I long to be friends again …

I am hurting like crazy
more than I have been hurt all my life.
Like a child unable to comprehend
why adults are mean.
Like a child who badly wants to
play with a best friend
who just doesn't want to play with him anymore.
I am standing at the edge of the ground,
watching with my face pressed against the mesh fence,
knowing full well that I wouldn't be
accepted into the game.
I don't know what i have done or not done,
I can only feel helpless childish tears flow.
One minute we were both playing together
and the next minute you had thrown me out of
the field and out of the game.
And like a child with unreasonable hope
I can only pray that we be friends again.

This one moment...

If one could choose between one glorious moment of honesty
to a million inner battles of conventionality,
I am glad we have chosen this one moment
to be true.

A moment that would stand beautiful and pure,
stuck between
the years of the past and the years of the future
both not given to us.

Let us not get into dangerous waters
unless we are both ready to swim.
It is enough that we feel the same way
and finally saying it true.
Meeting each other on equal ground
and holding nothing back.

And so, only this moment is ours, my dear,
precious in our declaration of love.
For the beautiful people we are this moment.
Not for censorious eyes or waggling tongues,
and not even for our own narrow doubting selves
that would return after this precious moment is past.

Let us hold on to this moment a little longer,
It holds the beauty of a million moments
that never was and would never be.

------ Srividya Srinivasan, 7.9.2009

To a first love...

If I could turn back the clock,
I would hold your gaze until eternity,
and hold you tight and not let go.
I would write you letters of my love
and get replies to them too
and not wait in vain.
I would know my answer true
and know it hadn't been all in my head.
Your grin is fixed in my mind still
just as my youth is fixed in yours.
Should we ever meet
I wonder what we will find?
Soulmates that missed their way
or a silly relationship that never was.

--- Srividya srinivasan

Deep Down

Deep down my dearest, nothing has changed.
Deep down my dearest, is the magic,the hope and the connect.
Deep down my dearest, beneath the layers of pain and triviality,
beneath the wrinkles and the years,
fresh and beautiful, pure and untouched lies our love.
As young as the day it was born and, as innocent.

I see you are wearing your mask, and I come wearing none.
Let me be gracious in pretending that deep down there is and was nothing,
For deep down my dearest, both of us know
I can't ever wear a mask and you can never take yours off.

------- Srividya Srinivasan

he she he she he ?

She got up in the morning a male.
Adjusted the color of her skin to suit the day,
Smoothened yesterday's curves to square lines, .
As his feet slipped into the slip-ons,
the boobs disappeared.
It was always the last one to go.
As he strode lengthy strides,
the stubble came up just when the sun did.
He whistled at a passing she,
and she came around
he she he she he she?

--- Srividya Srinivasan

The big question

How can we comprehend the
mystery of what happens before birth
and what happens after death,
when we haven't even learnt
to understand ourselves
in between those two?

----------- Srividya srinivasan, Feb 8th 09

The journey

There are levels to be reached
where the mind cannot go
where words lose their meaning
where thoughts cease
where silence rules
and oneless prevails.
It is an experience
that can only be felt.
there are no parallels.
no 'like this', 'like that'.
only 'neti' - None of all these.
With what does one come back from the journey?
How does one ever narrate the journey?
With words?
that would be twisted for their meaning?
or checked for their syntax?
If it can be shared,
let it be in silence.


---------------- Srividya Srinivasan Feb 8 - 2009

Lullaby to a girl child!

Don’t jump or run
What if you hurt yourself there?

Don’t bawl
Stifle the pain. Let the tears flow artistically down your cheeks.

Please
Don’t walk so tall and confident.

Look down
at the ground as you walk.

Don’t stare back
Instead lower your eyelids, shyly.

Pinch your cheek
Practise your blush for the compliments to come.

Giggle
Never laugh out loud.

Lower
Your voice. It should never be heard

Go deaf
Pretend you haven’t heard all that you do.

Hold your tongue
At any cost, never speak your mind.

Blank your mind
Don’t have any thoughts, opinions or ideas.

Bottle up
Your desires; you are his property and his slave.

Hide
your bosom, don’t jut it out, and don’t sway your hips

Close up
Sit demure. Don’t spread your legs.

