December stands still, yet moves within itself,a solemn breath before the year exhales.The air whispers secrets of frost and fire,a quiet warmth nestled in the heart of cold. Beneath bare trees, life lingers,fragile as the glass ornaments we cradle,shining and trembling,aware of their fragility. It is the month of hands—hands to hold close,hands to wave…
December stands still, yet moves within itself, a solemn breath before the year exhales. The air whispers secrets of frost and fire, a quiet warmth nestled in the heart of cold.
Beneath bare trees, life lingers, fragile as the glass ornaments we cradle, shining and trembling, aware of their fragility.
It is the month of hands— hands to hold close, hands to wave goodbye. Snow falls like memory, each flake a piece of what was, melting as it lands.
The sky wears both dawn and dusk together, an endless twilight where time folds in on itself. The past feels closer, the future a breath you cannot catch.
Love in December is fierce, burning against the chill, because it knows it must. Because it knows it will soon have to let go.
And so, we wrap the year in ribbons, in the ache of holding on, in the grace of release. December, you are the stillness of endings, the weight of beginnings, a lesson in everything we can never quite keep.
I Often wonder what it would be like if the world had no colors? Without blue to mark the sky, how would I even know where the ground ends or begins? The sky wouldn’t care; it never does. It’s me—I need the blue, the reassurance. But without color, would I even need reassurance? It would…
I Often wonder what it would be like if the world had no colors?
Without blue to mark the sky, how would I even know where the ground ends or begins? The sky wouldn’t care; it never does. It’s me—I need the blue, the reassurance. But without color, would I even need reassurance? It would all be the same. A shapeless, blank thing, indifferent to whether I saw it or not.
No. If there were no colors, would I still feel anything? Would love still have a place in this strange, hollow space? Colors bleed into everything—maybe feelings are just the shades I wear inside. A soft red for love, a cold blue for sadness. If they disappeared, what would that leave me with? Could I still feel love without the red? Would I even know if she was next to me?
Maybe I wouldn’t need to feel her anymore. Maybe warmth would exist without the red to dress it. Maybe it’s all just a glow, like two moons caught in orbit. But even moons need light. Without the sun, they’re nothing. Am I nothing? Am I just a reflection, existing only because of something else? Something that isn’t there?
But… maybe that’s not emptiness. Maybe it’s the beginning of something else, something beyond the colors that have fooled me into believing they mattered. Perhaps the love remains, even when I can’t see it.
What if color is love? What if red isn’t just a hue, but the pulse in my chest? If I lose that red, what happens to love? Would I even be able to touch her in a colorless world? Can touch exist without the proof of color? Without the feel of warmth against skin?
Maybe I wouldn’t need hands anymore. Maybe I wouldn’t need to touch. I could just exist, like a thought floating in endless gray, sensing without seeing. Knowing without proof. A love that doesn’t ask for evidence. But… can love survive without proof? Wouldn’t it all fade, blur into the same endless shade, like a flat line on a blank canvas?
Hasn’t it already?
Maybe life itself is just nothing layered on nothing, a story told through colors I never even chose. If I stripped it all away, what would remain? Would I recognize what’s beneath? Or maybe I’ve already seen it—and I’ve forgotten. Maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this same thought, the same question. What if there are no colors? What if there never were?
I think I’ve already had this conversation with myself. Over and over. Like an echo trapped inside my mind, circling back to the same point.
A thousand times, and yet, here I am. Still searching for color in a world that might have never had any. Or maybe… the world never lost its color. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m the one who’s gone gray. And I don’t even realize it.
Whenever I look at a sunflower it’d remind me of you. Sunflowers are metaphors for the people around whom you feel alive. I have an open field inside of me wherein the wind echoes your laugh. The open field has always been filled with roses, that your presence has watered. If this is what the…
Whenever I look at a sunflower
it’d remind me of you.
Sunflowers are metaphors for
the people around whom you feel alive.
I have an open field inside of me
wherein the wind echoes your laugh.
The open field has always been filled
with roses, that your presence has watered.
If this is what the poets call love, then I’ve
laced far too many notebooks with the idea of you.
How everything eventually is about you?
How sometimes i go sleepless at nights, but then
How I yearn to sleep a little bit more
because you came into my dreams.
How I grieve when I am not close to you?
But then what is grief, if not love persevering.
What is grief, if not love with no place to go,
that corners in your eyes, and
in the hollow part of your chest?
