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Never believing twink femboy kanha propaganda
like guys he’s literally the stereotypical robust pretty boy archetypeeee
He is described in Mahābhārata & Harivaṁśa as Mahābāhu → long, powerful arms; Vṛtta-bāhu → well-rounded (not thin) arms; Uru-skandha → broad shoulders; Vakṣaḥ-sthala vistīrṇa → wide chest; Sama-deha → perfectly proportioned body; Dīrgha-bāhu → arms reaching near the knees.
Kanha is such a possessive god
he will isolate you from the rest when you get closer to him, he will remove your incessant need to be close to humans
He will ensure you think about him in every second of the day
When you eat he’ll remind you to offer him first
he will come in your dream and not let you remember what the dream was but you will have his name on your tongue when you wake up
He will make you stop finding human men attractive and when you do your brain instantly compares their fickle beauty to that of the Madanmohana
he will make you procrastinate so you can lay in bed and think of him and only him, you don’t want to stop thinking of him for even a second
He’s my obsession
I'm soo not normal when it comes to Ranganathaswamy, why is he resting? Why is he so cute while he's resting? Why is he making me blush? What is wrong with him?
Taglist: @madatdisney @syamakrishna @mimaridoesmurari @merevasudevmeremadhav @bigsimp69 @achyutasahacarani @darkskytenjiku @pranasakha
I just watched a video of Pakistani women mourning her sister who was raped and murdered and somehow the whole comment section was full of people saying "jai Siya Ram" and "jai shree Krishna"
Jai siya ram? Siya? The same Siya who was rejected by the society for the sole crime of being a women? The same Siya who was abducted and tormented by a man who couldn't control his ego and lust? To Sita the modern day Ravana isn't a Muslim man it's the so called 'sanatani' men that celebrates the rape of a Muslim women as justice for their hindu sisters the same way Ravana called abduction of siya as justice for his sister
Jai shree Krishna? The same Krishna who's most famous for saving a women who was being sexually harassed? The same Krishna who married 16,000 women just cause he didn't want society? How do you think Krishna feels knowing the same type of people he fought against now chant his name with pride
how do you continue liking Krishna while getting rid of the superficial things. Like I just realized if Krishna was a fat man with a moustache I woudn’t…idk feel love to him still and it pissed me off. I guess I’ve kinda built a vision of what he looks like and I don’t know what I would do if he’s not like that….how do you love Krishna regardless of his appearance
girl i don't know about that but it's like the thing that "all hatsune miku are canon" i think the same and for me the krishna i love and visualise him as is the Kurukshetra one and the vrindavan one, so it's not one rigid thing that he looked like that and that if you don't like him that way that means you don't love him, once again it's just MY OPINION, so don't feel pressurized, i know someone who only visualises krishna as sourabh jain's character in the tv show and that's till okay, as long as the sentiment remains the same associated with his name.
i hope this answered your question:))
05 | A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes.
"THERE'S A RARE CHANCE I'M WRONG BUT- you seem too delighted for someone having lost a gift, my goddess." The lord of love hummed, lightly brushing with his knuckles the golden cheeks of his lady love, her joy permeating into the air in and around him. So that was enough to carry out the convincing business. Shri did not have to open her eyes to cast her gracious sidelong glance, to be victorious over him. She only leaned slightly towards him and he towards her --- as always.
Vishnu had lost himself the very moment she had appeared from the churning of the cosmic ocean, a festoon in hands, pearls draped around her orphic frame. He had refused to look anywhere else. There was nothing worth losing the moments he could spend carving her into his heart instead.
"My playful lord," she said, voice like the unhurried gush of rivers on colorful pebbles. "I have something for you to do. It's only downstairs, with our earthlings."
"Fetch it? Easy. You see, I'm already there . . . trying to mend things so that Kalki would have less work in his hands." Vishnu blinked, then sighed back into his usual yoganidra position with an almost sheepish smile. "I'm not too sure if it'd work." Then he was the one doing the convincing work, rubbing his chin so his lotus was left floating for a while --- then it traversed to find sanctuary in Shri's embellished pleat. On her diadem, his peacock feather rested. You see, all of her shringara was impeccable --- had been --- until she'd decided the sapphire talisman was to be a gift to someone else. "But you know I adore your earth form, sweet one. And it's good to stray from prewritten paths, do you not think?" He continued.
Above this little interaction, Adishesha swayed in curiosity. Then raised a single brow. He's downstairs as I know, and so does Ksheera.
So, both are at it again.