Open up.
Be the vamp when he so desires.

Hide
Your intelligence and your rebellion and your revulsion.

Fake.
Your orgasm

Pray.
You get a baby boy the first time.

Sacrifice.
Your very identity to a stereotype

Yes dear, you would be just fine, you would be just fine,
Safe from the taliban, safe from the sena,
safe from the men that would be born
from our very wombs.

------------------ Srividya Srinivasan, Feb 2nd - 2009

The rebel lives on

Like a phoenix, 

the rebel rises again and again,

refusing to listen to the voice of defeatism, 

beating its tired but strong wings, 

for that familiar magnificient flight 

in stormy skies fraught with challenge.

The rebel lives on.

- Srividya Srinivasan 

Death of a rebel

My mind oscillates no more.
The imaginary pendulum has stopped its swinging....

I did not go the well travelled roads that the world
assured me were the safest 
and braved it through the storm
armed with nothing but my intuition and guts to guide me.

The well travelled roads had nothing to offer
but safety and mediocrity.
But, if I had gone its ways I may have even been happy.
And so would the world have been.
That, it had stilled yet another rebel.

I took the unknown ways...
I have only myself to blame
and faced the shame.
New and untried adventures assailed me,
I tried wrestling with my wits,
and my courage was tested,
as at each stage the world watched
with bated breath,
to rejoice at my failures.
I never came out of it all,
glorious in my victory ,
masterful and strong .
And I never won the victory 
For the world to mourn my success.

The choice is no longer left to me now.
And the risk was just not worth it after all.

- Srividya Srinivasan Sept 2008 

-------------------------------------------------------------

THE ETERNAL QUESTION


My mind oscillates.
The imaginary pendulum swings....

Should I go the well travelled roads that the world
assures me are the safest ?
or
Should I brave it through the storm armed with nothing but
my intuition and guts to guide me ?

The well travelled roads have nothing to offer
but safety and mediocrity.
It shall bring me no fame or name.
But if I go its ways I may not be happy.
Neither will the world be.
But it shall rejoice that it has stilled yet another rebel.

But if I take the unknown ways...
I shall have only myself to blame
and face the risk of shame.
New and untried adventures shall assail me,
I shall wrestle with my wits,
and my courage will be tested,
as at each stage the world would watch
with bated breath,
to rejoice at my failures.
I may come out of it all,
glorious in my victory ,
masterful and strong .
And I may be supremely happy
as the world mourns my success.

But the choice is left to me.
My mind oscillates.
Should I risk it ?

- Srividya Srinivasan May 1994

Welcoming the baby

He had made up his mind. His knotted hands trembled as he clutched the precious seeds in the palm of his sweaty hands. He had heard his son and daughter-in-law whispering in the dark, a few days back. ‘Where do we put the baby?’ The utter helplessness in their voices had put the idea into his head. At first, he had wished it away. Unbidden it came, again and again. Pushing its way to the surface of his consciousness; until he was forced to acknowledge it for what it was – a master solution.

As his feet trudged over the cracked earth, the heat waves hit his face and made his weak eyes water and blur. He walked on resolutely. The faces on the way were grim. Not a single drop had fallen from the skies for days. For months. He passed by a crowded house. The wailing had just started. He forced his mind not to think. To imagine how it be. Soon. Now they would lower the body. The wailing would start. The beating of the chest. The thumping of the drums. The rhythmic death dance. A few flowers purchased on credit and a few wild flowers thrown in for free. Then, the government would step in. An official would come - usually a thin reedy man with a trembly voice awkward in his responsibility. He would give a cheque after a short speech, which would be drowned in the wailing. Then the family would feast. Eat after maybe days. There would be a few photographs taken. Sometimes, the local politician would join in, if he felt it would add to his mileage.

His face or behaviour gave no clue of what was running in his mind. He wiped his dry dusty feet on the dry dusty mat and went in. The poor girl was almost done. Well into her pregnancy. His eyes shifted vaguely trying to avoid looking at her helpless face. She served him the meagre portion of the gruel.

In the night, he woke up to the dry heat and moans of labour. His daughter-in-law was trying her best not to disturb him by stifling the cries of pain. He knew the time was right. He put the tiny pellet into his mouth and then lay down again. The last he knew was the wail of the baby as it came into the world.

