Frida Kahlo’s ‘Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird’ (1940)

Favourite purchase from my trip to London this summer: Frida Kahlo’s ‘Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird’ (1940)

 

The poster purchased from Tate, London framed at my home in Dublin

There is something about this painting that keeps drawing me towards it, even though it is steeped in pain and tragedy. Perhaps it is the colors. Or perhaps it is the way Frida holds her head high, her eyes looking straight ahead, even while surrounded by symbols of suffering. She looks so peaceful and composed even when life was reaching its hardest point.

I studied more about Frida recently and, for a while, I was completely hooked on her. So, I was especially happy that I got to see ‘Frida: The Making of an Icon’ at Tate Modern this summer. The exhibition explores not just Frida the artist, but the many versions of Frida she created and the complicated woman behind the icon.

Books of reference

Nickolas Muray

Nick and Frida

The painting was made in 1940, shortly after both Frida’s divorce from Diego Rivera and the end of her decade-long, on and off affair with the photographer Nickolas Muray. Frida and Diego remarried later that same year. Frida had told Nick that this painting was for him and gave it to him once she completed the painting. It remained in his New York home for more than two decades.

Nick was not simply a man who appeared in Frida’s life for a moment. Their relationship was passionate and complicated, and even after their affair ended, they remained friends until her death. What makes this painting even more special to me is knowing how deeply Frida felt about Nick. In her letters, she wrote to him with extraordinary tenderness, telling him that she adored him and had never loved anyone in quite the same way. And in her writings around the time of her divorce, she identified her love for Nick as one of the principal reasons she left Diego. 

Knowing the importance of Nick in Frida’s life and that this painting passed directly from Frida into Nick’s hands makes this poster feel even more special to me.

The spider Monkey

Diego Rivera had gifted Frida a spider monkey, which appears beside her in the portrait. To me, it almost feels like another quiet expression of a relationship she could never quite let go of.

Frida and Diego remarried in 1940, despite everything that had happened between them, including his affair with her own sister. What I found particularly interesting was that Frida reportedly set a few conditions before agreeing to marry Diego again, one of them was that she wouldn’t take any money from Diego and would share the household expenses equally. I really loved that even though it was little late, she finally decided to not depend on a man financially.

Another one of the conditions she put forward was that they would not make love, as she felt she had developed a psychological barrier that prevented her from doing so. All of which was accepted by Diego.

It made me wonder about the nature of their relationship after everything they had been through and, more broadly, about how platonic love can exist between two people who had once shared such an intense and passionate relationship. For someone as expressive, sensual and emotionally intense as Frida, the idea of continuing to love someone while no longer being physically intimate with them feels both fascinating and difficult to understand.

One of the hardest lessons in life, I think, is learning to let go of what hurts us.

But who are we to judge?

I say that knowing how difficult letting go can be. I have held on to my own bloodline even when it was hurting me from the inside out.

Perhaps that is why I find Frida so compelling. She is so much more than one decision, or any single choice she made in her life. She was complicated, wounded, passionate, resilient and unapologetically herself. Frida wasn't simply choosing between a “good” relationship and a “bad” one. She was deeply attached to two very different people(Nick and Diego), and her own writings show just how conflicted she was.

And this portrait is full of little symbols.

The butterflies, the dragonfly-like flowers, the black cat, the monkey, the thorns and the hummingbird have all been interpreted in different ways. As symbols of love, death, hope, suffering, resurrection, Mexican culture and Frida’s own relationships and identity. There is no single agreed-upon meaning for everything in the painting, which is perhaps what makes it so fascinating.

 

The hummingbird

Tate describes it as a ‘dead hummingbird’, hanging from the thorn necklace like a pendant.

But when I look at it, I see a living hummingbird. Perhaps that is simply my own interpretation, but I prefer it that way.

A dead, dried, or mummified hummingbird is used as the love charm (known as a chuparosa) in traditional Mexican folk magic and spiritual practices. I believe that the hummingbird is alive, since the other animals in the painting are interpreted as living and also because I like to imagine that Frida saw something hopeful in it perhaps even the luck of having met Nick. I know that is my reading of the painting rather than something we can say with certainty about Frida’s intention. 

 

This rather small oil on canvas painting, measuring approximately 24 by 18 inches (61 × 46 cm), is now part of the Nickolas Muray Collection at the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin.

The thorn necklace

To me, it is the life she adorned herself with even when it was hurting her.

Beauty and pain existing together.

She lived with an extraordinary amount of physical pain. She had polio as a child, and at eighteen she was severely injured in a devastating bus accident that left her with lifelong injuries. Her health deteriorated over the years, and she underwent numerous surgeries and endured painful medical experiences, including a miscarriage and later the amputation of her right leg.

She died in 1954, at just 47.

The black cat & The Butterflies

This was the exact reason I deliberately hid this purchase from my Amma. I am quite certain she would notice the cat before anything else and immediately demand that I throw the poster away. In her eyes, it would do nothing but invite bad luck.

The butterflies, the resurrection, the life, the love, and all the intricate layers of symbolism? I am pretty sure those would go completely unnoticed.

Amma's superstitious instincts would instantly clash with Kahlo’s deliberate artistic choices. In this self portrait of Frida Kahlo, the black cat perched on Frida's left shoulder is a complex omen. While it aligns perfectly with my Amma's fears as a universal symbol of bad luck and impending doom, Kahlo used it to mirror her own internal reality. Painted shortly after her painful divorce from Diego Rivera, the crouching cat symbolizes her profound grief, sense of betrayal, and the looming shadow of death. Tragically, while the delicate butterflies hovering above Frida’s head signify hope and spiritual rebirth, the sinister posture of the black cat suggests that misfortune is never far behind. A tense duality that my Amma would likely refuse to invite into our home.

