#Krishna x gopi

[ramayantika]

Adharam Madhuram

A gopi reader fanfic because I, Samridhi got into her hopeless romantic, yearning phase for Krishna in the middle of studying chemistry but Kanha I still completed this chapter okay. Anyway I will shut up and write this down or this dark curly haired boy will not go away from my head.

Tagging the tumblr gopis (because why must I be the only one to suffer from this heartache that Krishna isn't here in kaliyuga): @ma-douce-souffrance @pothosinpots @eugenephosgene @jessbeinme15 @lil-stark @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @jukti-torko-golpo @saanjh-sakhi

"Maiya, who is Krishna?"

Krishna. Just the mere mention of his name brings me to a standstill even after all these years. The pestle fell down from my hand with a thud but it's noise could not deafen the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.

"Where did you hear that name, my child?" I hurriedly lifted the pestle from the floor. My daughter, now of seventeen summers answered with a new-found interest. "Well, I wanted to find my green odhni but I found an old box hidden under piles of sarees and my curious self couldn't help but open it and I found these letters to-"

"Krishna." There. I uttered his name after so many years. Not once did I take his name on my lips from the moment I saw him cross the Yamuna. Nor once did he turn back to look at us so even I decided that I would never take his name ever again. If I could control my heart, I would have made sure to forget him. I would forget how beautiful his lips were. I would forget how his voice sounded so sweet, so gentle and so loving just like the soft butter he would steal from us. I would forget how his laugh caused my heart to flutter. I would forget how he walked so gracefully while bringing the cows back from their pastures.

"Maiya, why aren't you speaking? Your lips are quivering. There are tears in your eyes and your hands are shaking."

The Lord of Mathura, I wish I could forget your enchanting flute that urged me to leave the world for you. I wish I could forget the lovely vision of you dancing with me in the forest. I wish I could forget this little story of mine which started with you.

They said that you know the hearts of those who love you. Why did you leave this town then? If you had to leave then couldn't you return for some days to us? Why swear a false promise of friendship and love when you could have simply said that you would never come back.

Your beautiful dark eyes still haunt my dreams, Krishna. You left me by imprinting a gaze that still elicits shivers across my body. For the first time, I saw helplessness in your eyes and maybe some amount of sadness and heartbreak. But, now that you haven't sent me or anyone a letter, I think that it wasn't sadness and heartbreak in those eyes.

Or you want to take revenge on me because I never sent you my letters. You know my heart, you know all the words I have written to you. I hope you have memorized my poetry for you. I hope the moon you sometimes look at reminds me of you. I hope the river Gomati in your kingdom reminds me of my presence near the bank of Yamuna where you showed me the stars.

And I hope, you know that this silent letter, this plea that I have written to you about forgetting you is false. I am ready to bear this pain again and again for you. If fate and time imprison me in Vrindavan, I will gladly stay here and relive every moment with you.

Perhaps then you shall sing me a song, play the flute and dance with me again. You will braid flowers into my hair and show me the moon's reflection in the waters of Yamuna. And you will go away from me once again with the same unending gaze of sadness and defeat because not even Gods get everything they desire.

But, did you love me though?

My young self still wants to hear an answer to this question.

Write me just once please?

"Child, my darling, Krishna was a cowherd your mother loved when she was your age. Alas, he had to go to the big city again and he never turned back for me."

"Is that it? These letters are filled with so much love and longing... "

"As your mother, I would wish that may your heart never bear this sweet pain of heartbreak and loss. But, your mother was once a lover too and this love of hers though gone too soon and too far. This lover gladly embraces this unrequited love."

*****

I think I need to make a tumblr gopi tag list just to share my Krishna posts. If anybody interested, do tell me (kyunki akele nahi jina iss pida mein)

[premakalidasi]

Krishna as Kali, worshipped by Radha.

"Krishna as Kali worshipped by Radha (recto), from a Kalighat album, c. 1890. Eastern India, Bengal, Kolkata, Kalighat. Gum tempera, graphite, and ink on paper; secondary support: 48.1 x 29.7 cm (18 15/16 x 11 11/16 in.); painting only: 25.4 x 20.4 cm (10 x 8 1/16 in.). The Cleveland Museum of Art, Gift of William E. Ward in memory of his wife, Evelyn Svec Ward 2003.113.a

Krishna’s cowgirl (gopi) Radha was Ayanaghosha’s wife, and her devotion to him transcended marital ties. Whenever Radha was together with Krishna and her husband appeared, Krishna instantly transformed himself into Kali and Radha into her devotee. Radha, a model devotee, symbolizes the human soul and its longing for god. Her willingness to break the rules of duty (dharma) exemplifies her devotion."

