The lure of limitation.

Dogs are partially colorblind. They do not see the same spectrum range of colors as we do.

So?

The rainbow, made of the intricate fine merging between the colors of the electromagnetic spectrum which we often witness, which we cherish and celebrate, which is captured and won awards for, which is studied, explained and myth-ed about, doesn't really exist for a dog. They can not see or imagine rainbows.

Which means, whatever exists and is possible for us, absolutely doesn't exist for some organisms.
If a dog said it saw a rainbow, it would be taken to be eccentric, in its own world. If a butterfly heard that humans live for decades after decades as compared to its 6-8 weeks lifespan, it would ridicule us. However, the fact that one doesn't see or hold a proof for something relative to their own self, doesn't deny the fact that it doesn't exist. Rather, the sheer brilliance of limitations.

With our limitation of the electromagnetic range, we get to experience the nuances the colors portray! Doesn't this situation apply to all of us as well? What if time is actually a certain something, like the rainbow for us is a certain something for the dogs, what if some other being could actually see time, break it, feel it and even stop it? What if magic exists? What if our thoughts, our random dreams aren't just psychological, rather physically existent?

How can we base the absolute truth relative, ONLY to our limitations?
Our limitation with respect to vision, senses, mind, voice and body?
If a rainbow doesn't exist for a dog, doesn't mean it isn't present.
If a plethora of things aren't visible but just felt, doesn't mean it isn't present.
If a species called homo sapiens doesn't believe in magic, doesn't mean it isn't present.

The lure of limitation.
The gift of limitation.
The tenderness of limitation.

 © Deekshita Srinivas
    19:41 pm
     Amazed by limitations. 

Swept off my feet. Yet again.

You know those moments when one is in absolute awe.
Not the oh-good-awe.
Rather, the I-have-no-idea-where-this-is-taking-me-I-am-done-and-owned-awe.

Who does that to me?
The sky and its companions, yes.The colors that kick off routine, yes.The beginning of a smile, yes.
The hug from a loved one, yes.The postcard traveling miles to reach me, yes. The magic of everything, yes.The pause between chaos, yes.The strangers and their stories, yes.
The universe and people's little adorable nuances, yes.

But guess who it was today?
Time and again.
In the deepest of deep and the highest of high.
In an epitome that I surrendered to.
Of the blue skies and green forest.

It was the oldest Dravidian Language.
Yet again.
Like the prey being swallowed whole by a snake. Like the complete acceptance.
I am done and taken. By this beautiful language. Amidst the work to do, lesson to complete, people to respond to, grin at the sky, attend to the November breeze, the mind conflict half discussed, the story yet to tell, here I am, ranting about the language, hearing to what led me here.

And remember my obession with certain words from languages I barely know or am fluent in?
The latest addition is surprisingly a word that wraps itself with a couple of events.
First, a terrible event that breaks me.
Now, a musical brilliance that I have fallen in love with a few hours ago and still keeps me stunned.

Aval (அவள்)
Ennaval


The sound of it, delicately intimate and bearingly overwhelming. 

I can't read/write this language.
But what do I do?
It is working its magic on me and there seems to be no escape.
Absolutely, breathtakingly, overwhelmingly, comfortingly no escape.
Things find their way to me, and their timing? Impeccable.
Tamizh found its way to me today. Again.
Even the light inside the green bottle of happiness, even the pebbles gracing off shine, even the letters yet to be opened, seem slightly dull at this moment.

To everything else, that shall find its way to me, I hope and I promise, I will try and admire you on par with this moment. But for now, tamizh wins hands down.


To, shifting my attention from all the terrible things floating around.
To,the poetic brilliance and charm it carries.

To, Tamizhum Naanum. :)

 © Deekshita Srinivas

    hoping, rather craving to wake up with a super power which helps me read, write and           understand each and every language that exists. 
    19:29 pm
    

Grey. Like fear.

A little bit of everything.

A little bit of everything, is what I say when someone questions about my day.
In one such, little bit of everything day, fear is trying to creep in.
I remember how I justified fear, in conversations. I said, If not for fear, what else would drive you to it? Somehow there always seemed to be an agreement. Now, I admit, I might have been wrong.

