<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481</id><updated>2008-08-19T09:20:36.107-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Learnings from Life</title><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default'/><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-8351788955608130698</id><published>2007-01-22T20:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T20:18:12.597-08:00</updated><title type='text'>“Truth” vs. Story</title><summary type='text'>What people call the truth is nearly always made up of two things: what happened and what it means.  “What happened” refers to the actual happenings as a VCR might record them.  “What it means” refers to all of the story that people bundle into the truth in their minds. 
For example, at a basketball game, the team you’re rooting for may score a last second shot from mid court to win the game by 1</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2007/01/truth-vs-story.html' title='“Truth” vs. Story'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=8351788955608130698' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/8351788955608130698'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/8351788955608130698'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-4962653158603346282</id><published>2007-01-22T20:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T20:13:03.185-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What Happened What it Means</title><summary type='text'>In day-to-day life, we usually fail to distinguish between what actually happened and what we make it mean.  We collapse the two as if it were “the truth.”  This is very dangerous since the “meaning” part of it is our own invention and is unique to us.  Furthermore, our life experiences are generally programmed into our mind to generate “meaning” from events in a fairly automatic fashion.  The </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2007/01/what-happened-what-it-means.html' title='What Happened What it Means'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=4962653158603346282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/4962653158603346282'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/4962653158603346282'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-2849879831028102398</id><published>2007-01-11T20:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T20:15:40.469-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Choice</title><summary type='text'>Choice is making a decision of some kind. Vanilla or chocolate? I choose chocolate. By why did we choose chocolate? If I chose chocolate “because I like it better”, then I’ve allowed “liking it better” to be the cause of my choice. However, I want to be cause in my life, so I need to choose because I choose rather than because of any external force, event, or cause. But now, suppose I am only </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2007/01/choice.html' title='Choice'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=2849879831028102398' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/2849879831028102398'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/2849879831028102398'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-7451914750717707441</id><published>2006-10-22T20:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-01-22T20:06:18.927-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Distinguish the Distinction</title><summary type='text'>Distinctions are human inventions.  I can divide the world into two distinct hemispheres, creating to half-worlds.  These distinctions have the power to define reality for us.  Eskimos distinguish hundreds of types of ice and snow, but Texans only distinguish snow as one thing.  Those distinctions give Eskimos more ways of surviving in their environment.  A Texan would only see snow and would </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2006/10/distinguish-distinction.html' title='Distinguish the Distinction'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=7451914750717707441' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/7451914750717707441'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/7451914750717707441'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-113653620327197486</id><published>2006-01-06T00:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-01-06T00:30:03.653-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cost of Celeberation</title><summary type='text'>How much does it cost  to celebrate? Maggi noodles.A  hostel room.4.25 a.m. A winter evening.Four friends.One  barsaat.Four glasses of chai.Hundred bucks of gas.A rusty old  bike.And an open road.3 old friends.3 separate cities.3  coffee mugs.1 internet messenger.Rain on a hot tin roof.Pakoras  deep-frying.Neighbours dropping in.A party.You and mom.A  summer night.A bottle of coconut oil.A head </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2006/01/cost-of-celeberation.html' title='Cost of Celeberation'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=113653620327197486' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/113653620327197486'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/113653620327197486'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-113350012628306964</id><published>2005-12-01T21:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-12-01T21:08:46.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Conditioning of Mind</title><summary type='text'>As I  was passing the elephants, I suddenly stopped, confused by the fact that these  huge creatures were being held by only a small rope tied to their front leg. No  chains, no cages. It was obvious that the elephants could, at anytime, break  away from their bonds but for some reason, they did not. I saw a trainer  near by and asked why these beautiful, magnificent animals just stood there and</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/12/conditioning-of-mind.html' title='Conditioning of Mind'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=113350012628306964' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/113350012628306964'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/113350012628306964'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-112955796121882346</id><published>2005-10-17T07:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-10-17T23:11:56.290-07:00</updated><title type='text'>THE DINNER DATE</title><summary type='text'>After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, "I love you, but I know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with you."