I was fascinated by all the animals in the painting. Frida herself kept a collection of exotic animals at Casa Azul, her famous Blue House in Mexico City, which I very much hope to visit someday. The spider monkey in this portrait was one of the animals connected to her home and her relationship with Diego.

I had initially assumed that the monkeys must have been a spiritual or personal symbols for her. Spider monkeys appear repeatedly in Frida’s self-portraits; eight of her 55 self-portraits feature them and she kept them as pets at Casa Azul. But the more I learned, the more I realised that Frida’s paintings were not created in some isolated artistic bubble; she also had to make a living from her work, and the circumstances in which she painted mattered too especially after her divorce in 1939.

This realisation challenged my initial assumption that every recurring image in her paintings must have had a deeply symbolic meaning. I like discovering things that challenge the romantic story I have created in my own head.

Maybe that is also why I love this painting.

There is so much happening beneath the surface although it is a straightforward piece of Art.

Love. Pain. Betrayal. Beauty. Mortality. Resilience. Desire. And, depending on how you see it, even a little bit of luck.

And perhaps that says something about why we connect with art in the first place. The artist creates it, but somewhere along the way, it becomes ours too.

Asma Khan & Darjeeling Express

Darjeeling Express is one of the restaurants I had been wanting to visit for years, and I finally made it happen on my last trip to London.

My fascination with the restaurant actually began when I watched Asma Khan on Netflix’s Chef’s Table. She was the first British chef, also the first Indian origin Chef to be featured on the series, and the season featuring her episode was nominated for a Primetime Emmy Award for Outstanding Documentary or Nonfiction Series. This should give you an idea of just how beautiful that episode is.

Picture courtesy to BBC Good Food

Since then, I’ve become increasingly drawn not just to her cooking, but also to her voice. She was named one of TIME’s 100 Most Influential People, recognised for her influence on food and social progress. She is also an author, and I particularly enjoy reading her writing and opinions in The Guardian and The Independent. Her writing often goes well beyond food, touching on immigration, women’s rights, inequality and the politics of who gets to cook, eat and belong.

But what makes Asma’s story so fascinating is that food wasn’t where she started.

 

She was a journalist in India, moved to Cambridge after marriage, studied law and completed a PhD in British Constitutional Law at King’s College London. And then, after all those academic achievements including being awarded an honorary fellowship by Oxford, she found herself drawn to something much simpler and much more personal: feeding people.

 

She began with supper clubs in her home in 2012. Those gradually grew into a pop-up in a Soho pub and eventually into Darjeeling Express, which opened in 2017. Today, the restaurant is in Rupert Street, but the heart of it still remains the same: homestyle Indian food, cooked with patience, memories and absolutely no desire to dilute it for anyone.

 

And then there is her kitchen.

An all-women kitchen, many of them South Asian women who had never received formal culinary training. Asma gave home-cooks a professional kitchen and, more importantly, a space where their skills were finally recognised. Some of the women who started with her have gone on to lead kitchens and supper clubs of their own.

There is something incredibly beautiful about that.

 

The food itself feels unapologetically homely. Asma has always been very clear about protecting the integrity of her recipes rather than changing them to suit every possible palate.

And her puchkas…

I mean it when I say, these may be the best I have ever had. I am not sure any pani puri or Golgappas I have eaten across North India can beat them. One bite and it was an instant ticket to heaven for a few seconds. The magic is in the Paani of the puchkas.

On the left is Kheema toastie(a crowd favourite), on top right is Asma's famous Momos  and then below is 'The Puchkas'

In the photo above : Badami Bhaingan (a must-have vegetarian dish if you like aubergine), Saag Paneer, and Kosha Mangsho (a must-have Bengali mutton dish). Asma hates the word “curry”: as she puts it, the British “needed to dumb it down to the lowest common denominator” by calling everything one thing, when Indian cuisine has individual names for its dishes. Better to watch the video than have me attempt to explain it!

I had specifically wanted to try the bhapa doi, but by the time we ordered, it was already finished. They suggested the khoobani ka meetha instead, made with whole apricots. It looked ridiculously simple, but the moment you mix it with the cream on the side… BOOM.

 

A complete explosion of flavour.

 

That, to me, is the magic of really good food. It doesn’t always need to look elaborate. Sometimes a simplest-looking dish can completely surprise you.

On the left is 'khoobani ka meetha' & on the right is 'gajar ka halwa' both served with cream

And the gajar ka halwa deserves its own mention. It is a labour of love, traditionally requiring hours of slow cooking and constant stirring, especially when prepared in large quantities. I have heard Asma mention in an interview that, in her restaurant they cook it fresh everyday and the whole process takes 8 hours of constant stirring.

 

You can definitely taste the patience, time, and affection that went into making this dish at Darjeeling Express.

 

The lassi looked plain and unassuming, but it absolutely blew our minds!

 

But perhaps what I loved most about Darjeeling Express is that the food is only one part of the story.

Asma is outspoken about the way women are treated in professional kitchens and about creating kitchens without the shouting, shaming and hierarchy that define traditional kitchen culture. She has also used food as a vehicle for social causes, from her early supper clubs supporting charity to her work advocating for food justice and women’s empowerment. I enjoyed watching her interview with Vir Sanghvi on Table 1 where she speaks about taking on industry giants like Gordon Ramsay, the glorification of toxic kitchen cultures, and the deeply lonely price of success. She breaks down exactly how kitchens are run, who gets heard, and who gets slapped. (Click Here to watch the full conversation)

In her conversation with Trevor Noah on 'What Now? with Trevor Noah' (Click Here to watch the full podcast) I loved how candid she was about fine dining and the whole obsession with Michelin recognition. She challenges the notion that Indian cuisine must be transformed into a Western fine-dining format to be considered worthy of recognition and also challenges the rituals of fine dining itself.

