her hair she left there--
dragging it around and around--
pretending to be a wounded bird--
 trying to rebuild a nest.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

The Postman

The postman you had befriended
Gathers dry leaves now and
Sings an unfamiliar tune to himself

I’m looking for sustenance in end-rhymes
I’ve bought sleep, a broken moon, wicker chairs
Wondering how long it will be to tranquility

The lake whose shores you used to wander on
Is as dry as a stone which I’ve put in a ring
In the worthless hope that my luck will turn

Colour-coordinated scraps of flattery in the morning
Solitary walks in the afternoon… How will I
Write you letters in my language anymore

The city air is a bilious green, the trees, poisonous
I refer to writing as a bad habit now
Breaking old glass panes with new pebbles

Only an enchanted madman, lazy, gaunt
Gathering dry leaves all day
The postman you had befriended

(After watching Il Postino)


Poets are never yours. They just belong to their muses. And the problem is anybody and anything can become a muse .
Secondly- poets are insecure. they need constant reassurances that they are good. And you just are at loss on how to reassure them because it will never be enough
Third - Normal conversation is almost gone. You feel like you are dating an English grammar text book. Fourth - They only know to receive compliments , they don't know how to give one. And no writing a poem on how good the last night was doesn't count as a compliment.
Yes poets make you a poet too temporarily , but you lose out on your own identity and aspirations. Because I admit a poet can project his life as an inspiring one, but that is his life you are living, not yours and you don't even get acknowledged or appreciated for that. Yes poets make you aware of many things, but most of all your incompetence . Poets are not liable to make you jealous. They actually have to make you jealous otherwise their art fails and that is my personal take.

Art Of Living

ART-OF-Living !! These three words play a vital role in my life.Especially when you belong to an orthodox family,you follow the principles,guidelines and sayings of your elders without questioning or asking for the authenticity of it.
I am a Mamma's boy and I am tortured and teased by many people due to my silly habits.At some stage of life when you start knowing the reality,when you enter in the business world all such principles seem partially useful to you,semi conditional stage,I mean. I am an ardent Jain Follower.I don't drink,smoke,bark,abuse or shout like animals.I talk to girls,mostly girls,I don't waste time with boys there is a huge list and I am very selective about it.I don't find it wrong in any manner.Am I wrong?

I majorly talk to strangers.I don't see their faces or brand and we discuss certain topics upto an extreme level and finally some up the conclusion in form of a short written statements or writing articles or blogs hosted on various online websites and we are paid for it.So much of online business in form of creating blogs,websites,copy writing,editing,proof reading,making logos and may of the creative things.
So many people judge you,when you touch the reality of life,face different facets of life,cross certain aspirations and goals,you make friends and enemies both.I prefer making friends and stay away from those who prefer to become enemies,most of them take it as cowardice but I don't mind.I am super happy for their unkind behaviour.For me,my close friends and my family matter,rest I take people for granted.I do social service,sometimes for my own sake,sometimes for humanity.

I crave for nice things,everyone does,nobody take shit now-a-days.I am good at listening.I speak less and when it becomes necessity.Well,lets not dig deeper.I am surely gonna write an autobiography like GandiJI did but for that you need time,and if by chance I am caught red-handed  doing some illegal things and sent to jail,I will surely complete my dream of writing autobiography there.No time for it right now.Only two years and more things to accomplish.  
Well,I support three NGO's "Make A Difference","AIESEC" and "PETA". I work for other in college "EWB-IET Chapter" and "Rotoract Club". So much of social work in past 3 years and it is still continue in form of projects(which deals with educating children and visiting oldage homes) till now.

The Art of Living is a not-for-profit, educational, and humanitarian NGO. The organization operates globally in 152 countries where it runs humanitarian projects and courses based on yoga, meditation and breathing techniques such as Sudarshan Kriya.

Founded in 1981 by Sri Sri Ravi Shankar,The Art of Living is an educational and humanitarian movement engaged in stress-management and service initiatives. The organization operates globally in 152 countries and has touched the lives of over 370 million people

The programs are guided by Sri Sri's philosophy of peace: "Unless we have a stress-free mind and a violence-free society, we cannot achieve world peace." To help individuals get rid of stress and experience inner peace, The Art of Living offers stress-elimination programs which include breathing techniques, meditation and yoga. These programs have helped millions around the world to overcome stress, depression and violent tendencies.