What is love, if not the poem
scracthed on the walls of my throat.
How I’d want to linger near the door
uncomfortably, rather than leaving.
How I’d want you to forget your scarf
and come back later, to find it.
What is love, if not everything that I feel for you?
“O woman with desire, place on this patch of flower-strewn floor your lotus foot, And let your foot through beauty win, To me who am the Lord of All, O be attached, now always yours” Krishna to Radha When Krishna left for Mathura, the mind of Srimati Radharani was completely disrupted. She became almost mad…
“O woman with desire, place on this patch of flower-strewn floor your lotus foot, And let your foot through beauty win, To me who am the Lord of All, O be attached, now always yours”
Krishna to Radha
When Krishna left for Mathura, the mind of Srimati Radharani was completely disrupted. She became almost mad because of the extreme separation from Krishna and experienced great mental pain and agitation, which caused Her to drown in various sorts of mental speculation in the river of anxiety.
She (Radharani) thought, ‘Now I am going to die, and when I die, Kṛṣṇa will surely come back to see Me again. But when He hears of My death from the people of Vṛndāvana, He will certainly be very unhappy. Therefore I shall not die.’
luṭhati ca bhuvi rādhā kampitāṅgī murāre viṣama-viraha-khedodgāri-vibhrānta-cittā
Uddhava said to Lord Kṛṣṇa, “My dear Kṛṣṇa, all the gopīs are so afflicted by Your absence that they have become almost mad. O Murāri, at home Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī laughs unnecessarily and, like a madwoman, inquires about You from every entity without distinction, even from the stones. She rolls on the ground, unable to bear the agony of Your absence.” – Sri Ujjvala Nilamani 15.175
Radharani would madly talk (Pralāpa) as follows
kva nanda-kula-candramāḥ kva śikhi-candra-kālaṅkṛtiḥ kva mandra-muralī-ravaḥ kva nu surendra-nīla-dyutiḥ kva rāsa-rasa-tāṇḍavī kva sakhi jīva-rakṣauṣadhir nidhir mama suhṛttamaḥ kva tava hanta hā dhig vidhiḥ
My dear friend, where is Kṛṣṇa, who is like the moon rising from the ocean of Mahārāja Nanda’s dynasty? Where is Kṛṣṇa, His head decorated with a peacock feather? Where is He? Where is Kṛṣṇa, whose flute produces such a deep sound? Oh, where is Kṛṣṇa, whose bodily luster is like the luster of the blue indranīla jewel? Where is Kṛṣṇa, who is so expert in rāsa dancing? Oh, where is He, who can save My life? Kindly tell Me where to find Kṛṣṇa, the treasure of My life and best of My friends. Feeling separation from Him, I hereby condemn Providence, the shaper of My destiny.-Lalita-Madhava 3.25
Radharani won’t eat anything. Even sleep would desert Her. Thus, She had become very thin (Tānava). Uddhava thus describes Her condition to Krishna as follows
Consider the condition of the gopīs! Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī especially is in a very painful condition because of separation from You. She has grown skinny, and Her bodily lustre is almost gone. Her heart is immersed in pain, and because She has given up eating, Her breasts have become black, as if diseased. Because of separation from You, all the gopīs, especially Rādhārāṇī, appear like dried-up water holes under the scorching heat of the sun. -Sri Ujjvala Nilamani 15.171
Observing the death-like condition of Srimati Radharani, Lalita Sakhi, wrote a strong letter to Krishna and chastised Him for staying in Mathura. She thus wrote as follows
aye rāsa-krīḍā-rasika mama sakhyaṁ nava-navā purā baddhā yena praṇaya-laharī hanta gahanā sa cen muktāpekṣas tvam asi dhig imāṁ tūla-śakalaṁ yad etasyā nāsā-nihitam idam adyāpi calati
Simply by dancing in the circle of the rāsa dance, You attracted Śrīmatī Rādhārāṇī’s love. Why are You now so indifferent to my dear friend Rādhārāṇī? She is lying nearly unconscious, thinking of Your pastimes. I shall determine whether She is alive by putting a cotton swab under Her nostrils, and if She is still living, I shall chastise Her.-Hamsa-duta [96]
Being greatly afflicted by the pain of separation from Krishna, Srimati Radharani, as if diseased, said to Lalita Sakhi as follows
uttāpī puṭa-pākato ’pi garala-grāmād api kṣobhaṇo dambholer api duḥsahaḥ kaṭur alaṁ hṛn-magna-śūlyād api tīvraḥ prauḍha-visūcikāni cayato ’py uccair mamāyaṁ balī marmāṇy adya bhinatti gokula-pater viśleṣa-janmā jvaraḥ
My dear Lalita, I cannot bear suffering the fever of separation from Kṛṣṇa, nor can I explain it to you. It is something like gold melting in an earthen pot. This fever produces more distress than poison, it is more piercing than Indra’s thunderbolt, more sharp than a spear plunged into the heart, and more horrifying than the last stage of cholera.- Lalita Madhava 3.24
When Radharani was feeling separation from Krishna, She would constantly chant Hare Krishna Mahamantra. Chanting of Mahamantra was Her only resort.