I laughed, I nodded, and I thought: Yes. That’s Asma.

 

Raw. Unfiltered. Bold. Completely herself.

 

And perhaps that is what I admire the most.

 

She built something successful without losing the reason she started it in the first place: the joy of feeding people, the food she grew up with, the women behind those recipes and the stories that live inside them.

Having long been a fan of Bengali cinema, literature, and music, I have now fallen in love with Bengali cuisine as well.

P.S. I Love you, Asma Khan

An Unfiltered Diary Note of a Valorous Kite

This was a blog post from my drafts, dated 2016.

So, here is how it oddly begins...

A kite was born from a soul’s deep desire, a little key he believed could keep him happy, he thought.

It was given colours- its talents, a design- its character, and every little detail was a unique choice made by its creator. The creator never wanted to part with his kite. It was his creation, his thought, his love, his needs, and a part of his life.

But fate had other plans. The creator was taken to the heavens.

And once he was gone, people began fighting over the kite, like children fighting over a kite that had fallen from the sky. Everyone wanted to claim it, because it belonged to no one anymore.

But no one truly understood the attachment the creator had for it.

Because the kite was never just a kite.

It was the creator's thoughts, his needs, his love, and a living piece of his existence.

The creator had made the kite for his wife, the woman he wanted to see happy. She eventually moved on and found her own happiness. In doing so, she slowly forgot about the kite and, perhaps, even the person who had created it.

At one point, she had found a refuge. A place where it could be protected. But life brought new turns, new priorities, and new responsibilities. Slowly, the kite became something forgotten.

Yet the kite never blamed her.

She was its connection to the world. She was its window to everything outside. More than anything, the kite wanted her to be happy.

So it accepted every violent twist and turn that life threw at it.

The kite believed in many things.

It believed that the wind liked it.

It believed that the wind wanted to see it dancing freely in the sky.

But perhaps that was never true.

Even when the wind became harsh, the kite convinced itself that these were experiences meant to make it stronger. Every storm became a lesson. Every struggle became an opportunity to learn.

But the truth was much harsher.

With every storm, something important was being torn away.

Every time the kite showed its strength and courage, its beauty was questioned. Every time it survived, people expected it to survive even more.

The kite had a strong skin. It could withstand blow after blow.

But even the strongest skin wears out.

The wind was essential for the kite's survival. Without the wind, it could not fly. Yet the very thing it needed to survive was also slowly destroying it.

That is the irony of the kite's life.

Life itself was ordinary, but it felt unbearably difficult because there was no one holding its string.

Everyone believed the kite was strong enough to take care of itself.

They forgot one simple thing.

It was still just a kite.

And the wind, the very thing it needed to fly, could also be the thing that destroyed it.

So every time the wind became stronger, the thread would tighten and the spool would turn faster.

The kite would desperately cling to whatever solid thing it could find. A pipe. A hook. A corner of someone else's building.

Anything that could keep it from being carried away into the uncertain sky.

Until one day, there was nothing left to hold on to.

No more pipes.

No more hooks.

No more buildings.

No more strength to keep searching for something to cling to.

And that was when the kite finally understood something.

Every strange building it had clung to during every storm was an attempt to find its creator again.

It had been searching for its creator in every place, in every person, in every shelter.

Now the kite decided to let go.

Not because it had given up.

But because it had finally stopped caring about those who did not care for it.

There was only one thing left to do.

Fly.

Fly in search of its creator.

The kite was the last remaining proof that its creator had once existed on Earth.

And because of that, the kite would never give up.

It would never destroy itself.

It would protect itself from fire.

It would protect itself from water.

It would protect whatever remained of the creator's work.

But the wind would keep getting harsher.

And strangely, the kite no longer feared it.

The kite needed the wind to fly.

And flying was the only way it could continue its journey towards its creator.

So now, the kite kinda hoped that the wind will not stop.

It hoped that the wind will push harder.

Stronger.

Farther.

Faster.

How strange is life?

The kite that once feared the wind now wants the wind to blow harder, because every storm brings it closer to where it wants to go.

Maybe that is what courage really is.

Not the absence of fear, but the decision to keep flying even when the very thing carrying you can also break you.

The kite will fly.

It will protect itself.

It will carry the colours, the character, the love, and the memories its creator gave it.

And someday, when it finally reaches him, perhaps the creator will look at his kite and know that it never stopped trying to come home.

Kiss life. And fly.

A summer evening at Shakespeare’s Globe

A summer evening at Shakespeare’s Globe, watching A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Shakespeare’s Globe is one of the most extraordinary buildings in London.

 

The original Globe Theatre, built in 1599, was destroyed by fire in 1613 when a theatrical cannon misfired during a performance, setting its thatched roof ablaze.

When the Globe was reconstructed and reopened in 1997, every effort was made to remain faithful to the original. Traditional Tudor-style bricks were recreated using clay mixed with goat hair, the structure was built entirely from timber, no steel was used and the iconic thatched roof was restored.

 

That last detail is remarkable. Following the Great Fire of London in 1666, thatched roofs were effectively prohibited within the city because of the fire risk. Yet, to honor Shakespeare’s legacy, London made a rare exception for the Globe.

