Maybe we are all only thoughts and thoughts are the only things that exist. Floating around, seamless, ageless, moorless, stretching unto eternity. Maybe I am a thought projected as a person. A thought that was a person long ago. A thought that is me now. A thought that would arise as me in many lives to come. Maybe I am a thought conjured up long long ago by someone. And, the thoughts that running through me now will be a person someday ? Maybe we are all nothing but thoughts
- Srividya Srinivasan
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
The child had to be admitted to school. The school that everyone went to. Home schooling was definitely an option. But, they had decided to give it one try before considering schooling the child themselves. So, it was settled between them all to brave the outside world. Finally, it was time to widen the circle. To see, if they could let the others in.
They had fallen in love with each other, intensely, passionately, their souls instantly fusing to shut out the world. None existed around them. He changed his name to Mr.She and she became Mrs.He. Their identities merged. The world laughed at him, for has any man given up his identity for a woman or borne her name and survived? He shrugged and grinned. He had no loss of identity by becoming Mr.She. He was proud to bear the tag as her partner, as the lover of her body and free spirit. To take on her identity was an honour. She wore the tag of Mrs.He with equal pride, flaunting it with a brazenness that was terrifying intense to others who wore theirs as matter of social security.
And, yet they were not married. Technically, at least by the world’s standards. He saw the fire in her eyes, and she saw the answering spark in his and there it was, a marriage by fire. Sacred was their union and unwavering was their love. Their identities had fused to the point that they needed no social sanction. To the world they were sinners, but they cared not for the world nor its values. They only knew this. The world was an outsider to their sacred union. Letting in the world and its opinions, morals and its structures was a sin, like their intimacy was put out on trial for the titillation of the public. The only religion they practised was love. In all forms, physical, mental and spiritual. They flowed into their silences as they flowed into their conversations, picking up silences that they left off midway or conversations they closed years later. The presence of the others into something as sacred as intimacy was almost blasphemous to them. The only third that they welcomed was the child, born out of their beautiful union and passion. A sacred reminder of their fusion. They gave it a name Child She He.
The child grew in love, fostered in silence and harmonious conversations, in wonder and awe of love and all things natural and profound. They studied nature together and their spirits often spoke in harmony and yet not a word was spoken in the teaching.
The boy stepped into the class. His carriage was proud. He looked different from the others. Talked and walked differently. He spoke words in the language they all understood and yet he spoke them differently. Slowly, deeply. As if, he meant every word. They seemed to come from some source deep within him. He spelt his name clearly. Child She He. They all tittered. Who is She that you bear her name? All our names just have Name He. The one from whose womb I came, he said proudly. I am product of the love of two people She and He. I shall bear her name first before his with pride, as she bore me with pride, he said. They fell silent, confused and unable to answer him.
He looked around. The girl across the room caught his eye. His eyes sparked. He smiled. There was an answering spark in her eyes. It was like there were no one else in the class room.
- Srividya Srinivasan
Monday, November 03, 2014
'The body and skin respond to the human touch in ways that the mind can scarce discern. But the mind is very involved, an eager participant and creator of desire. The body responds of its own accord pulsing, throbbing, craving fulfilment indifferent to the label one would fix to a partner, while the mind rejoices in feeding it with secret pictures. Be not fooled that the rock bed of a steady marriage lies in the fatherly touch from an elderly husband or the icy indifference or passive submissiveness of an indifferent wife and that fidelity lies in the mindless repetitions of a cold act of the parting of legs, or the panting of breaths. You need to be comfortable in your skin to be a lover. You cannot create desire. You feel desire. It needs a special eye and touch to be a lover, to be lovers, a certain coming together of mind and body where the repetition is desired. A familiar coming home to, where the uncertainty of the exact moment of outpouring lends it spontaneity. Familiar lovers lead exciting lives because they come together in desire irrespective of who has initiated it and when. The unexpected is often the magic.' - An excerpt from '6 Tits; by Srividya Srinivasan