(Via)

[kanha-mohana]

So I read this Krishna x Rukmini fic today, which also had hints of Krishna x Radha every few paragraphs, and while the plot would've made for an excellent drama fanfic if it was revolving around average humans, it just seemed plain disrespectful in this regard. I just don't get why people can't seem to accept the fact that Vrindavan, Radharani and the gopis, and Dwarka and all the wives, were two separate phases of Kanha's life. I really don't get why fics (and even some stories and folktales, I'm sorry but it needs to be said) involving him have to have some sort of comparison between those two phases, and why one has to be given precedence over the other. I get the fact that what the gopis felt for him was the purest form of devotion, but that doesn't mean his wives weren't devoted to him too. Why do fics like this always have to show Kanha giving more preference to Vrindavan and almost failing at being the picture perfect husband that he was to all his wives? He loved Radharani, yes we all know that. But that doesn't mean he also didn't love mata Rukmini. He wasn't some random man who didn't know how to find a balance between his youth/boyhood and his adulthood, he was the best of the best. Do people really think low enough of him to hold the thought that he wouldn't be able to separate his life in Vrindavan with his life in Dwarka? I admit, there are also some fics where he gives more importance to the wives than to the gopis, but the same point still stands. Just one phase of his life should not be given more importance than another phase, when we know how much of a multidimensional personality he was. Why do they always have to be compared, and the superiority of one female protagonist in his life be compared to that of another female protagonist? Why can't people accept the fact that both had their own importance? Why does one (or sometimes both) of them have to be left crying?

[terminusantequem]

Francis Newton Souza (Indian, 1924-2002), Krishna & the Gopis, 1971. Oil on canvas laid on board, 61 x 50.8 cm

[pandaemoniumpancakes]

Master at the Court of Mandi (active circa 1710-1750), Gopis Clinging to Krishna, Mandi, Himachal Pradesh, India, ca. 1700-25, opaque watercolor on paper, 25.08 x 14.13 cm, sheet: 29.21 x 18.42 cm, LACMA. 

[hinducosmos]

Krishna Radha Gopi Inside a Lotus Pond Picchavai. 19th century. Nathadwara, Rajasthan. Cotton, painted with pigment. 202 x 63 cm. (via Asian Civilisations Museum Singapore)

[nityarawal]

9/22/23

Targeting- 

(Not A Hasbeen!!!!)

Morning Songs

Russel Brand

Is Not A Hasbeen

Russel Brand

Isn't Just A Label

For U.K.'s

Geese

A

Golden Goose

Charlotte Had

Dollar Signs

In Her Eyes

First Summer Abroad

Celebrity Struck

Wouldn't Even

Take A Picture

With @RustyRockets

She Remembered 

Him

When He Was A

Tabloid Star

Trafficked In

London

By People

Who Pretended

To Love Him

To Be Journalists 

Her Auntie

Renuka

Taught Art At

Russ's Private

School

Academy

Renuka Rawal Barnes Abraham

My @X Sister-In-Law

Taught

Textile Design

Until Her

Husband Roger

"Was Made Redundant"

Then Hired

At Russel's Academy

Recruited Too

She Brought His School

Another Laborer

Cuckholded

A 2nd Class Citizen

Her 

Soon To Be "X"

Husband

Roger

On Last Legs

"A Trojan,"