The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my MOTHER, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/10/dinner-date.html' title='THE DINNER DATE'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=112955796121882346' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112955796121882346'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112955796121882346'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-112719860496635402</id><published>2005-09-19T23:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-19T23:43:25.026-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Life and Love</title><summary type='text'>My husband is an Engineer by profession, I love  him  for his steady  nature, and I love the warm feeling when I  lean  against his broad  shoulders.  Three years of courtship  and now, two years into  marriage, I would have  to admit, that I am  getting tired of it. The reasons  of me loving him  before, has now  transformed into the cause of all my  restlessness. I am a sentimental woman and </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/09/life-and-love.html' title='Life and Love'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=112719860496635402' title='52 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112719860496635402'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112719860496635402'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-112669853997083459</id><published>2005-09-14T04:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-14T04:48:59.993-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A doctor's diary</title><summary type='text'>It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman, in  his 80's, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was  in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an  hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and  decided, since I was not busy </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/09/doctors-diary.html' title='A doctor&apos;s diary'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=112669853997083459' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112669853997083459'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112669853997083459'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-112487374980715674</id><published>2005-08-24T01:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-24T01:55:49.856-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cup of Life</title><summary type='text'>A group of working adults got together to visit their University lecturer.  The lecturer was happy to see them. Conversation soon turned into complaints  about stress in work and life.  The Lecturer just smiled and went to the  kitchen to get an assortment of cups - some porcelain, some in plastic, some in  glass, some plain looking and some looked rather expensive and exquisite.  The Lecturer </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/08/cup-of-life.html' title='Cup of Life'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=112487374980715674' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112487374980715674'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112487374980715674'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-112324156590045014</id><published>2005-08-05T04:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-05T04:32:45.906-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good boss</title><summary type='text'>Scientists at the Rocket  launching station in Thumba, were in the habit of working for nearly 12 to 18  hours a day. There were about Seventy such scientists working on a project. All  the scientists were really frustrated due to the pressure of work and the  demands of their boss but everyone was loyal to him and did not think of  quitting the job.    One day, one scientist  came to his boss </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/08/good-boss.html' title='Good boss'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=112324156590045014' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112324156590045014'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112324156590045014'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-112324076704771429</id><published>2005-08-05T04:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-05T04:19:27.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cleaning Lady</title><summary type='text'>  During my second  month of college, our professor gave us a pop  quiz.   I was a  conscientious student and had breezed through the questions until I read the  last one:  "What is the  first name of the woman who cleans the school?"  Surely this  was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several  times.  She was  tall, dark-haired and in her 50s, but how would I know her  name?  I </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/08/cleaning-lady.html' title='Cleaning Lady'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=112324076704771429' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112324076704771429'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/112324076704771429'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-111687467114222971</id><published>2005-05-23T11:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-05-23T11:57:51.683-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Simple the better</title><summary type='text'>One of the most memorable case studies on Japanese management was the case of the empty soap box, which happened in one of Japan's biggest cosmetics companies. The company received a complaint that a consumer had bought a  soap box that was empty. Immediately the authorities isolated the problem to the assembly line, which transported all the packaged boxes of soap to the delivery department. For</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/05/simple-better.html' title='Simple the better'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=111687467114222971' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/111687467114222971'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/111687467114222971'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-111155945327749330</id><published>2005-03-22T22:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-05-23T12:01:50.770-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Encouragement</title><summary type='text'>Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.One man was  allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the  fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to theroom's only window. The other  man had to spend all his time flat on his back.The men talked for hours on  end.They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their  involvement in the </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2005/03/encouragement.html' title='Encouragement'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=111155945327749330' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/111155945327749330'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/111155945327749330'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-110426983858375540</id><published>2004-12-28T13:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-28T13:39:29.193-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love citation</title><summary type='text'>If you're afraid to love a person because of friendship, you have 2 choices, either tell what you feel and let the love take place or forever hide the feeling under a friendship full of pretensions. Love can never be so beautiful without friendship, one leads to another and the process is irreversible!!! Love doesn't have to have a happy ending, 'coz love doesn't have to end at all. A man </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/12/love-citation.html' title='Love citation'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=110426983858375540' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/110426983858375540'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/110426983858375540'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-110322120801103411</id><published>2004-12-16T10:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-25T09:30:09.643-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gift</title><summary type='text'>A young man was getting ready to graduate college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, told him that was all he wanted. As the Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation his father called him into his private study. 
</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/12/gift.html' title='Gift'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=110322120801103411' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/110322120801103411'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/110322120801103411'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109849554597322255</id><published>2004-10-22T18:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T20:17:38.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Consideration</title><summary type='text'>One day, a ten-year-old boy went to an ice-cream shop, sat at a table and asked the waitress, "How much is an ice-cream cone?"
She said, "seventy-five cents." The boy started counting the coins he had in his hand. Then he asked how much a small cup of ice-cream was. The waitress impatiently replied, "sixty-five cents."
The boy said, "I will have the small ice-cream cup."
