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@thedesirenaissance
would people read a story where a working woman, maybe a professor, hears a knock on her door one night and opens her door to reveal a very dark-skinned smiling baby with a flute and a peacock feather (uhm krishna uhm)? and she takes him in and raises him, basically a fluffy, slice of life, mythological, tale with a sprinkle of next-door-neighbor trope?
I went ahead and posted it. Check it out!
Na Saam, Daam, Dand, Bhed!
Chapter I
Na Saam, Daam, Dand, Bhed! - Chapter I
Pairing: OC X OC (Baby Krishna)
c/w: heart-wrenching fluff, slow burn, babies, dry humour
Prologue
"This video will reach people who are having a fantastic September.."
Boring. Scroll up.
"Did you know? There've been developments in cytology that can completely delete the chromosome that causes Down Syndrome?"
The hookline was interesting enough for Yamini to pause. She listened to the woman on the other side of the screen. After a tiring day of teaching first-semester students basic taxonomic terms for an easier year, doomscrolling from 10:30 to 11:45 was a very preferable way to unwind. But today was a holiday for Janmashtami, so the time was cut by 15 minutes.
That is, unless she was interrupted by a phone call from one of her students. Like any other day, she was interrupted today too. By a student whose name she'd saved as 'P. R 3rd Sem.'
"What?" She said, picking up the phone.
"Ma'am, what is the order of Housefly?" Her jaw clenched tight. He called her on a holiday, disrupting her carefully curated day, by asking a preliminary question. The sheer gall.
"Diptera." She shoved the bitter words down the back of her throat and told him the answer.
Na Saam, Daam, Dand, Bhed! - Prologue
Characters: OC X OC (And Baby Krishna)
a/n:-hiii guyss, not my first time writing a story, but def the first time writing smth strictly fluffy. the first chapter will probably be up by sunday or tuesday, depends on my testing schedule. hope you all like it! lots of love!
all pictures are from Pinterest and belong to respective owners.
Chapter I
What happens when you play God?
I'm a Bengali.
Not from Bengal. But from Assam.
Yet, I'm as much Bengali, if not more than the ones sitting in Bengal (no matter what a certain Chief Minister says about my language mother tongue).
Amidst all political debates - debates on who will win, who won't, why someone will win, why someone won't - we forgot why there's no chance she'd have won.
She lost on 9th August, 2024.
She lost on the day an innocent human lost their life in their workplace, their second home.
She lost on the day she blamed the victim, for staying outside late, for her job.
She lost when she interfered with the investigation.
She lost when she offered money in exchange for a life.
She lost when lax security cost a mother her child.
She lost when a girl with a flower tucked in her hair, love in her heart, lost her precious life to a demon(s).
She lost because she failed a woma(e)n.
She lost when she told the women of Sandeshkhali to forget the past.
She lost when she protected shameless rapists.
She lost when a mother fought to change the system.
She lost because she forgot she lived in a land where the divinity of women is revered.
She lost because she thought she could play God.
She lost because she believed she was invincible.
She lost because she forgot there is a power greater than a chair.
Far, far greater.
bad things happen to good people.
i heard my father say 'bad things happen to good people' yesterday. i do not agree with it at all. bad things happen to everyone. god does not always throw a dice in favor of bad people, inherently evil people are also on the receiving end of bad luck. i believe - bad things happen to everyone. you become good or bad depending on how you take it. do you let the grief soften you? or do you let it consume you? that is up to you. sure, sometimes, it will seem like good things are happening to everyone but you. but in time, you will come to know that - it was for the best. standing tall despite the misfortune, smiling despite the grimness of it all, keeping your chin up desite all that is weighing you down, that is what makes you good. and of course, believing in goodness keeps you good.
Piya Ghar Aaya
soooo, my gra(e)y's anatomy-infused brain listened to coke studio's 'piya ghar aaya' on repeat yesterday, and i kind of cooked up something. ignore the blatant murder of medical terms, just feel the fibes<3
Idol Worship
I used to find it paradoxical that Hinduism encouraged idol worship, all the while saying that god lived in all of us. In fact, the mere concept of offering my salutations to stone and clay idols baffled me! How could a religion that preached about an omnipresent god encourage idol worship? Because of the aforementioned reasons, I tried to avoid daily pujas and going to temples altogether.