Sunil Commended Him

Running

Into Your School

Always At Your Side

With A GPS

At Mark's & Spencer

Gas Station 

Runs

He Arrived

Was It Him

Or Her

That Made CPS

Abuse Kids

From School

A Partner

Trolling

Celebrity

Hungry

Moldy

My Mother-In-Law

Patricia Rawal Campbell

An Elizabethan Miniature 

Painter

Art Teacher

Shakespeare's

Yogi Capturer

Ma

Reiki Master

Kwan Yin Yogini

Elizabeth Taylor

Black Lidded

Gypsy Eyed

Priestess

Once A Generic

Jones

2nd Gen

Irish 

Genocide

Now A Campbell

Ruled By Young

Boytoy

HP Tech Bro Who

Stole Her Brown

Buddha Boys

& Grand Kids

Gautama's Baes

Buddha's For Courts

Einstein Geniuses

Cambridge Prodigy

Analytica Marine Spies

Intelligence

Maritime Dr's

Like Navy Seals

Pushing Gag

Orders

Dr. Sunil "Christopher" Rawal

Neo-Nazi

Said

About His Brother

Krishna

Who Failed Dharma

Yogi Karma

Bhagad Vad Gita

Averting Dilemmas

Dramas

Wars

'Cuz He's Got No Morals

Nor

Righteous Compass

For He's Been

A Silent Uncle

Like Haydn

How Can You Take

A Plea

When San Diego

Marines

Abuse Thee

Judges

And Officers

Raped Kids

And Me

What Is My Crime 

"A Mothers' Cult"

Says Oath Keeper Sheriff

Chad Bianco

About Divorcees

To The Riverside

DA Michael Hestrin 

Papers

Bros Say

Sheriff Drinks

With Gang

Daily

And IEHP

Court Ordered

Therapist Dr. Tima Ivanova

Can't Get

A Pathology Report

From Him; Our Riverside Coroner

Investigator 

That Gave Jessie

A One Liner

In Idyllwild Town

Crier

Paper

And Doubles

As Pathologist

Sheriff

Illegally

Working With Idy

Drug Lord's

It Seems

But Who Follows

Us

Just Me

Who Follows Us

Just Me

Whose Gagged

Raped

Bled

Nearly Stabbed

With Lymes

By Lewd Klu Klux Klan

Militia

Skinheads

Plan B

Ticks

Robbers

Just Me

Just You

When You Gonna

Get Your Bearings

Just Me

Just You

Wanna Know 

What I Thought

Every Time I Met

Russel Brand

A Whimsical 

Adoring Artist

Fan

Devoted To David Lynch

Wanna Know

What I Thought

Just A Kid

In 2009

Scrawny

Pretty

New

Ex Patriot

I Slung My

Bae

And Went To Donovan's

Show

With Minette

In Hollywood

My Young Sexy Doula

With A Hibiscus Flower Behind Her Ear 

And My Newborn

Paparazzi

Everywhere

Wanna Know

What I Felt

Really Safe

VIP Lounge

With Lila

Eden-

Wallace's

From MUM 

College

VIP Lounge

After Party

Hiding Out

Escaping

For Pancakes

Breastfeeding

Anj 1st

Whose That Gopi

Gypsy Boy

Skinny Budding

In His Skin

Lighting Up

Young Hipster

Doug Henning

Magician In

Reception Lines

Serving David Lynch

A Right Hand Man

Like Maharishi

Mahesh Yogi

Himself

and Skin Boys

Johnny Grey

Alike

With Guru Dev

A Teacher

Disciple

Relationship

Johnny Grey

Skinboy

To Cleanse

To Transform

Make "The Change"

From Trafficking 

England

"Men Are From Mars,

Women From

Venus,"

Says New Age Lovers

"X" Barbara Deangelis

Teaching

Polarity

Wanna Know What

We Thought

When We Took

Newborn Baby

Anj

To Her First 

Concert

In Hollywood

6 Weeks Old

Out Of

Encinitasbeachhome.com 

After "Oil" Mother Baby Ayurvedic Program

In Hollywood

At The "El Rey"

Theater

I Felt Safe

With Russel

I Trust My Compass

Intuition 

Not A Lawyer

Trying To Smear

Another Hasbeen

Misunderstood

Before His Time

Just A Humble Dad

Resisting A Hologram

"Branding" Him

Eternally

Like Michael Jackson

Britney Spears

Britney Murphy Holocaust

#Ye Fights

From Conservators

Kimmy #2.