 

As Shakespeare wrote, “All the world’s a stage.” And for the Globe, London was willing to bend the rules to keep that stage alive.

 

Shakespeare’s Globe is more than a theatre. It is a living piece of history. Inspired by the original Globe, where many of William Shakespeare’s plays were first performed, today’s theatre stands just a short walk from its original site on London’s South Bank.

 

William Shakespeare (1564–1616) wasn’t just England’s greatest playwright; his stories of love, ambition, jealousy, and human nature continue to speak to audiences across centuries and cultures. Watching one of his plays here felt less like visiting a landmark and more like stepping into the world that shaped theatre as we know it.

My first instinct was to look for Julius Caesar among the books and other things on sale in the shop within the globe complex. Some things just stay with you forever.

 

The moment I stepped into Shakespeare’s Globe, I found myself reminiscing about my English drama classes and my favorite teacher who first introduced me to Shakespeare. Little did I know that, years later, I’d be watching one of his plays in the very theatre that celebrates his legacy.

 

For better context: Those who studied under the ICSE curriculum, English wasn’t just another subject. We had two papers; English I for language, composition and comprehension, and English II for literature. English II was a three-year journey, from Class 8 right up to the board exams in Class 10, with three prescribed books for the 3 years together: a Shakespeare play, a collection of poems, and a collection of short stories. Julius Caesar in particular for my batch.

This means we probably spent well over a thousand days reading, analysing, memorizing, performing, and living Shakespeare’s words. I don’t think there is any other syllabus in schools or colleges in India where students study the same text so intensively for three years. Perhaps that is why the Shakespeare play we learnt at school is so deeply etched in our memories.

No wonder standing in the Globe felt less like visiting a tourist attraction and more like coming home to an old friend. 

“He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man.”- Beatrice
From Shakespeare’s comedy 'Much Ado About Nothing' Act 2 scene 1

“Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak.”- Rosalind
From ‘As You Like It’ Act 3 Scene 2

The Book That Led Me to the Forest

Yesterday I came across an interesting interview by Babu Ramachandran of Dr. Arun Zachariah- Chief Forest Veterinary Officer, Kerala Forest Department. This interview reminded me of a book which was the idea behind this blogpost.

Almost fifteen years ago, as a schoolgirl, I read The Wilderness Family. It was my first introduction to the life of a forest ranger, the wilderness, and the extraordinary bond that can exist between humans and wild animals. Back then, buying books wasn’t something I was allowed to do. This one found its way to me only because a relative visited our home and accidentally left it behind. It’s one of those books that can quietly spark a lifelong curiosity about forests, wildlife, and the people who dedicate their lives to protecting them like forest rangers. For many young readers, it’s less about the plot and more about the feeling it leaves behind: a sense of wonder and a desire to understand the natural world a little better.

Ever since, I’ve been deeply curious about forests and wildlife especially Kerala’s. I’ve always wanted to befriend someone from the Forest Department not just to hear stories of the wild, but to understand their lives, experiences, and the lessons that come from living so closely with nature.

That curiosity only grew stronger after a memorable experience in 11th standard, when my school took us on an educational trip to Eravikulam National Park. We spent three days at a forest guest house and trekked through the park’s core zone. The evenings were filled with fascinating sessions conducted by forest officials, and I still remember being taught how to react if we ever encountered a tiger or a wild elephant during the trek.

It’s one of those experiences that has stayed with me ever since.

Farhan Akhtar was 18 when he wrote this poem. I happened to listen to him reciting it, on Simi Garewal`s rendezvous (2003). I searched on the internet to find the whole piece of this poetry but it was unavailable so I decided to post it on the web for those who are in need of some burst of thoughts.


You've grown into a fine young tree
The pride of the neighborhood
Standing tall
Flashing green
Home to all your insect friends.

Oh..How everybody loves the tree!

Then suddenly a day appears in pain
An axe chopping through your flesh and blood
You look down
You recognize the face.
Its the man who nurtured you, caressed you.
Its the same man who gave birth to you.

Oh..How he loved the tree!

One final chop
You lye still,dead.
The green fades
The insect leaves
The neighborhood cheers
They get a better view of the sea now.

Oh..how they love the sea! 

The Green Leaf

I wonder when such a dawn would rise

That sees the sparkle in a woman’s eyes

Coz I can’t stand the way she cries

So it’s high time that we be wise

For centuries she was caged by guys

And made to believe all their lies

She wasn’t allowed to reach the skies

But even in lows she dreamt of highs

Her life was surrounded by the spies

Some her own, some other with no ties

Someday we’ll have to pay the price

For all the agony that led to their demise

The green leaves that falls and dies.

Medhavagmi

Shahid

Hansal Mehta the director of this astounding movie has gone beyond the fancy realms of Bollywood to make an unnerving script into a captivating movie experience. Being a law student, I would say this is a must watch movie for all aspiring lawyers.

 

 

“By showing me injustice, he taught me to love justice. By teaching me what pain and humiliation were all about, he awakened my heart to mercy. Through these hardships I learned hard lessons. Fight against prejudice, battle the oppressors, support the underdog. Question authority, shake up the system, never be discouraged by hard times and hard people. Embrace those who are placed last, to whom even bottom looks like up. It took me some time to find my mission in life – that of a criminal defense lawyer. But that ‘school’, and that Teacher, put me on my true path. I will never be discouraged. Even thorns and thistles can teach you something, and lead to success.”. - Roy Black.