A few days back, my mother asked me to do the daily puja. I agreed, of course, I lack the courage to say no to her. An almost sudden epiphany struck me while washing the feet of Kali Maa. I realised I was holding the universe in my palms. The feet were barely the size of my thumb, and yet, it brought me so much happiness that I was allowed by the destroyer of time herself a chance to show my devotion. Just how beautiful is that?
It is probably the religious dogmatism that ruined the concept of idol worship. I am sure a menstruating woman touching the idol would bring no harm to her or the idol. It is almost certain that touching the idol without bathing would not make it melt to the ground. The superstitions that stemmed from a lack of education and knowledge gave way to some of the most rigid and orthodox practices of Hinduism.
I am certain that the practice of idol worship was started to make religion accessible to all. Surely, not everyone could recite the Vedas word-for-word; only the learned and upper-classmen of society had knowledge of Sanskrit. Hence, the people, out of pure love for their god, made a simple idol of how they imagined their god to be - some imagined a woman with ten arms, some imagined a flute-holding cowherd, some imagined a bowman, some imagined a hermit meditating. They offered flowers, water, and fruits to the idols, not to appease them, never to ask for blessings, but to show their love in a way they knew best - through servitude.
Why is pain in love so glorified? I dont want to cry like a fool just because someone refused to reciprocate my feelings. I dont want to fall in love and if love ever comes to me I hope all it will do is to help me grow instead of make me fall and wreck me apart so much that all I will be left would be misery.
mha officially ended. aot ended. demon slayer only got two more movies left. jjk about to be depressing asf… yeah just end me now ☹️💔
My fyn shyam 🙂↕️
"I like to think of hell as being empty. I hope it is."
-Pope Francis
Happy belated Diwali to all of you! May this Diwali bring you all the love and happiness you deserve!
Kali-Ma in (a few) different religions.
Firstly, who is Kali-ma?:
Kali-ma is the wrathful and protective force of Shakti (energy/power), often called the goddess of destruction, doomsday, transformation and time. She's a caring mother to her devotees and the destroyer of evil.
Kali-ma in Buddhism
Palden Lhamo is a protector of Buddhist & a bodhisattva associated with prosperity, protection & success
The connection between Kali-ma and the protectress bodhisattva Palden Lhamo suggests a link between the two traditions.
Palden Lhamo has many names: Sri Devi, Palden Lhamo Kalidevi, and so on.
“Palden lhamo Kalidevi” This name alone suggests a connection to Kali-ma in Hinduism. This connection may be due to the geographic proximity of the Himalayan region, where Hindu deities may have been absorbed into Buddhism.
Kali ma in Christianity
known as "Sara Kali" or "Sara la Kali," is revered by the Romani people and is the patroness of displaced people. There is a popular belief that she was either an Egyptian-Indian slave of one of the 3 Mary's or the lost daughter of Jesus.
When the Romani people were persecuted and forced to convert to Christianity, they blended their indigenous Hindu beliefs with Christian practices, creating a form of syncretism.
The name "Sara" itself is seen in the appellation of Durga as Kali-ma in the famed text “Durgasaptashati"
Kali Puja
Just like any other Bengali, I love, love, love Durga Puja. But, a teeny-tiny part of me adores Kali Puja a bit more. While Durga Puja is all about extravagance, artistic liberation, Kali Puja is more about quiet devotion. While only the pandals are decorated during Durga Puja, in Kali Puja, each and every home is decorated with lights, diyas and whatnot; nothing grand, just plain and simple diya to honour the goddess Kali. The cremation grounds, or the samshan ghats, that usually symbolise death and endings are decorated during the Puja, coming to life, welcoming beginnings, embracing life.
Kali is a very fierce and more destructive form of the mother goddess Durga, but she is none the more motherly and nurturing. She stands over her husband, Lord Shiva, with blood-red, angry eyes, holding the severed of the evil Raktabija(the demon she slayed), adorning a garland of skulls, holding a scimitar or kharga in one hand, slaying demons left and right, with her long, bloody tongue rolled out of their mouth as if hungry for blood. Very scary, indeed. But, her bhakts, her devotees, her children are blind to all of that. They do not see a blood-thirsty, angry goddess, they see a mother. A kind, loving, benevolent mother, who cradles her children in her lap, protects her children, loves them selflessly. She is their mother, ever loving, ever forgiving mother. It is seen in the idols itself. Instead of holding a fierce, angry expression, in Bengal, Maa Kali idols hold a very mellow, loving expression, as if she is gazing at her children endearingly, which she does. To her devotees, she is not the destroyer of time, rather she is destroyer of all their hardships, their sorrows. We worship her out of love, not out of fear. She does not need us to read elaborate mantras, give her a whole bouquet of flowers; she only wants us to offer her a simple flower out of pure devotion, she only wants us to call her 'maa', wants us too see her as our forgiving mother.