Bianca Trans

Forced Drugs

Plea Bargains

Handlers

We Fought For You

And Demand

Our Reperations

Forced Drugs

Plea Bargains

Removed

We Fought For You

And Demand

"Quash It" 

Our Reparations 

#Metoo

Merci

Beaucoup

Met Russel Brand

Once Again

At A LA Comedy

Fundraiser

For DLF

In 2012

Went For Jerry

Seinfeld

To Introduce

'X's" Half-Bro's Debutante Niece

From UK

Charlotte

But Russel Brand

Kissed My Forehead

Like Jesus Christ

Himself

Before Her

Wafting Up

Smelling Of

Nag Champ

Up Close

After Meditation

Charlotte Took Our Picture

Smelling Sweet

A Cloud Of Incense

Like Nag Champa 

Beside Me

Pure

Who Wouldn't Fall

Into That Divine

Embrace

Yummy Mummy

50 Pounds Overweight

Felt "Hot" For A

Minute

Certainly 

Who Wouldn't 

Ma

Don't You Want A

Picture Too

Russel Asked Charlotte

Don't You Want

A Picture Too

We Both Offered

Patiently

She Was Stuck Up

Snobby

Greenwashed

London- Berry

Spun Doctored

On UK Tabloids

Grooming

Lies

Dr's Bribes

Not Even Your

Smart "Bookie-Wook"

She Recommended

Swayed Her

Your Books

"A Good Read"

She Admits

Could Change

Her Judgements

Though She Ordered

"Bookie Wook 2,"

Hungrily

Greedily

For Brits Abroad

Desperately

Or Were

They Bribes

For Nonce Charles

First A Barnes

Before Rawal 

A Loyal Niece

To An Art Teacher

First A Barnes

Then A Rawal

Her Step Grandfather 

Was The 1st 

Keith

Of 3

In Rawal Child

Abducting

First A Barnes

Than A Rawal

She Studied Textile Design

Like Auntie Ren

First Barnes

Than A Rawal

Neanderthal-Indian

In A Hybrid Skin

Got Her A Job

Mentoring

With Peter Dunham

At "Lucky" Denim

1st A Barnes

Like Amelia Airheart

Pilot 

Expatriot

"Victor" Galore

1st Job

We're Those Char's Textiles

That Cloaked

Josh Radnor's

Cushions

In New Story

About Hollywood Home

Were Those

Char's Prints

That Covered

Josh's "New" Couch

In His "New" Home

After A Restraining 

Order

Forced A Move

By Broker "Anderson"

Court's

Culprits

From Hollywood Reservoir

To Silverlake

Is That Char's 

Design

Emulating British

Mandalas

Mesmerizing 

Hypnotizing 

Into

Bribes

A "JOB"

Money

Bucks

Prostitution

For A Yogini Maiden

Who Said, "No Thankyou"

Snottily

Snobbily

To Russel Brand's 

Invitation

Gaslighting

A Blush

Justifying

A Decline

Of Loyalty

Why

She Wouldn't Touch Him

Nor Take A Photo

Together

Almost Allergic

To Memorialising

Russel

From What 

Tabloids Had Done

To Rape Him

A Poppet

Drugged

She Wouldn't Touch

Him- A Yogi

Smelling Of "Nag

Champ" Incense...

[ggs-smumbai]

Hari Krishna, the pantheon's eighth incarnation of Vishnu, is depicted in this lovely handmade portrait. Krishna embodies charm and grace in a variety of hues and forms of attraction and mysticism, which has resulted in a plethora of canvas paintings of Lord Krishna. The colors are very cool and peaceful where Shri Krishna is playing flute so gracefully. Krishna used to play the flute, which drew the attention of the gopis.

[bm-asian-art]

Krishna Steals the Gopis' Clothes, Page from a Dated Rasikapriya Series, 1634, Brooklyn Museum: Asian Art

Size: sheet: 7 3/4 x 6 1/8 in. (19.7 x 15.6 cm) Image: 7 1/16 x 5 1/2 in. (17.9 x 14.0 cm) Medium: Opaque watercolors on paper

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/109378

[aic-asian]

Krishna Fluting for the Gopis, 1750, Art Institute of Chicago: Asian Art

Gift of Marilynn B. Alsdorf Size: 65 x 49.2 cm (25 5/8 x 19 3/8 in.) Medium: Opaque watercolor, gold and tin alloy on paper

https://www.artic.edu/artworks/131815/

[art-now-india]

“Krishna on swing” with gopis, radhika ulluru

33 ½ x 22 ½ acrylic color on paper 2012 “Krishna on swing” with gopis. This painting is mysore traditional based painting with modern touch. we can see modern touch in background. background fully covered with texture. krishna and gopis jewelries and ornaments embossed like mysore traditional painting. Mysore traditional painting develloped in mysore state after the collapsed vijayanagara samraja . mysore wodeyars supported to develop the mysore traditional style painting. This styles had nearly 500years history.

https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Krishna-on-swing-with-gopis/964011/3582822/view

[ramayantika]

Greetings! I'm new to your blog and this is my first ask!