"As am I, just . . . probably not in the conventional sense." The gentle-limbed goddess continued, lotus eyes twinkling in subtle mischief --- so that only the dusky lord would be known for his. How would you know? How wouldn't you?
For the first time in a while, Vishnu found himself mildly alarmed, "Oh? But you said-" Am I to be all alone there?
His wife shook her head, putting her hand on his, "Husband, the talisman. I want it back. And not just that, as you know."
A heartbeat.
"Right." Narayana smiled, his eyes curving in crescents, grazing his lips against the back of her palm, fresh lotuses blooming in his lungs for that was her sublime scent. "I will."
~ ° ~ ° ~
GROW ON ME LIKE FUNGI ON A CORPSE/ GROW ON ME LIKE MOSS/ GROW ON ME FOR I HAVE BEEN A DESERT TOO LONG/ WHERE MUST THE ABRUPT RAIN GO?
The talisman caught the fading light of an unnamed source and the sleep goddess had evaded Ira. Therefore a late night journal not to be seen in the daylight at the risk of sounding pathetic gathered her thoughts and filed them away from the world and from her other self. Unaccustomed to this celestial trickery of Nidradevi, Ira found herself skirting around an abyss.
It was a rule not to stare at the abyss, as someday it might stare back. What then? Was the luxury of drifting bestowed upon someone crafted in light such as this witch?
Ira had massaged her mother's feet and diced the sweet pink guavas for her (Mama would recount her girlhood days when she'd climb trees of their own orchard, her father's orchard, to pluck those fruits. That was why Mother had been an adorable round baby, full of vigour. Ira never was because she did not have a penchant for food usually).
- sent Agastya his lychees (their favourite uncle would bring dozens of them during their summers as children. He still had a preference for them. He told her that Rishika had prepared a pastry out of them for him, and offered Ira some but she wouldn't take them. Just mildly nauseous, she said. She could not stomach whatever he was extending.)
- took her time to peer at Maya's sketches above her glasses and review not for the sake of it but because her best friend was so radiant in her exuberance, as if Ira could decide their worth. She couldn't; nobody could.
- graded the test papers and conducted extra classes from her own end, unpaid, just so that a handful of children wouldn't waste themselves in the upcoming semester exams. Ira realized she did not have to, since the ungodly jugfuls of coffee had successfully vanquished all the smithereens of sleep decorating her eyelids --- and settled in her ribs the incorrigible urge to claw at her heart.
Something was already doing it, anyway.
Tacky circumstances. Nidradevi had clearly not met a creature so tenacious before.
Therefore, Ira had taken it upon herself to be introduced handsomely. Especially since it was the weekend and she could lounge around being a zombie with minimal damage to her routine. She could also spend the day dozing off and not worry about productivity. Perfect.
Which explained why from the middle of the night to the break of dawn, the vintage radio at her desk had been playing through her scribbling at her novel and preparing for next week's syllabi --- dreaming and waking in minutes --- and vividly hallucinating about the implications of this obscured gem dangling off a golden chain. It was seemingly innocuous and yet robust enough to speed her train of imagination through the tunnels of safe solitude, wherein nothing and no one would question the sole thread her sanity hung by, because whoever inhabited it remained stars away.
That was how she'd passed the tenebrous hours at the wake of the sun.
The world stirred back to life outside the fog of her window --- slow, steady, and hopeful.
At first it was the lone call of a cuckoo. Then the pair of mynas chirped vehemently and their nest nearby echoed, the eggs had hatched only a while back. Ira thought she spied a close shuffle of feet, but Nutan wouldn't be roused at five in the morning, because Ira had made sure she wouldn't. She moved around the house noiselessly, a feline venturing in the woods to hunt something stimulating, then would return to her nook with the same freedom as that of the lone wild cats.
'So the world goes round and round
With all you ever knew
They say the sky high above
Is Caribbean blue.'
Enya trailed off in an ethereal tune just as Ira rose from her cushioned chair, pandiculating to form a butterfly, shirt riding up and fur slippers too comfortable to step out of.
Ira warmed her palms against a cup of herbal tea, humming along to the song, just as the wakefulness of adrenaline and too much caffeine seemed to fade into a haze. Then she dreamt of the same ambiguous curls, the same bright laughter, the same mischievous lotus eyes she wished she knew to paint. A bamboo flute, golden bordered yellow, a thousand headed being. Somewhere far --- Ira was only the size of his toe. Then somewhere achingly near. She could faintly smell musk. She could never locate it.
Ira found herself looking for something solid to hold onto, but she had held a rope before. Tugged at it with all her might, wrapped it around her hand so that she wouldn't have to let go. It did. And with angry red scratches, peeling her skin along.