My God
My god makes mistakes. My god gives the right blessings to the wrong people. My god sometimes keeps quiet when he sees injustice. My god pretends not to listen to my pleas. My god refuses to let anyone see him. My god is not always right. My god does not makes the right choices. My god sometimes lets bad people roam the earth free. My god lets the good people suffer. Why?
Maybe because, my god is not an all-powerful, all-knowing being. Maybe he is human, just like me and next person. My god makes mistakes, and then he gives himself a chance to correct them, asks for help to correct them. Be it Shiv asking Vishnu to preserve the universe, because he gave the wrong asur a boon. Be it the gods asking Parvati to help defeat Mahisasur, because they gave him a boon. Maybe, this is what makes my god so godly. He asks for help, something we can't do. He accepts his mistakes, something we can't do. He forgives, something we can't do. He speaks up when he must, something we can't. He defends, protects when he must, something we can't do.
Imagine praying to a male deity when all life comes from the female form.
Could not be me.
i'm sorry if what i wrote hurt your sentiments, but there's certain things i'd like to clarify. first up,it takes two to clap a hand, you would cease to exist if one of your parents did not, this is basic biology, not me being 'un-woke', and, i never learned to pray to gods based on their gender. i feel drawn to krishna, vishnu, and i like to write about him and all his different leelas, that's not me not praying to the female goddesses. also, i literally mentioned in the post about how the gods asked parvati for help to help defeat a demon. did you not see that? or were you too busy looking at the pictures and did not bother to read? also, i'm a bengali. and we literally just performed lakshmi puja yesterday, right after the durga puja, where we literally bow down to the divine feminine. if that is not enough, i perform bipadnashini puja, lakshmi puja, among many, many other pujas devoted to female goddesses. and, my religion, no, more like the beliefs i follow do not allow me to differentiate between gods. just as my post said, i like to believe my god is a kind, benevolent being, it doesn't matter to be if he's a simple cowherd in a village, or if she's ten-armed mother vanquishing evil. it's been stated in many holy books, narayan is incomplete without lakshmi, shiv is incomplete without his durga. also, there's the ardhanarishvara, a form where shiv and shakti co-exist together, then there's vishnu's mohini avatar. oh, and then there's kali's krishnakali avatar, which she took because shiv wanted to experience radhahood. how will you decide what gender my god is? and yes, i said god, because i never learned to differentiate between god. to me, there is no difference between shiv, durga, lakshmi, narayan, kali, or saraswati. and that's not me refusing to acknowledge femininity or masculinity, you need both to exist, and that is a fact you need to learn to accept. you do not need to deny masculinity to accept femininity.
With love, yours forever.
It's so embarrassing, really. I cannot believe myself. It's been, what, like three-years since the times we were together, and still, you are not out of my mind. Why? What is it that you have done that still keeps me up at night, thinking about you, praying for your well-being, hoping that yes, you will come back, like you promised? What is even more embarrassing than confessing my feelings to a whole sea of strangers on the internet, when I can just text you, right? But, it's just that, I can't tell you these. You won't understand what I wanted to say, you never will, you never did, you never can.
You were the first person I ever fell in love with, the first person I ever looked from that perspective. I was so hopelessly in love with you for six months before you even knew of my existence. I saw you everyday, and despite your flaws, despite everyone telling me 'no', I fell, hard. I tried to hide it from my friends, but of course, they noticed me smiling, trying to get your attention, vying for it. And two years later, they saw me bawling my eyes out too, you being the reason, they saw me cry helplessly, eyes rimming red, breaths falling short, crying for you, wanting you back. They probably felt bad too. No, not bad, they probably pitied me.
Even after all you did to me, even after all the betrayal, all the words exchanged, all the people between us, even after everything, I'm still hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you. I still want you. I miss you. I dream of you every single day without fail. I think of you every waking moment. It's almost surprising just how much of my being you encapsulate. I cannot, cannot spend a minute without hoping, yearning, longing for you. I never knew love does that kind of thing to you.