Can I have a Lord Krishna x Beautiful!Shy!Gopi reader oneshot where the Reader and Sri Krishna are just spending time with eachother? Some fluff? Pls?

*sips in motivation drink to write this and not keep the story inside my head*

A/n: Here both Krishna and Y/n are older like maybe around 16 or 17 but according to various texts, Krishna left Vrindavan as a child. I obviously deviated from canon to write this.

It had been a week since Y/n and her family had relocated to Vrindavan from Barsana. As much as she loved her childhood home, she couldn't help but fall in love with Vrindavan too. The lush forests, beautiful flower bushes whose fragrance could be smelt miles away, the sparkling Yamuna river flowing in all her grace, the green pastures for the cows and the abundance of the pious Tulsi in Vrindavan had made her fall in love with the place.

She was yet to make some friends with the maidens from the town. Her mother had told her that to socialise with the other females, she had to only go to the river at in the morning and evenings when all of them would come there to fill their pots with water for their homes. The previous week did not give her much time to step out of the house, and she herself did not want to go alone to avoid any chances of losing her way back home.

But today, she had decided to step out and take a round to see the town. Coincidentally, her mother had asked her to get some flowers for the sandhya aarti in the Gauri temple. The temple was situated in the centre of the town where almost everyone would gather for worship. Y/n's family too decided to take part in the puja.

Swinging her basket in her wrist, she walked inside the forest. Her mother had told her where to find the flower bushes that weren't very deep inside the forest. Being alone in the forest, she slid her dupatta from her shoulder and let it fly with the gentle breeze that blew around her. She took a deep breath and smelt the beautiful fragrance of the wildflowers and a smile teased its way on her lips.

From a distance, she could hear a gentle tinkling sound of bells and hooves. The men in Vrindavan were mostly cow herders. The sun was soon to go away and make way for the moon and stars. By evening, all the cow herders would come back home after feeding their cattle.

Y/n took a right turn as instructed by her mother and found the flower bushes. The bushes were filled with fresh jasmine flowers, beautiful roses, large hibiscus flowers, yellow marigolds that looked like the bright sun and soft white Palash flowers. She ran her fingers over the jasmine flowers and plucked some of them and placed them in her basket. Plucking two large red hibiscus flowers, she gently placed them in her basket. Bending down to the roses, she closed her eyes and took in their fragrance when she heard a voice.

'Who are you? I haven't seen you here before.'

Y/n immediately turned back and her eyes fell on a lovely sight. In front of her stood a boy with a complexion like the dark sky during the monsoon season. His curly hair fell just to his shoulders which made her think of the night sky. However, it was the boy's eyes that gathered most of her attention.

His eyes possessed a beautiful curve and as he blinked, his eye lashes gently touched one other which made Y/n think of a butterfly flapping its wings. Those eyes possessed a tender look which made her feel lost in them.

Could a mere gaze make one feel so many different things? This boy's gaze did. With his gentle fluttering lashes, Y/n's heart skipped a beat.

Blisfully unaware that she was staring at him, the boy waved his long slender fingers in front of her face, effectively bringing her back to the present.

'Earth to you, beautiful one,' said, the boy, in a sweet cheerful voice. 'I asked you a question before, but you did not answer.'

'Oh, yes... I am sorry. I got los-. Never mind, I am new to the town, so you never saw me before,' said, Y/n who was deeply flustered. Composing herself, she closed her eyes for a second and then looked up to him confidently. 'May I know your name? I don't know much people here.'

'I am Krishna. And you are?'

'Nice to meet you, Krishna. I am Y/n from Barsana.'

Krishna. The way she spoke his name made his heart flutter in his chest. He had seen a glimpse of her in the flower bushes when he and his friends passed through it. He knew everyone in Vrindavan but was curious about the new girl, so he had asked his friends to go home without him.

Y/n too had curly hair like him which was tied into a loose bun. Some of her curls had come out of the bun but she looked beautiful even then. In between her eyebrows was a red bindi and her eyes were lined with kohl, highlighting them more. Her dupatta was loosely draped around her shoulder, some of it was even brushing on the soft soil of the forest.

