Skip to main content

It’s not you, it’s me

Have netizens taken to opium? I’m truly stumped by people going gaga over the new TR. I’ve photographic evidence to stake my claim that the old TR was better.

 

The NEW Science Page (look at the ad.)

new

 

The OLD Science Page (more like a newspaper and no ad.)

old

 

How text appears in the NEW Reader

text_new

 

How text appears in the OLD Reader (it’s clearer)

text_old

 

Ads by Google in the new Reader (old Reader didn’t have them)

ads

Need more screenshots?

Comments

saurabh said…
dude, calm down... not good for ur HBP. :)
on an entirely different note, as me and rob were discussing abt how we hadnt "partied" in a long time, when/where are you throwing us the grand feast for getting married??? :D
Deepanjan said…
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind!

;)

Popular posts from this blog

This is what Bertrand Russell said about religion...

Religion is based, I think, primarily and mainly upon fear. It is partly the terror of the unknown and partly, as I have said, the wish to feel that you have a kind of elder brother who will stand by you in all your troubles and disputes. ... A good world needs knowledge, kindliness, and courage; it does not need a regretful hankering after the past or a fettering of the free intelligence by the words uttered long ago by ignorant men.

The year that was

I'm wearing a rather striking shirt, one that makes me feel like a clown fooling around in a graveyard. Roving eyes latch on to me and make me too conscious of myself. Checkered in red, grey, black and maroon, I've excused myself into donning it and looking silly for two reasons. It's Friday and…more importantly, the last working day of the year. Tailored half-a-year back, I never had the courage to wear it, not until today. It's that time of the year when it's time to reflect on the events that transpired. Last year ended on the worst possible note. Dad had expired and I was numb with shock. The repercussions rippled halfway thought this year. Things were so abysmal initially that I had lost the will to live. Acrid in everything I did, I was immensely angered by time phlegmatically flowing through its cadence. It was as if Dad meant nothing to anybody. What right did people have to live the way they always had when Dad was no more? Why was much of the world still