 

These are the words that drove criminal defense lawyer and human right activist Sir Shahid Azmi throughout his life. His biopic is taken so beautifully, doing justice to the life he lead. It shows us how innocent Shahid was arrested for Terrorist activities, taken in custody, tortured mercilessly and was acquitted after two years. How he decided to become a lawyer, How he ran pole to pole to deliver justice for the innocent even if it was at the cost of his own life. In a career span of seven years Shahid Azmi had 17 acquittals. An unusually high acquittal rate for a system that is known for its inability to render timely justice.

 

 

 

It is true when police arrests someone in relation to POTA we all direly start hating that human and wish for the last end torture as punishment for him/her but have we ever thought of, what if he/she was innocent? It is a usual plot of the Police officers in India, due to the pressure from the higher officials they tend to close the file as soon as possible. Hence in most of the cases it is the innocents that get trapped by the law enforcement wings of the country and the real culprit enjoys alcohol while plotting for the next attack in an AC Hotel room.

 

Shahid is a crucial document of our troubled times. It builds an incredible grippy case study of persecution and vindication.

This movie touched me deeply and I started thinking of justice from a lawyers perspective. I don't think I will let my human emotions overpower my intellect hereafter. Adv. Shahid, served the innocent till he breathed his last in 2010 at Mumbai where he was assassinated. It just proves us that the system of '1 innocent should not be punished even if 100 guilty men are let free' doesn't function the way it is supposed to be. It creates in us an empathy for the accused, the trapped innocents who are tortured severely for their carelessness.

 

Watch this movie to see how the real drama in Courts happen.

Karna's Outburst

Kunti
I have come here to take you.

Karna
Where will you take me?

Kunti
Into my parched breast: into your mother’s lap.

Karna
You are blessed with five sons: you are fortunate,
I am without dynasty or forefathers, a meagre king –
where will you place me?

Kunti
Above all.
I will seat you above all my sons.
You are the eldest.

Karna
With what right shall I enter
thus? With empire and wealth?
Those who have been deprived of the treasure that is
a mother’s tenderness –
how will you achieve
absolution of their completeness, tell me this.
A mother’s heart
is not sold in a game of dice
it is not defeated by the might of weapons
it is a gift from god.

Kunti
My child, it is with the right given by god
that you came to this lap
one day; with that right
come back, with your due glory
and without amore reflection
amongst all your brothers, and in
your mother’s lap
take your place.

Karna
I listen, as if in a dream, o lady,
to your words. Look, darkness
overwhelms us in every direction, our surroundings
are now vanished
and the Bhagirathi is
soundless.
To what world veiled by illusions,
to what
unremembered dwelling,
to what dawn of consciousness
have you taken me? Like some ancient truth
your words have touched
my enchanted heart.
It is as if my unrealised childhood,
the darkness of my mother’s womb,
surrounds me today. O Mother of Kings,
whether it be true
whether it be a dream
come, o embodiment of tenderness
place your right hand
on my forehead
on my face
for a while. I have heard
it said by people that I
was abandoned by my mother.
How often have I searched for
my mother in my nocturnal dreams.
She would come slowly… slowly…
to see me.
I have cried out and told her in deepest agony
“Mother, lift your veil, let me see your face!”
But then the figure dissolves, tearing asunder
the thirsty eager dream. Has that dream returned
today in the garb of
the mother of the Pandavas
this very evening, on the battlefield,
on the banks of the Bhagirathi?
Look, lady. On the other side, in the Pandavas’ tent,
burns the lamplight,
and on this side not very far away
in the stables of the Kauravas, the roars of a
hundred thousand horses erupt fiercely.
Tomorrow night will begin that great war. Why
then did I have to hear tonight
in Arjuna’s mother’s throat
my own mother’s voice of love?
Why did my name ring out on her lips
in such sweet music? My heart suddenly
runs out calling “brother” to the Pandavas.

Kunti
Then come away, my dear child, come away.

Karna
I will go, mother. I will go, and I will ask nothing
Without hesitation, without thought.
Lady, you are my mother! Your call
has awakened my innermost soul – in my ears
ring no battle cries, nor victory conches
and false appears
the malice of war, the glory of heroes, victory or defeat.
Where will I go? Take me.

Kunti
To that other side.
Where the lamps glow in those motionless camps
on Pandu’s sandy shores

Karna
There, the motherless will find
his mother forever! There, the star of truth will stay awake
all night, beautiful and vast,
in your eyes! Lady, tell me once more that
I am your son.

Kunti

My son!

Karna
Then why
did you discard me, to humiliation,
without family, class, and honour,
and without a mother’s eye over me
into this blind and unknown universe?
Why did you set me adrift forever
on this tide of disregard?
Why did you exile me from my brothers?
You kept me separated from Arjuna
That is why, from childhood, he and I are drawn
by an invisible bond, taking the form of malice
it is an irresistible attraction. Mother, no
reply? Your shame has penetrated these
layers of darkness and, in silence, touched
my whole being, and is forcing my eyes shut. Let
it be!
Let it be then!
Do not say why you abandoned me.
The first gift of fate in all this world and universe
is a mother’s tenderness – why, from that divine gift,
did you steal your own child?
Do not answer that question. Just tell me this:
why have you come to return me to a mother’s lap?

Take me Back

Take me back, someone,
To that day of eternal bliss
The day I first discovered
My alter ego.

The day I wandered
Beneath the darkness
Of a swarthy sky,

Listening to surreal beings
Drifting through the autumn air,
Musing on Life and Death;

On how humans part,
And how their memories
Remain within us
Like footprints left upon the sands of Time.

— Medhavagmi

Winnie the Pooh

Winnie the Pooh my all time favorite fictional character since I started knowing alphabets. Yes! A huge thanks to Disney for playing a major role in shaping our childhoods. 