I am from computer background,and software engineer find and see failure in everything.I am not against "ART-Of-Living" people or the work they do but the volunteers spreading their knowledge and awareness are mostly uneducated and dumb,here by dumb means idiots.They are making posters and popularizing their events via social and electronic media and they don't have proper knowledge of what they are spreading.
They spread poison in name of Art-Of-Living. If you genuinely feel like doing social work,spare some time,go to schools and old age homes and spread love,harmony and teaching and sayings of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar Maharaj and all.
Don't use social and electronic media and misuse it naming "Art-Of-Living" events.Politics has lead it to some very poor level.Specially,the intelligent people (that includes me,unfortunately :P) can't digest the wrong doings.I am strictly against of such people who do social work for their own sake.Most of them donate to charity just to prove they are nobler than other people and the people who actually work hard never come into the picture as the credit is taken by the higher individuals.And it also does not reach the right audience.A poor child is not going to watch facebook links and apply for your events.Rich people are busy doing other things on Internet which I need not to mention on my social blog. 

The Art of Living movement has the main message of spreading peace across communities through diverse humanitarian projects, including conflict resolution, disaster relief, sustainable rural development, empowerment of women, prisoner rehabilitation, education for all, and environmental sustainability.Keep it that way only.Spread smiles,don't make it havoc.

PS: This Post is not to point out fingers on any particular individual but I face certain issues in between why I find it necessary to share it with everyone.No hard feelings for "Art-Of-Living" people including the girls who take lot of advantage of such events that I will tell some other day. :D

Friday, April 10, 2015


We took you
beautiful white filly
rode you
returned you

You were our archway into
desire and fulfillment
pleasure and the forbidden
fear of punishment and perdition
love and longing
law beaking
but none of that stopped us

that other world
where your galloping hooves
were like
thundering surf
in our
wet dream

We will always
hold you
in remembrance
as sacred
now you are
just a


Since a while I have Restrained my heart
From listening to its heart
It felt like crying
A bit like dying
But I had been prying
And I didn't let it do
What it wanted to
So I told my heart
U have to be happy buddy
U'd been sad for long already
It didn't reply
Neither looked up to me
But obliged and succumbed
the call Of its heart
into oblivion
I did see my heart Killing its heart All this it did Just for me
And then I saw my shadow
Standing - Shivering- Cruelly..

The Summer Rain

Half the way through to my destination.
Having seen seasons, fifty of each-
Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter.
I feel burdened with memories of days
out of reach.
Why then does this Summer feel so barren,
so heavy with the vapors of memories
bitter and sweet !
Clouding my eyes so often,
this Summer rain washes away the worldly clutters,
making space for seasons new.
To gather more clutter
as I continue in life's journey.
Coaxing myself to live the remaining days few.

Poetry-The Ethics And Learnings

A nameless void sets in
To the poet's heart and to the vicinity
Of his existence from nowhere.

The birds stop singing,
The stream stops flowing,
The breeze stops blowing
And the stream of conscious of the poet
Meets a road-block,
As you depart the scene in a huff.

Now tell me...
How shall you assure the birds
That you have come back and
That you shall not leave them
So that they get their melodious voice back?

Now tell me...
How shall you convince the stream
That you have come back again
That you shall not leave it
So that it remembers the formula of its perennial flow?

Now tell me...
How shall you convince the breeze
That you have come back and
That it should come alive from its frozen state
For the sake of humanity?

Now also tell me...
How shall you
Console the poet
That you have come back for good to him
Who laments inconsolably over the
Death of his quill and spill of the ink. ?

The Summer Wind

In the woods I was lost, feeling like a dust mote in the sky.
In these woods, dark and dreary had I stumbled to die?
The olive groves and the silent trees
Were ruffled by the balmy breeze
The birds fluttered and then with a flap of wings, flew high.

The ghostly trees raised their branches up towards the skies
Through brier and bramble echoed hair raising moans and sighs
The air was thick with lamentation
Before me appeared an apparition
Into a frenzy of sudden activity were thrown the quiescent fireflies.

In his gloomy countenance, his eyes, like twin fireflies shone
At this uncanny sight, I quivered and tripped over a stone.
What was that sound insanely bizarre
Someone plucking at strings of guitar
With work calloused fingers letting out moan after sad moan?
Ears pricked to the music, I followed the pageant of the fireflies
Rich voices rose in a lilting song offering me a musical prize.
Ah heavy was not the cost
Of being, in the jungle lost
In the sparkle of the pageant, I forged some, new lasting ties.

Row your boat merrily along , the fireflies danced this message
Why be afraid of lurking demons , and flutter like a bird in a cage?
Why should any apparition
Be a cause for lamentation
Forge ahead,you talented actor, performing your role on life's stage!

No longer drifting like a dust mote I hummed a melodious tune
From behind the trees appeared the bright and proud moon
In the woods I was now on a ramble
Unafraid of brier or bramble
Life had once again become a sparkling and tempting boon.

The Power Of Dreams

I cannot go inside your dreams,
Only angels know that place.
And if I recognised you –
Would you have a different face?
The rising tide that washed our feet;
Has long reached a different shore,
The clouds have changed from dragons,
And just turned to clouds once more;
The roadside knows my footsteps –
Somehow an echo has remained,
But the crossroad sign has turned around,
Nothing here is still the same.
So which road will I follow now?
I’ve crossed rivers, waded streams,
For me it doesn’t matter –
No, for me it doesn’t matter –
I have lost the power of dreams.