He had his ice-cream, </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/little-consideration.html' title='Little Consideration'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109849554597322255' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109849554597322255'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109849554597322255'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109848531852739969</id><published>2004-10-22T15:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-22T15:48:38.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Diet FAQ</title><summary type='text'> Q: I've heard that cardiovascular  exercise can prolong life. Is this true?   A: Your heart is only good for so  many beats, and that's it...don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out  eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like  saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live  longer? Take a nap.   Q: Should I cut down on </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/diet-faq.html' title='Diet FAQ'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109848531852739969' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109848531852739969'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109848531852739969'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109812615711376026</id><published>2004-10-18T13:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T23:32:15.353-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Winning Race</title><summary type='text'>A few weeks ago NIMH (National Institute of Mentally Handicapped, Hyderabad) had conducted a sports meet for all the physically &amp;amp; mentally handicapped children at National Stadium Hyderabad.
In one race, nine contestants, all physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard dash. At the gun, they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to run</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/winning-race.html' title='Winning Race'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109812615711376026' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109812615711376026'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109812615711376026'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109812452490693414</id><published>2004-10-18T11:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T23:35:50.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Self Appraisal</title><summary type='text'>A little boy went into a drug store, reached for a soda carton and pulled it over to the telephone. He climbed onto the carton so that he could reach the buttons on the phone and proceeded to punch in seven digits.
The storeowner listened to the following conversation.
The boy asked, "Lady, Can you give me the job of cutting your lawn?" The woman replied, "I already have someone to cut my lawn.</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/self-appraisal.html' title='Self Appraisal'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109812452490693414' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109812452490693414'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109812452490693414'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109808451791671894</id><published>2004-10-18T01:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T23:38:07.513-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Talent</title><summary type='text'>There was a student who was desirous of taking admission for the IIM study course. He was smart enogh to get through the written test, a GD and was to appear for the personal interview. Later, as the interview progressed, the interviewer found this boy to be bright since he could answer all the questions correctly. Ihe interviewer got impatient and decided to corner the boy "Tell me your choice,"</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/talent.html' title='Talent'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109808451791671894' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109808451791671894'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109808451791671894'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109808733446699062</id><published>2004-10-18T01:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T23:39:14.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love vs Marriage</title><summary type='text'>One day, Plato asked his teacher, "What is love? How can I find it?"
His teacher answered, "There is a vast wheat field in front. Walk forward without turning back, and pick only one stalk. If you find the most magnificent stalk, then you have found love."
Plato walked forward, and before long, he returned with empty hands, having picked nothing. His teacher asked, "Why did you not pick any </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/love-vs-marriage.html' title='Love vs Marriage'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109808733446699062' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109808733446699062'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109808733446699062'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109808346803776205</id><published>2004-10-18T01:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T23:40:23.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Faith</title><summary type='text'>The fields were parched and brown from lack of rain, and the crops lay wilting from thirst. People were anxious and irritable as they searched the sky for any sign of relief. Days turned into arid weeks. No rain came. 

The ministers of the local churches called for an hour of prayer on the town square the following Saturday. They requested that everyone bring an object of faith for inspiration</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/faith.html' title='Faith'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109808346803776205' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109808346803776205'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109808346803776205'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109807848210917831</id><published>2004-10-17T22:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T20:23:51.713-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who is carrying</title><summary type='text'>Two monks on a pilgrimage came to the ford of a river. There they saw a girl dressed in all her finery, obviously not knowing what to do since the river was high and she did not want to spoil her clothes. Without more ado, one of the monks took her on his back, carried her across and put her down on dry ground on the other side.
Then the monks continued their way. But the other monk after an </summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/who-is-carrying.html' title='Who is carrying'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109807848210917831' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109807848210917831'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109807848210917831'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8761481.post-109807842265770823</id><published>2004-10-17T22:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T20:24:23.343-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A little start</title><summary type='text'>A friend of ours was walking down a deserted Marina Beach at sunset. As he walked along, he began to see another man in the distance. As he grew nearer, he noticed that the local native kept leaning down, picking something up and throwing it out into the water. Time and again he kept hurling things out into the ocean.

As our friend approached even closer, he noticed that the man was picking up</summary><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mangalsain.com/pearlpot/2004/10/little-start.html' title='A little start'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8761481&amp;postID=109807842265770823' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.mangalsain.com/pearlpot/atom.xml' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109807842265770823'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8761481/posts/default/109807842265770823'/><author><name>msk</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author></entry></feed>