Today I was going through Instagram when I came across a Pooh quote shared by someone, Just reminded me of how crazy I was about this cartoon and it's characters. Not to forget that I used to rush every Wednesday during library hours in school to get my Winnie the Pooh adventures before anyone else in my class did. To be honest till date I love the soft toys of Winnie the Pooh characters and the words keep me going even now, during my hardships.

I want many more of you to realize how big a loss it would have been if you had not come across this beautiful classic, hence sharing this write-up to give you a hist of how soulful and epic this work of Milne is! [Better late than never]

Thankyou A.A.Milne for creating such wonderful childhood for thousands across the globe.

"You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think," said Christopher Robin to Pooh.

These simple yet powerful words have been lifted from the pages of the classic children's book and shared thousands of times (our estimated guess) whether it's a meme on the internet or the front page of a greeting card. 

There has never been a children's book that has provided us with quite as much soulful, inspiring and life-affirming quotes as Winnie the Pooh. Nor has a children's character touched as many hearts around the world across multiple generations as the bear named Pooh.

He may be softly spoken and a little dopey, but the cuddly figure and his friends Tigger, Piglet, Owl, Rabbit, Kanga, Roo and human pal Christopher Robin are full of humbling advice and profound wisdom.

Quotes for the daily grind

On perspective
“When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,” said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?”
“What's for breakfast?” said Pooh. "What do you say, Piglet?”
“I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting today?” said Piglet.
Pooh nodded thoughtfully. "It's the same thing,” he said.

On slowing down 
“Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.”

On self rewards
“Pooh always liked a little something at eleven o'clock in the morning, and he was very glad to see Rabbit getting out the plates and mugs; and when Rabbit said, 'Honey or condensed milk with your bread?' he was so excited that he said, 'Both,' and then, so as not to seem greedy, he added, 'But don't bother about the bread, please.'”

On missed goals
“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.”

On comfort zones
“You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.”

On mistakes
“My spelling is Wobbly. It’s good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.”

Quotes for love and friendships

On affection
“Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.”

On loss 
“A day without a friend is like a pot without a single drop of honey left inside.”

On separation
“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

On not losing sight of what's important
Piglet: “How do you spell love?”
Pooh: “You don’t spell it, you feel it.”

On attachment
“If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.”

On closeness
“I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart so long. If we’re in each other’s dreams we can be together all the time.”

On selflessness
“Love is taking a few steps backward maybe even more… to give way to the happiness of the person you love.”

On loss
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”

Quotes for mindfulness 

On confidence
“The things that make me different are the things that make me.”

On modesty
“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like 'What about lunch?'”

On attitude
“Sometimes the smallest things take the most room in your heart.”

On self worth
“You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

On staying assertive
“Always watch where you are going. Otherwise, you may step on a piece of the forest that was left out by mistake.” 

On patience
“If the person you are talking to does not appear to be listening, be patient. It may simply be that he has a small piece of fluff in this ear.”

On judgement 
“Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.”

An encomium to Jayalalitha Jayaram

It was during my college days in Chennai that the corruption case filed by Subrahmanian Swamy against Jayalalitha became a major topic of discussion. I was interested in debates and politics, and I lived on Cathedral Road, very close to the residences of both the ruling party and the opposition. I had the opportunity to witness political drama from close quarters. Yet, I never paid much attention to Tamil Nadu politics because I felt it was too dramatic to be analysed objectively.

However, this particular case had become a matter of national interest, and I decided to look a little deeper.

One day, I spoke to a police friend about an article my colleague in the media had written about Puratchi Thalaivi. He gave me a very different perspective and spoke about her personality, her relationship with material comforts and her strong desire for power. That was perhaps the first time I really started listening to what people in Tamil Nadu had to say about their Chief Minister.

Later, when my mother happened to mention Jayalalitha, I decided to share my criticism of her. Until then, I had mostly been a listener. My mother patiently heard me and then said just one thing.

"Please read about her past and the path she had to travel to reach where she is now before you comment on her."

She then quietly hung up the phone.

At that time, I had a fairly negative opinion of Jayalalitha. Perhaps some of it came from what I saw every day. She would leave her residence with a large convoy, and the SUV in which she travelled would have men holding on to the sides while hailing her. I thought it was excessive and felt uncomfortable watching such displays.

There were also plenty of stories about her luxurious lifestyle, including stories about saffron milk, rose milk baths and many other details that were discussed as fact or gossip. Her chair, which she carried with her wherever she went, was initially a source of amusement for me. I also heard stories about how people were expected to behave around her, including the way some men would bow before her or avoid looking directly at her while speaking to her.

At one point, I had formed a very harsh impression of her.

All of that changed when I began to learn more about her life.

I became a great admirer of Madam Jayalalitha Jayaram. I have never called her Amma. I have always called her Jayalalitha because I have never considered myself a blind follower. I am simply an ordinary woman who admired her abilities while also recognising and criticising her faults.

The first interview of Jayalalitha that I watched was Rendezvous with Simi Garewal. (To watch the interview click here). What stayed with me was the transformation of a deeply emotional young woman into one of India's most powerful and influential women.

"It has been a tempestuous life," Jayalalitha said of her own journey.

Her journey from being a film star to becoming Chief Minister is certainly worth reading about. To my knowledge, only one detailed biography of Jayalalitha is available online. (Click here)

The second interview I watched, among the relatively few she gave, was with Karan Thapar. (To watch the interview click here). I remember being impressed by the way she handled his difficult and often sarcastic questions. She remained composed and responded with confidence.

That interview made me appreciate her ability to handle pressure and defend her position.