'Lovely to meet you too, Y/n. May I ask why are you here in the forest at this time? It gets dark soon here and you are new to know your way around the forest,' said, Krishna.

Adjusting her dupatta, Y/n answered him with a friendly smile, "Oh, don't worry about that. My mother wanted some flowers for the sandhya aarti today. She had told me before hand about these flower bushes. These aren't very deep in the forest so I can easily find my path out of the forest. With time, I will explore the forest more. It's such a lovely place.'

Krishna walked to a rose bush beside her and plucked one of them, his thumb caressed the red flower petals. 'In that case, I think, I will see you again at the temple.' His eyes went to the flower in his hand. Gently raising the flower, he turned his gaze towards Y/n and said, 'We have met just now and every friend I make, I always leave a small token of friendship with them. I would like to give you something too.'

A bashful smile on her lips, eyes slightly to the side, she nodded, saying, 'Umm I won't mind it. You are my first friend here.'

'Even better!' exclaimed Krishna, as a bright look flashed in his eyes. Bringing the flower to his lips, his lips kissed the flower ever so gently and with a smile, he brought the rose near her hair and whispered, 'May I?'

'Yes, you may,' muttered, Y/n, fiddling with the embroidered border of her dupatta.

Krishna entwined the rose bloom in her bun, his fingers expertly moved with the curls to keep the flowers in place. Y/n's heart sped up realizing their close proximity. She could smell the fragrance emitted by the flower garland he wore around his neck. The flowers brushed against her arm, a cool sensation crept on her skin.

'Roses suit your hair. I hope you will wear them more often,' said Krishna, stepping back to look at his work. He liked how the rose adorned her hair. She looked more lovelier with the rose in her dark hair.

His fingers swiftly plucked a fistful of Parijata flowers and placed them in her basket.

'I should take your leave now, Y/n. See you in the temple.'

Krishna walked away from her with an elegant gait. His feet were pinkish with some of the dust from the soils of the Vrindavan forest. His fingers twirled a flute around them and with a whistle he was walking out of the forest. Y/n couldn't help but admire his retreating form and wondered how could such a beautiful being exist on earth.

'Bhuvan sundara Krishna,' she smiled to herself and touched the Parijata flowers which Krishna had given her.

As she made her way out of the forest, her thoughts were filled with Krishna. His magnetic eyes, beautiful smile, his elegant gait and his gentle voice. Had the Gods created him to be their most perfect creation?

She would never know that. But she had her days to admire this handsome lad of Vrindavan and get to know more about him.

***

I guess I slightly deviated from the request but I don't know my mind wanted to write something like this. I hope this was upto your expectation.

[joseandrestabarnia]

Título: Los vaqueros de baño (gopis) imploran a Krishna que devuelva su ropa (Cira Harana lila) de un manuscrito disperso del Bhagavata Purana

circa 1650

Artistas: Artista desconocido

Detalles:

Otros títulos: Cira Harana lila de un manuscrito disperso del Bhagavata Purana

Los vaqueros de baño (gopis) imploran a Krishna que les devuelva la ropa

Ilustración del Bhagavata Purana (Krishna flautando; baño de gopis)

Lugar donde se realizó el trabajo: India

Origen cultural: Marwar (?)

Fecha: circa 1650

Categorías de medios: Miniatura, pintura, acuarela

Materiales usados: acuarela opaca sobre papel

Dimensiones: 30,3 x 21,0 cm

Crédito: Donación del Dr. Nigel y la Sra. Norma Hawkins 2010. Donación a través del Programa de Regalos Culturales del Gobierno de Australia, Art Gallery NSW

Información de la web del museo.

[arthistorydaily]

Kamadeva Disturbs Krishna's Penance, folio from a Gita Govinda, Rajasthan, India, ca. 1650

Brooklyn Museum

Provenance: donated by Mr. and Mrs. Robert L. Poster 1990

Sheet: 7 5/8 x 9 3/4 in. (19.4 x 24.8 cm)

The Gita Govinda गीत गोविन्द (Song of Govinda) is a work composed by the 12th-century Indian poet, Jayadeva. It describes the relationship between Krishna and the gopis (female cow herders) of Vrindavana, and in particular one gopi named Radha. The text also elaborates the eight moods of Heroine, the Ashta Nayika, which has been an inspiration for many compositions and choreographic works in Indian dances.