I still dream of the day you will come. I dream that when you do finally come like you promised, you will come, holding love for me in your heart, promising to never let go again. Always staying, never leaving. The red string of fate, if any, trying us will finally untangle as our hands will entwine, a fated, tearful reunion. All these theories on the internet, the red string theory, play of fates, Japanese legends, all of it, everything, these are all things I cling to, hold on to, to keep myself sane. If that is what love is, then I never want to fall in love again. Though, I don't think I can ever again.
Even if I don't get you in this life, I'm sure, we will cross paths at least in another life. And in that life, I will never let you go. I will hold on to you, suffocate you with my love, so that you will always remain. I will not repeat the same mistakes. I will not let you repeat the same faults. If fate decides to be cruel, and does not give me you in that life too, then I will be content by gazing at the mirror, because I'm sure of it, in my next life, I will have your face, for I have never loved anyone the way I loved you. That thought gives me solace. That will be enough for me.
You have probably forgotten about me, you must have. I'm probably an insignificant page in your book, but to me, you're my whole book. Without your name, my book is insignificant, useless, not worth knowing, reading. You were what made me 'me'. You still are. My love for you still flows through me, like a river. Your one glance can knock out the air out of me like the wind. You are not just a person to me. You are something more, so much more. And it's embarrassing. Truly, and honestly, the only thing I want is you by my side. I want to succeed by your side, accept defeat in your embrace. Is it too much for me to ask?
You know I don't show my love through extravagant gestures. You know I hate it when people touch me. You know I don't remember anyone's birthday. You know I never spend ten hours making a memory-album from scratch. But, for you, I did. I boasted about you to everyone, I showed you how much I loved the way you wanted me to. I let you hold my hand, hug me, something I never let other people to. I remembered and wished you at exactly 12:00. I broke my rules for you.
Maybe our love didn't stand the test of time. Maybe our love couldn't stay. Maybe our love is better off incomplete. Maybe some loves don't need to be complete. Maybe you loved me less. Maybe you did not love me at all. Maybe you pretended. To me, all of this does not matter. You know why? Because, I loved. I loved with all my heart, with everything I had. My love stood the test of time. My love stayed. My love found solace. My love was real. To me, that is enough. The fact that I stayed true to myself, my love, didn't pretend to not love you, is enough. To me, the fact that I stopped crying myself to sleep, stopped hurting myself, started to myself again, is enough.
You will always be a part of my life that I will cherish. I will always love you. I will always be afraid of love now. I will always remember you. I will always pray for your well-being. I will always keep my part of the promise. I will always wait for you.
With love, yours forever.
Save Me.
I was not a petulant child, nor was I a girl who refused to listen to her parents, nor I was a wife who did not fulfill her duties. Then why? Why did I have to go through what I was going through now? What is it that I had done wrong that led me here? Was it me marrying the five brothers? Was it me speaking up to injustice? Why? Why was my Madhav making me go through this? Did I do wrongs in my past life that I was repenting for now? But, how much wrong could I have done that I ended up here, on the verge of losing my honour?
All the great men and saints stood quiet, their eyes downcast with shame, while the blind king held an expression utter confusion and shame. It seems the blind king now finally became blind to his son's misdeeds too. Even the five brothers, who swore in presence of divine fire to protect their wife kept quiet, extreme shame plastered over their faces. Still, everyone stayed quiet, while the man manhandled their queen, a red, pulsing bruise forming on her forehead from how hard he threw her to the ground. All kept quiet, all would pay.
Madhav, you told me to call out your name, whenever I was scared. I am scared now, so, so scared, Madhav. Save me, come here, protect me. I cannot lose my honor. I cannot. They cannot do this to me. I am not a pawn. I was not a pawn that caused that could be used. I emerged from the fire, I am the fire's daughter. This cannot happen to me. I cannot let this happen to me. You cannot let this happen to me. You said you would always save me, so do so. Save me. I leave all to you now.
And so, she let go of the last piece of cloth she held on to with dear might. All the greats and saints closed their eyes, their honour preventing them from witnessing the humiliation. But, to the surprise of the men who did keep their eyes open, as soon as she raised her hands towards the air in surrender, the garments seems to become endless. No matter how hard or how much he pulled, the garment refused to come off, and a divine glow came over the woman. From above, someone, her sakha, Madhav, who let go of the piece of cloth that she tied to his bleeding hand, watched, his eyes burning with rage. Of course, he could not let this happen to her. And those who refused to speak up, would pay. They would have to pay with their lives, even those who kept quiet and did not partake in the event. That was his promise. And Madhav kept his promise when he must.