Backyard of your Heart

At the backyard of your heart
At the backyard of your heart
Where you sometimes stand still,
And try to be alone with the clouds,
Singing a song perhaps, or simply
Curling threads of your auburn hair,
Give me a place right there,
I would just stand quiet
And be a part of your quietude,
And if you laugh out loud,
I would just flash a quaint smile,

At the backyard of your heart
Where you sometimes sit back
And try to unwind yourself
Sitting on a rocking chair,
Give me a place right there,
I would just sit quiet
And be a part of your quietude,
And if you recite a ballad lyrical,
I would do the same with you,

At the backyard of your heart.

Poetry-The Ethics and Learnings

Ten reasons why every woman should have a virtual affair with a real poet.
1. Who doesn't like having poems written to and for them, initially at least, on their beauty? Though it may pall after some time.
2. Poets have beautiful and bounteous souls that give rather than take.
3. You could learn a lot of new words, puns, tricks and tips about writing and language,
4. He can make you temporarily into a poet, while you are with him.
5. You are never stuck for a rhyming word.
6. Poets teach you a lot of virtues, like patience. grin emoticon
7. Empathy and sympathy for all kinds of strange unheard of never known before or to the rest of the world causes enter your domain of knowledge.
8. Poets make you keenly aware of Nature,
9, Poets are liable to make you jealous, thus improving your overall everything
10. You can always get a poet to cuddle with you and your teddy without any embarrassment.

Poetry- The Ethics and Learnings

Take into consideration that a poet has to master or 'know' what poetry is, how to read poetry, what to read and in which order, how to write, who a poet is, imagery (seven kinds), all the figures of speech like metaphor, metonymy, personification, simile, symbols, allegory, understatement, hyperbole, irony (3 kinds), musical devices like rhythm, stanza, meter, accent, stress, rime, alliteration, assonance, consonance, onomatopoeia, euphony, cacophony, dissonance, melody ,harmony, meanings, sound, tones, voice/s, style/s, structures, forms, allusion, patterns, organization, design, art, artlessness, order, chaos, presence, absence, diction, vocabulary, syntax, grammar, layers of significance, denotation, connotation, atmosphere, ambiance, moods, themes, settings, points of view, narrative techniques and along with this have social, economic, mythical, archetypal, political, religious, national, psychological, philosophical, sociological, aesthetic merits and depths in terms of content meaning he must know Life and emotions and feelings for the heart and then write poetry that partakes to the best of his abilities in all this and more and one can see why poetry is a very high calling second only to godliness. A great or real or genuine or sincere poet is therefore a real god or creator, no doubt, second only to God.

Complete Autism

I could not explain to anyone else but could to him.
I could put him on my lap.
He would not be listening, seemingly.
That did not matter.
I would talk, do the talking, as he would not or could not anyway. Except in his own language that I and others could not follow.
You see, darling, I would tell him, there are these pieces of paper that matter a lot to people on earth.
Yes, I know you and I are not from this planet. But they are. And they value these pieces of paper highly and assign different values to them. I never understood any of it.
I have to make lots of them to give you and your chichis and mom a good life.
For that I have to stay away from you.
Cos in the place I go to leaving you behind though that makes you and me lose out they give me more pieces of paper for same amount of work I would do here or less and those pieces of paper that I cannot read are ones that can be multiplied into even more pieces of paper here where you are, which in turn supposedly gives you all a better life though i have no idea if it is better or worse.
Do you get me?
He would not reply, of course, Or even bother to look at me, but he would sometimes look at me out of the corner of his eyes and smile or laugh and that was God smiling or laughing, if God exists.
Both of us got nothing except that it was nice to sit there with him on my lap.
Whoever had laughed at me and him had been right.
Just like him I had never belonged
Just like him, almost, those pieces of paper meant nothing to me
We would never amount to anything much, him and me, or if we did it would be by some fluke that people called the grace of God.
But we both valued those times with him sitting on my lap.
Pity that chasing those pieces of paper gave me so little of it and him.
Pity that I was not as far gone as he was to tear them up or make paper boats out of them given the chance.

PS: All the posts in "Autism" and "Rejected Stuff" category are very close to my heart as they are conclusions of the various discussions I had with people of different ages on Facebook.

PPS: This stuff is written by a gentleman and a very good friend of mine.I just did the proof reading and SEO work. 

PPS:It is published here on my blog to spread love,happiness and awareness about Autism.The unique thing about written content is that it is applicable to people of all generations.

The Father And The Son

The father who had no money
saw a bike leaned against a wall
took his small son, put him on it
and went with him
several times around the block
Later, when he came back
to replace it
the bike owner slapped him hard
but the son was not there to see
so the dad's heart still sang inwardly
though his cheek was stinging red.