Fear, like grey, like fading autumn leaves, like setting sun, like pausing rain, like the last note of a musical, like the time before a roller coaster races down; is incredibly beautiful and dangerously gruesome.

If everything can be defined relative to some other thing, is my definition of fear changing simply because my relative has changed? An event has occurred, which is impossible to stay still about and overwhelmingly terrific to describe about. Hence, the solace in questions. Mind numbing, spine chilling pain and grief into questions. Don't let fear creep into you, said a beautiful soul hundreds of miles away from me. But, does conscience escape fear? Does it acknowledge fear at all?

Fear.
Slithering slyly into a assumed to be, more so, could be happy soul?
Fear, little by little.
In small tiny bouts.
Like a sprinkle of water mid sleep.
Like a surprise, I always crave for.

Fear of not being so many people, places, cultures, smiles, love, moments, colors and apparently, time and need. Fear of solitude turning into routine, fear of the familiar scent of memory everywhere I go, fear of vanishing into absolutely a thin puff of air, unnoticed, at the other end, fear of incompleteness, fear of stillness, fear of lack of importance, fear of a plethora of fears, staring right into the eye with truck loads of possibility. And conscience? You work your magic on me. Work your magic on the blue of the sky and the black of the chimney, why not on whatever is supposedly guilty? Or do you try all it takes and slip away quietly? Conscience and fear. Probably like the grey between white and black. Grey, someone asked me to write about it. Grey was comfort and wanting, then. Grey is fear and conscience now. Not all that comfortable, not all that wanting, not all that amiable.

Is this an analogy to everything else? How when the relative changes, so does the definition.
The veins of routes within the world map right above my head, understands what this fear is upto.
The portrait of my picture, a happy birthday present, understands what this fear is upto.
The Violin to my left, longing to be embraced, understands what this fear is upto.
The unread books, the incomplete diaries, the dried ink, the lights gleaming towards the window, all understand what this fear is upto.

And yet, I turn to writing.
Are all those who understand what this fear is upto, in turn fear their consequence?

Only the next relative I associate it to can tell. :)

 © Deekshita Srinivas
    10th November 2016
     20:50 PM
     Feared, pained,calm and commonplace. 

The Ground Of Being

In moments of absolute silence, something stunned me.
Yet again. :)

How amazing is the speed of the mind? Music plays in the background, music that makes sense now, but a million years ago, what were these words, sounds and tones, if not gibberish? This incredible discovery called music, enters your ear, with air being the medium. The senses know what it is, why it is and how it is. The brain perceives it as music, acknowledges it, lets it be. The brain loves the music, is so beautifully taken by it, that it has to inform those voluntary muscles to form patterns in air, as a muse, as a liking, as a sign of being absolutely immersed in it, the voluntary muscle abide by, like a loving canvas that is unmisted and accepts whatsoever comes its way. The voluntary muscles help your hand move, tap in synchronization, shrink in intensity and just suspend in awe.

All this in a millionth of a moment.
How beautiful is this? Why did it have to be this way?
No, don't sigh. I know how it functions, how the reflexes work, so on and so forth.
But why does it have to be the way it is?

I can't stay still but be astonished, at the epitome of intensity. In the middle of learning a programming language & treating my senses with the kind of music I love, it is inevitable but to write about this.

The eyebrows twitch to a narrow embezzlement, the eye lens move gracefully like the globe, the iris shrinks and expands upon sensing light, as though it were a child, lighting up upon seeing gifts. The chest moves rhythmically, from time to time, keeping away everything aside, responsibly doing what it's supposed to do. The voice in your head, reading this line. The voice box is still, how else does it exist? How else do you hear it? Being is so beautiful. To just be. To feel the pressure of the sunlight on your skin. The wind brushing across. And to identify what it is.

Look at yourself or a person next to you.
Look at the gleam in the eye. How the hair falls or sticks or lays. How the nails reflect in the dull light from the corner. How the nose crumbles adorably. How the skin puts up with the drama, when one gobble's up food. How the neck turns to notice even at the slightest of disturbance.  How expressive their hands are.
Being is unbelievably magnificent.


The universe today.
Has come to drag me out of myself.
And take me.
Into its being.

 © Deekshita Srinivas
    The first day of the last two months of 2016. 
     14:54 pm. 
     Hungry, happy and resuming back to the programming language.