At dawn, they found him dead. The precious seeds for the next season clutched tightly in his hands. The house that could only hold three people had a place for the baby now. The wailing started. Both, from the new born baby and for the dead.

The rains came, as they started the death dance.

The lone eagle flies

The lone eagle flies

high above. 

reveling in the height,

the sheer joy of the view.

Seeing the world far below.

Proud of its aloneness.

And ruggedness.

The feathery white clouds

stealthily enroached 

and enveloped it

in its white softness.

Wonder what became 

of the eagle ?

A strange thought!

Why is it when we can understand that the image in the mirror is an illusion, we always think we are real in some way? What block in the mind prevents us from seeing the temporary and illusionary nature of our own self ?

Afternoon Ramblings [ Srividya Srinivasan]

The Cosmic Cycle

In the Cosmic Cycle,
How would I ever know
if the current is a result
of the past
or it is the cause for
an effect in the future ?
How do I use
my free will unless
I know this ?

- Ramblings -
Srividya Srinivasan

The preciousness of it all

I am the rare flower,
that you have to treasure, nurture and protect.
I am the precious gem,
that you have to discover, polish, flaunt and secure,
I am the uncommon,
fast becoming extinct unto ordinariness.

If you are not the connoisseur,
and failed to see my rareness,
for all you can see is the common,

Is that my fault or yours?

When you were thinking of sex

When you were thinking of sex
I was thinking of advaita, the cosmic fusion.
When you were thinking of love
I was thinking of soul mates.
When you were thinking of you and me
I was thinking of us.
When you thought that 'I' am begging,
'I' had already surrendered my ego to love
When you thought 'I' am Vulnerable
'I' was the strong one with all of me given to Love.
You are the one who is running,
You are one looking for a escape route,
You are the one afraid to look into yourself and let go.

You come from a world where two separate souls meet, interact and
move on carrying what you brought in.

For me, there is no 'I'. My love is a seamless merging.
That is why I cannot let go. You are in me.
I have fused myself into togetherness with nothing separate.

Where can you go ?

Now, do you comprehend the depth of my pain?
It is the pain of the womb,
As the child is forcibly separated from the mother,
It is a mental tearing off,
limb by limb,
trying to identify
what is yours and
what is mine.

- Srividya Srinivasan

Responding to the Cosmic

Do not take credit or feel pride for anything
you have done or achieved.
Your intelligence was given.
Your physical looks were given.
Your fit body with no deformities was given.
Do not measure my world and yours by
the number of children we had;
the number of cars we owned;
the amount of money we have in the bank;
or the investments we have done.
In the passage of life these mean nothing.

Do not weigh your personality
with psuedo words, pride and position,
or the arrogance that you know it all.
Against the simplest test of intelligence,
you would fail miserably.
They were all given.
We have earned nothing, we own nothing.
Not our body, not our minds, not our intelligence,
not our wealth, not our health, not our children,
nor our parents.

Your opportunities were carved out for you by
the world and the cosmos.
If at all you have a right to take any credit,
it is only that you recognized your potential,
that you utilised your faculties,
and
that you seized and responded to the divine cosmic,
and went with the larger flow for your own redemption.

- Srividya Srinivasan

Is Adwaitha really possible ?

Is Adwaitha really possible ? Truly ? For even that tiniest fraction of time if it does, would not it be the most magnificient phenomena as all dualities merge seamlessly right from the largest to the tinest i.e the proton and the electron to the entire cosmos that is held in balance due to duality losing itself ? Pralaya.What a thought !!

Srividya Srinivasan
[ Midnight Ramblings]

The resultant is everything or nothing!!

When the individual consiousness merges with the supreme consciousness,
when dwaitha merges into adwaitha,
Would the resultant be nothing ?
or everything ?
is it nothingness cos no properties exist or everythingness as all properties are merged ?

Srividya Srinivasan
[ Midnight Ramblings]

Bliss

Anandha lies suspended between the clutter of the past
and the nebulousness of the future.
A fragile pulsing moment of pure life.
I am in bliss.

- Srividya Srinivasan