ekadā kṛṣṇa-virahād dhyāyantī priya-saṅgamam |
mano-bāṣpa-nirāsārthaṁ jalpatīdaṁ muhur muhuḥ ||
hare kṛṣṇa hare kṛṣṇa kṛṣṇa kṛṣṇa hare hare |
hare rāma hare rāma rāma rāma hare hare ||
Śrī Rādhā was feeling the pain of separation from Kṛṣṇa and was meditating on the reunion with Him. In order to rid Herself of the agony of separation She felt in His absence, She repeatedly began to chant the mahā-mantra: Hare Kṛṣṇa, Hare Kṛṣṇa, Kṛṣṇa Kṛṣṇa, Hare Hare/ Hare Rāma, Hare Rāma, Rāma Rāma, Hare Hare.
-Quoted in Sri-Harinamartha-ratna-dipika, Srila Raghunatha Dasa Goswami
When Srimati Radharani would faint, all the other gopis would chant the Hare Krishna Mahamantra in Her ears and would revive Her.
Loving someone dearly is what we do the best. Probably better than breathing, we love. We cling close to it, aware that we in no way can control it. Everything seems to be wonderful, Filled with colours, rainbows and lights. We want to stay close, and keep them close. We want to hold them, and…
Loving someone dearly is what we do the best.
Probably better than breathing, we love.
We cling close to it, aware that
we in no way can control it.
Everything seems to be wonderful,
Filled with colours, rainbows and lights.
We want to stay close, and keep them close.
We want to hold them, and take them home.
Touching of toes, meeting of lips,
Making love with your every bit.
Beginning the days with their name
And wanting to end the same with their breath.
Adamant and ignorant of the fact that,
All of it is just holding roses,
until the thorns press against your fingers.
Letting go is an art of necessity.
We do not want it, but we have to master it.
It wasn’t until I saw in her eyes, that
irrespective of what I feel, it will never be the same for her.
Even Stephen King once said, that sometimes in life
You have to just let the bird go, for
You know it’s not meant to be caged.
When those thorns press so hard,
That you realise that its time to let go,
For it just means that we are all humans
Incapable of holding on to everything,
specially when it hurts the most.
The only barrier to letting go is hope,
We hope that maybe something somehow will work out,
But it never does. It’s always the thorns over the roses.
It’s the 17th of December, 6:05 pm, exactly two months since I last wrote to you. Have you ever yearned for something that wasn’t even yours to begin with? Because I know I have been lost, since so long, in something, in you? The leaves of autumn have fallen dead, and here I am wanting…
It’s the 17th of December, 6:05 pm,
exactly two months since I last wrote to you.
Have you ever yearned for something
that wasn’t even yours to begin with?
Because I know I have been lost, since so
long, in something, in you?
The leaves of autumn have fallen dead, and
here I am wanting to have an orange with you.
This winter, it tells me, to finally stand up to you
and tell you that I am so much in love with you.
Its like even the ghost in my closet,
is screaming to let it all out.
But it’s you we are talking about,
in front whom I am nothing but an idle candle,
burning in its own flame, and
standing still nevertheless.
My heart skips a beat and my world stops
as my gaze takes in the sight of her stunning form,
clad in her kurti and a dupatta.
My eyes flicker my heart flutters,
as I gaze upon the goddess of perfection.
But it’s December, the month of letting go.
December holds so much,
the end of best times, and
closure for all that was lost.
A month so hopeful, yet
carries heaviness in its frost.
Maybe this time, I’ll say it all too.
On Christmas’ eve, I’ll meet you at the golden hour,
The leaves have started turning to shades of yellow, orange and red. October has finally arrived. They say that the turning of colours Is to protect the leaves from cold temperatures. It’s October 6 today, and I am writing this to you. The evening today is nice and warm, Though it’s about to turn cold. I…
The leaves have started turning to
shades of yellow, orange and red.