Jayalalitha was undoubtedly a remarkable and complex person. She rarely allowed her emotions to overwhelm her in public, even during some of the most difficult moments of her political career. One of the most disturbing incidents she faced was the violence and humiliation she experienced in the Tamil Nadu Assembly, including an incident in which her clothing was reportedly pulled and she was subjected to deeply disrespectful behaviour.

Yet she continued her political journey.

She was a charming and multifaceted actor who was trained in several forms of dance. Less obviously, she was also well read, witty and intellectually confident. She was comfortable speaking in English and Hindi and could hold her own in serious discussions.

Her entry into politics cannot simply be explained through her association with MGR. She had her own abilities, particularly her command of language, her intelligence and her capacity to communicate.

Two months ago, while returning from New Delhi, I happened to get into a discussion with a fellow traveler who used a rather disrespectful term while referring to Jayalalitha. I found it difficult to accept, especially because his view seemed to be based largely on the corruption case in which she had been convicted by a trial court at that time.

He spoke very strongly against her.

I acknowledged that Jayalalitha had a well known fondness for luxury and that there were serious questions surrounding her political career. But I also felt that those issues should not completely overshadow an assessment of her administration and her contribution to Tamil Nadu.

What matters to me is the impact a government has on ordinary people. Whatever one's opinion of Jayalalitha as a person or politician, it is difficult to deny that she built a strong administrative and political presence in Tamil Nadu and introduced or supported several welfare measures that reached large sections of the population.

Since my fellow traveler and I were both from Kerala, I asked him about our own state government and the benefits he had personally experienced. That conversation made me reflect on the differences between the two states.

Coming from a middle class family, I had often felt that the government existed mainly in newspapers and television news. When I moved to Chennai, I began to understand how visible and effective a state government could be in the daily lives of ordinary people.

I simply asked him to name five positive or negative things Jayalalitha had done for Tamil Nadu before criticising her. He struggled to answer.

That stayed with me.

I felt that it was unfair to judge a politician only by the number of silk sarees she owned, the controversies surrounding her or the corruption allegations against her without knowing anything about her administration or her contributions to the state.

I believe a reasonable approach to criticism is to understand both sides before forming an opinion. Politicians deserve scrutiny, but they also deserve to be judged by their complete record. This is particularly important when discussing a woman who held enormous political power in a largely male dominated political environment.

My views about Jayalalitha changed because I took the time to understand her journey rather than relying only on the stories and impressions that surrounded her.

She was far from perfect. Neither was she a figure beyond criticism. But she was undoubtedly a woman of extraordinary determination, intelligence and political ability who broke several barriers in her time.

I conclude by paying my respects to Jayalalitha Jayaram, a politician who left an indelible mark on Tamil Nadu and on Indian politics.

RIP Jayalalitha Jayaram.

Petrichor

The spectacle of Mother Nature,
After several months.
Perhaps an apt way
To cleanse the soul.

A soul perplexed,
Lost in confusion.
A soul quietly burdened,
Drubbed into anguish for times unknown.

Raindrops on the face,
Droplets on the leaves.
The scent of the earth,
And the rhythm of nature.

The first rain,
Felt by all five senses.
Washed away the wounds
Cast upon the soul.

Vows to bring peace,
And the harmony once cherished.
Reminding us of what is worth holding,
It leaves with a gentle rustle.

Leaving behind a soul replenished,
Blessed for the journey ahead.
A smile upon the face,
And an impact upon the soul.

Medhavagmi

Caste system and Hinduism

 I recently searched for “Hinduism” on the internet and was surprised to see a definition on the British website The Free Dictionary that described Hinduism as “a body of religious and philosophical beliefs and cultural practices native to India and based on a caste system.”

That immediately bothered me.

Can a religion as diverse and ancient as Hinduism really be defined as being “based on a caste system”?

I believe this deserves a closer look. Caste discrimination has been a serious social reality in India, and it has caused enormous suffering. It should neither be denied nor defended. At the same time, we should be careful about presenting caste as a simple, divinely ordained system created by the Vedas.

My purpose here is not to defend the caste system, nor to attack anyone because of their political or social beliefs. It is simply to examine what Hindu scriptures actually say about varna and whether the modern caste system can fairly be presented as a direct teaching of the Vedas.

I will also leave the Manusmriti largely outside this discussion. I do not consider it a religious authority for my own beliefs, and I disagree with many of its ideas. It is important to distinguish between different Hindu texts, their historical contexts, and the practices that developed in Indian society over many centuries.

Introduction

Caste has been one of the most difficult social problems in India's history. It has created discrimination, exclusion and unequal treatment, and those realities cannot be brushed aside.

At the same time, there is a common assumption that the caste system in its present form was directly created by the Vedas. That assumption deserves examination.

The word “caste” itself does not come from Sanskrit. It comes from the Portuguese word “casta”, which referred to lineage, race or social group. In Indian traditions, the words varna and jati have different meanings.

This distinction is important.

Jati refers to the many social groups and communities that developed within Indian society. Varna refers to the four broad categories described in several Hindu texts.

Treating varna and the modern caste system as exactly the same thing can therefore lead to a very simplified understanding of Indian history.

What do the Vedas say?

One of the verses most frequently brought into discussions about caste is found in the Purusha Sukta of the Rig Veda, in the tenth Mandala.

The verse describes the universe as the body of Purusha, with different parts of creation emerging from different parts of that cosmic being.

It says that the Brahmins came from the mouth, the Rajanyas from the arms, the Vaishyas from the thighs and the Shudras from the feet.

If this is read literally and in isolation, it can certainly appear to describe a hierarchy, with the Brahmins at the top and the Shudras at the bottom.