[text source: @wikipedia]

[ajapablog]

Bollywood Blues

I grew up on a very heavy dose of Bollywood, I love Delhi and I am a South Asian historian-in-training. So when a friend recently shared this question from a Bollywood Trivia to me, it wasn’t hard for me to answer. In fact, it was so delightful, it made me realize how much I love all three: Bollywood, Delhi and History. It felt like an reaffirmation of who I am and my life’s journey in a time where this pandemic, political upheavals and emotional anxiety has made me feel like I’m sinking in quicksand. Here’s the question:

X derives its name from the Persian Dur-e-be-baha, which translates as “unparalled pearl.”This is in reference to its history as a popular market for precious stones precious stones and gold and silver jewellery, especially under the reign of the 17th century Mughal emperor Shah Jahan. The location witnessed the bloody massacre of Delhi in March 1739, ordered by the Persian invader Nadir Shah, when hundreds of innocent civilians and soldiers were killed and the gold shops were looted....Y was appointed as the poet tutor of Bahadur Shah Zafar II and the royal historian of the Mughal court. After his death in 1869 he was buried near the tomb of Nizamuddin Auliya. His honorific titles include Dabir-ul-Mulk, Najm-ud-Daula, His house in locality Z has now been turned into a museum/memorial. X and Z are very close to eachother, within a kilometer. This proximity was referenced in a song in a 2005 film. Name the film. 

X = Dariba Kalan : where I used to browse silver jewellery

Y = Ghalib

Z = Ballimaran The song = Kajra Re in Bunty Aur Babli

The lines: Ballimaran se Daribe Talak, teri meri kahani Dilli mein. 

This made me pull up a map of purani Dilli again and reminisce my forays into the crowded streets of Delhi which are perhaps lost for now to the pandemic. Dariba Kalan leading into Kinari Bazaar, leading to paranthe wali galli and then to Ballimaran. I thought about Sis gunj sahib and Bangla Sahib, the trimmed geometric gardens of Lutyens’ Delhi, the musty smell of old files, Andhra Bhawan. Memory lends itself well to literary reproduction because to remember is after all the desire to recreate and relive something. When we write literary things, we constitute ourselves. Of memories altogether, memories of Bollywood are too many. As Bollywood keeps maturing (Thappad was amazing) so do I. So an arcaheology of my encounters with Bollywood is an archaeology of my self. They will tell you as much about me, as they do about the nature of memory itself and some very common South Asian expectations that need to be dismantled. In dark times, with a hint of sarcasm, and a fair bit of laughing at myself and the circusmstances, let me try to break patterns of some engrained expectations so here goes:

When I was 4, Hum Aapke Hain Kaun came out I got hooked to Didi Tera Dewar Diwana. Imagine a child singing the song in toddler-speak. It must have endeared my father’s friend so much that he bought a cassette of the movie’s soundtrack and sent it to us through the post. As I grew older, I wouldn’t miss watching the movie when it came on TV. There is no way that Suraj Barjatya’s, low conflict, song heavy, family-centric, conservative, misogynist dramas have not shaped my ideas of a good life. In fact, if you ask me to watch one right now, I will. But I think the untenability of the families, relationships and the circumstances that they show are increasingly stark. It is obvious that no one, and certainly I cannot perform the emotional and physical labor expected of  women and men in any patriarchal system. Even if I could, life throws one thing after the other, no one remains naive and who can possibly believe that years can go without any kind of conflict and frustration. So here we are, certain that no one is visiting Ram Tikri, and no one is getting engaged in the span of two days. That makes no sense. 

When I was 8, Karan Johar’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hai came out. My cousin and I watched it together on a VHS cassette player and we were hooked. This was a time when small shops in Kathmandu allowed you to rent out VHS cassettes of latest releases for a couple of days, I think 3 days. My cousin and I became quick friends with a VHS shop guy in Kamal Pokhari and he allowed us to rent out Kuch Kuch Hota Hai for about 8-9 times until we learned all the dialogues. Whenever the movie came on TV, my cousin would call me up to let me know it was on TV. The movie was neoliberal India’s offering to South Asia of branded clothes, complications in boy-girl friendships in a modern co-educational context, foreign scenes, etc. Like Dil Wale Dulhania Le Jaayenge, this was a story of how if everyone was rich enough to go to summer camp or lived abroad, things would work out fine. Well, it doesn’t. The state of being a migrant even a privileged neoliberal one sucks and bright branded clothes are terrible and if a guy doesn’t like you with short hair, he has no business liking you with long hair, that is just shallow. Stay away. Also, boy-girl friendships do not need to be sacrificed at the alter of romance and to act like an adult is not to throw your dupatta at your best friend’s boo while you run away on a train because you can’t deal with your feelings. 