Then she never put her hands on anything. Nothing simply belonged to Ira, so it wouldn't make sense to attach them to herself like phantom limbs. She already ached where she couldn't put a salve to. The illusion of phantom limbs possessed so much more than memory.
Memories could jade with time. Ira did not recall half her childhood. What she did, however, was a lone glance across time and space. It had called her.
"Does it make you wonder," she murmured, raspy and languid. The sylph around her fluttered to her right shoulder, fixing a wisp which had strayed from her braid. It was no physical entity but then so wasn't the wind, just a pink and white shade. Ira rested her cheek on her knee, arms around her legs, watching the blue disappear from the ether with the inexplicable melancholy of a lover waiting another tryst. "If the blue she speaks of is what he might look like? Blue as in the night sky . . . perhaps monsoon clouds. What do you think the oceans on all those planets named in numerical gibberish are the colour of?"
'If all we told was turned to gold
If all we dreamed was new
Imagine sky high above
In Caribbean blue.'
Somewhere along the winding up to begin the day, the radio ceased and Ira sang --- just mildly, hair past her shoulder blades and detangled with all the patience in the world. The sapphire rested at her breast and its gleam in her eye, when in the twitterpatted reverie-
"I live by the ocean, I once had a home further into it. If those were the times, I would've mistaken you for a siren, milady."
A voice. Masculine and impossibly honeyed. As if the clouds had dipped to meet the earth just briefly and announced that they'd stay. A brontide, but neither loud nor frightening. Not an intrusion but an expression: Look at me, I'm here.
It was as if it had already been there since . . .
Catatonic, Ira's train of thoughts buffered. Her eyes wide and breath caught, all she could think of was how close it seemed he was through the wall. He could hear her. Could he see her? Was it possible to intrude into the privacy of another witch? Apparently so. Ira had never initiated a conversation, let alone an introduction. Her resting mean face usually warded off prospects of all kinds. But then someone had just heard her through the other side --- wherever near the ocean it was he was saying --- and decided that it was alright to speak to a stranger.
Either she was rude or he was. But neither were introduced to another so that meant Ira was still safe.
There was an amused huff from the other side, perhaps he had sensed her shock, "Please, do not fret. I'm merely the owner of this talisman. But I discover my patron has entrusted you with it. May I have it back?"
Her cheeks pinked, a periwinkle wavering.
"She asked me not to give it to anyone," Ira said calmly, in the absence of any calm. A man! God help her. Why would Bhumidevi put her in such a quandary? "Unless . . . my heart tells me to. Sounds doltish and made up --- I'm aware --- but that's my patron as well, I think. I wouldn't dare lie."
Which, yes, sounded childish to herself too. But who was she to question the ways of the gods?
The thoughtful hmm from him somehow ignited the irrational urge to try and tear the wall and just have a look at this mystery man across only Bhumidevi knows what part of the world. And most importantly, with horror she realized that he couldn't lie either. Or maybe he could. Divine mischief, who knew what sense it made?
"Of course, I understand. I shall have it, sooner or later. Only if you allow that is, yes?"
". . . Alright?"
"Very well, then. Regards, fellow magician."
Something in the spirit of the room changed. What had seemed slightly more luminous and light had returned to the humdrum Ira-ness. Ira could not tell what, but only that the connection had severed. She exhaled a breath, the most addled-muddled witch on the face of the earth.
There couldn't have been a stranger morning. A paltry one would not normally know what was transpiring, only that magic gods had their eyes on something.
Only that some sort of witchery was at play.
~ ° ~ ° ~
Wrote this at 2Am instead of sleeping
where do I begin keshava, my love for you cannot described in words,
O shyama it hurts me to think about ur beauty and ur valor,
O man amongst men, the noblest and purest of them all, the essence of masculinity and the representative of Mankind,
every man I have ever desired had been you, every quality in a man I ever wanted was you, every desire I felt for a man was you.
My shyama ranga madhava you have captivated me in a sense that it has made all men look unattractive in my eyes,
For once I have tasted your perfection even the most handsome and desirable men have lost all attraction for me.
I cry thinking of your beautiful dark skinned with your almond shaped eyes that are ever compassionate yet humbling with your red lips curved up in a smile.
My kanha you are kameshwara the origin of all Kama, O origin of desire, I desire you
I know you burn for me and I cannot burn you because I already have you and you already have me.
We can never be deprived of love for each other as I love you and you love me
My devotion, fear, love, and everything blends together when it comes to you
Please take me my lord for I am tired of living in this maya
Take me back to you don’t tease me any longer madusudhan