But there is another way to understand the passage.

The same hymn goes on to describe the Moon as coming from the mind, the Sun from the eyes, Indra and Agni from the mouth, the wind from the breath, the sky from the head and the Earth from the feet.

If coming from the feet automatically meant being inferior, then the Earth itself would have to be considered inferior to the Moon because the Moon comes from the mind.

That clearly does not make sense.

The imagery is therefore better understood symbolically rather than as a ranking of human worth.

The body needs every part to function. The mouth, arms, thighs and feet all have different functions, but one cannot meaningfully say that the human body can function without its feet simply because the feet are lower than the head.

This does not mean that later societies never used varna to justify hierarchy or discrimination. They clearly did. It means that we should not automatically read every later social practice back into the earliest Vedic symbolism.

Varna is not the same as modern caste

The distinction between varna and jati is central to this discussion.

Modern caste is largely associated with birth based social groups, while the idea of varna in Hindu texts is often discussed in terms of qualities, abilities, duties and social functions.

The Bhagavad Gita, for example, describes the four varnas in relation to qualities and actions.

This is also consistent with passages that describe people according to their character and conduct rather than simply according to their birth.

The Rig Veda itself contains an interesting verse in which the speaker says that he recites hymns, his father is a healer and his mother grinds grain. The verse presents people performing different occupations within the same family.

This is worth considering when discussing the idea that ancient Indian society always followed a rigid hereditary division of occupations.

A society obviously needs teachers, farmers, traders, administrators, soldiers, craftsmen and many other occupations. Having different social functions is not, by itself, the same as saying that one human being is inherently superior to another.

The problem begins when social roles become fixed by birth and are used to deny people dignity, opportunity or freedom.

That distinction is important.

What do other Hindu texts say?

The idea that personal qualities and conduct matter can also be found in several Hindu texts.

The Bhagavad Gita discusses varna in terms of qualities and duties.

The Mahabharata contains discussions in which a person's character is given greater importance than their birth. In the Shanti Parva, qualities such as truthfulness, forgiveness and compassion are associated with the ideal Brahmin.

The Upanishads and other texts also contain discussions that make it difficult to reduce Hindu identity to a simple hereditary caste structure.

There are therefore many strands within Hindu literature, and they should not all be reduced to a single interpretation.

It is also important to acknowledge that Hindu texts themselves contain ideas that have been interpreted differently by different communities and at different points in history. Hinduism has never been a single institution speaking with one voice.

The historical reality of caste

None of this should be used to deny the historical reality of caste discrimination.

Caste based exclusion, untouchability and discrimination have existed in India and have caused profound injustice. The fact that a particular practice may not be clearly commanded by the Vedas does not make the suffering caused by that practice any less real.

India's social history is complicated. Caste developed and changed over centuries through religious interpretation, social customs, political institutions, economic interests and local traditions.

Colonial rule also played a role in how Indian communities were classified, recorded and administered. But it would be equally misleading to claim that the British simply invented caste. Caste based social divisions existed in India long before British rule.

The honest position is somewhere between those two extremes.

We should neither pretend that caste was created entirely by outsiders nor claim that every aspect of the modern caste system was directly commanded by the Vedas.

A word about politics

Caste has also become deeply connected with modern Indian politics. Different political movements have used caste identities in different ways, sometimes to demand representation and justice, and sometimes to build electoral support.

That political reality should not be used to dismiss genuine discrimination.

At the same time, caste should not become a convenient weapon for portraying an entire religion or an entire community as inherently oppressive.

India's political debates are complicated enough without turning Hinduism into a caricature.

Criticising caste discrimination is necessary. Defending inherited privilege is not.

But neither is it necessary to attack Hinduism itself in order to oppose caste discrimination.

Dr. B. R. Ambedkar and the question of varna

Dr. B. R. Ambedkar was one of the strongest critics of caste and one of the most important figures in India's struggle against caste discrimination.

His writings also show that the historical relationship between varna and caste is more complicated than the simple claim that they were always identical.

Ambedkar wrote that the early varna system could be understood as a class system in which individuals could change their class when they became qualified.

This does not mean that Ambedkar accepted the caste system. He did not. His life and work were devoted to challenging caste based inequality.

His work is important precisely because it reminds us that the question cannot be reduced to a simple argument between people who “support Hinduism” and people who “oppose Hinduism”.

Conclusion

The caste system has caused real suffering in India and deserves serious criticism.

But criticism should be based on history and evidence rather than on an assumption that the entire caste system was simply handed down by the Vedas.

There is a meaningful difference between varna, jati and the caste system that developed historically in India. There is also a difference between the symbolic language of the Purusha Sukta and the later social structures that came to be associated with caste.

Hinduism contains many traditions that emphasise character, conduct, knowledge, compassion and spiritual growth. It also contains texts that have been interpreted in different ways across centuries.

For that reason, I do not think Hinduism should be defined simply as a religion “based on a caste system”.

At the same time, acknowledging the philosophical distinction between varna and caste should never become an excuse for ignoring caste discrimination or defending inherited privilege.

The better approach is to acknowledge the injustice, understand the history honestly and examine the scriptures carefully.

The values expressed in prayers such as “Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu”, wishing for the wellbeing of all beings, reflect an aspiration towards universal welfare.

Hinduism is a vast and diverse tradition. Its history contains both profound philosophical ideas and difficult social realities. We should be honest about both.

Rejecting caste discrimination does not require rejecting Hinduism.

And defending Hinduism should not require denying the reality of caste discrimination.

A serious discussion should be able to hold both truths at the same time.