When I was 10, JP Dutta’s Refugee came out. My mother and my aunts took us children to Gopi Krishna Cinema Hall in Kathmandu. I don’t think Bollywood films had Parental Guidelines and neither did the adults who took us for these films ever understand them but we went to see Refugee in 2000 about a strange cross border relationship. I spotted a guy and a girl from the upper grades in my school together at the movie. This was also right after I started getting my periods. So in the throes of puberty, I developed a major crush on Abhishek Bachchan to everyone’s surprise. I think my 10-12 year old self constantly told I was ugly saw the actor as relatable and “Mere Humsafar” as the ultimate love song. A complicated cross border romance situation still appeals to me and  I still keep an eye out for anything that has Abhishek Bachchan (apparently he has a new TV show on Amazon prime and caught COVID 19) and I continue have a thing for men with beards. But I also know that splitting my life in different locations is not my idea of fun. I don’t want to be torn between here and there so here I am coming to terms with untenability of transnational relationships, definitely not in the time of a pandemic. 

Some movies between 2000 and 2007 that I can vividly remember watching include Dil Chahta Hai,  3 Idiots, Taare Zameen Par, Rang De Basanti etc. But it was Jab We Met with its witty dialogues, its upbeat tenor and its fantastic songs that became a favourite. Like many women, I must have imagined myself as Geet. I wonder whether my recurrent desire to teach at an Indian boarding school years later in my life was because of those heart wrenching scenes of Geet teaching in Shimla while nursing a heartbreak. But here is the deal, as someone who spent the prime of my life in North India, let me tell you, you will find annoying people on trains. Missing a train in the middle of nowhere is not going to lead you to a grand love story and you shouldn’t expect millionaires to save you. In fact, no one will save you from anything, especially not emotional wounds from shitty relationships and you shouldn’t either. If ever you choose to teach at a boarding school in the Indian hills (or a residential summer school for that matter) or continue school wherever you are, you can find ways to take care of yourself and enjoy life, watch Bollywood and be an adult and be happy. 

[smuartcatalog]

SHIVA

36”X 25”  K3 Pigment Print on Hahnemuhle Museum Etching Archival Paper 

Limited Edition Exclusive Digital Artworks - 1/10 + 2 artist prints

Gentle and limpid, like a rivers’ flow, this languid female form is none other than the most masculine of gods: Siva, appearing here as gopika or divine milk maid, ready to take part in Krishnas’ famed raas lila. As always the myths beguile – seemingly simple tales are prismic gateways to a wonderland of symbolism. The sublime strains of Krishnas’ flute stir Siva into joining the raas lila or dance that Krishna, the god of love, enjoys with his bevy of gopis in Vrindavan. As no male can enter Vrindavan, Siva dips himself into the waters of the Yamuna and emerges a beautiful maiden and the two gods dance. Radha points out a subtle otherness in the atmosphere and is told by Krishna who the new dancer is – “He is Lord Siva,”says Krishna, “my teacher. You wouldn’t want me to ask him to leave, would you?” In another variation, Kali has the urge to dance with the gopikas. Taking the form of Krishna, a fellow dark god, she has a wonderful time with the gopis. Siva, missing his consort, enters Vrindavan as Radha and dances with her. What a wonderful world. A world of variation and abundance - for that is what Vrindavan means – a fluid, flowing world where gods slip in and out of different sexual forms, dance, love, celebrate pleasure, enjoy beauty. The gopis - no ordinary beings, are milk maids – nature herself, provider of the milk of life and Vrindavan – where all things exist is perceivable only to those free of familial ties, of outlandish moral constructs, of self – for only they are unburdened enough to live life in its fullness and multitude, and light enough to dance to its rhythms. Here Siva the Nataraj, the supreme dancer who dances the cosmos into existence and destruction dances or plays for that is what lila means - with the god of love and the cosmos is animated into being.