October has finally arrived.
They say that the turning of colours
Is to protect the leaves from cold temperatures.
It’s October 6 today, and I am writing this to you.
The evening today is nice and warm,
Though it’s about to turn cold.
I came nearby the lake we used to visit,
Walked a bit, and even left a note
for you to read, between the pages of your notebook.
The note said, “meet me by the lakeside, we will sit and talk”.
The lake was still today, and had turned
Orange, as if the sun was drowning in it.
The sky was still alive, while I waited for you.
I asked myself today,
Did you ever want to go far away ? Where would you go?
But I couldn’t find an answer, so I waited for you to give me one.
“Aaj walk Karne chalen? Shaam ko, beside the lake?”, the note said.
It was getting dark, as 2 hours had passed.
I still wanted the answer, and I wanted you there.
I kept walking and talking to the sun.
It didn’t last long, as the sun finally rested in the lake.
“A Time Called You” It happens very often that we find a show or movie to be of such quality that it remains with us forever. However, seldom do we find something that becomes a part of us. “A Time Called You” is that ‘seldom do we find show’ and I can’t find any words…
“A Time Called You”
It happens very often that we find a show or movie to be of such quality that it remains with us forever. However, seldom do we find something that becomes a part of us. “A Time Called You” is that ‘seldom do we find show’ and I can’t find any words to describe how I feel right now.
I did think at the beginning that this would be good because again it’s a time travel romance drama, that too with Ahn Hyo-seop and Jeon Yeob-been, in any way the show would have been a hit. But I never expected this show to be this good with an entirely new and interesting plot. That’s enough about the plot. I won’t say anything further in order to not spoil it for you.
The show, the characters and their story, it all became a part of me. I felt I was there too, watching them, enjoying with them, and feeling every other emotion that they felt. Every episode had me on the edge of my seat, thinking I had it all figured out, only to be surprised by unexpected twists and turns. I had to pay close attention because of the back-and-forth storytelling, but it was worth it. Yeo Been’s performance was outstanding, especially in how she portrayed the two different characters. The cinematography was breathtaking start to end and the colour pallete was aesthetically eye pleasing.
All in all, A Time Called You is an incredible drama and it is very hard to express it in words, no review can make you feel how good this drama is, you have to watch this drama to feel the emotions. It constantly surprises you and keeps you on the edge of your seat. I tried to predict what would happen, but the story always had unexpected twists. The number of surprises in this drama is thrilling, and I couldn’t stop watching it.
After watching it you will know why I am going all crazy over this. You will in know everything, in a time called you.
I have been romanticising a lot of things ever since I have met you, because honestly I never thought I’d find what I have always been looking for, that the one in my life would be so near. I started off with wanting to peel oranges with you, on a wintered evening in Tokyo? And…
I have been romanticising a lot of things ever since I have met you,
because honestly I never thought I’d find
what I have always been looking for, that
the one in my life would be so near.
I started off with wanting to peel oranges with you,
on a wintered evening in Tokyo?
And us in that blanket, you got for me
with Spiderman printed on it! I just
I just want to take you by the hand, because
it’s you, it’s always been you to understand.
Now I say let’s take a walk together, on that
same wintered evening in Tokyo! I can,
I can hold your hands and you can hold mine.
I can kiss you on your forehead, you can kiss me
on my lips. Then again we continue our walk.
I’ll take you to this coffee shop, I know of
you can get your favourite latte and I’ll get that too.
You’ll drink it hot, and then burn your tongue
and suddenly start complaining that I didn’t warn.
Then I’ll take my handkerchief out and smile, before
I wipe that bit of cream that’s there on your lips.
Then I kiss you on your forehead again, only
you’d not expect it this time.
We’ll see each other through our eyes,
and eventually we’ll kiss, just like that.
We can then go on walking again, this time
to that beach you like. Walking barefoot.
You’ll tell me,
“See the moon looks so pretty, isnt it?”
And I’ll just keep staring at you and say,
“indeed it is Beautiful”.
Hearing my voice you’d suddenly
look at me, and I’ll instantly look at the moon.
You’ll know, I called you my moon, but
you won’t say. There will be a blush on your face
and then I’ll eventually look at you again because
that’s all that I want to see in that wintered evening in Tokyo.
I’ll then look at you and keep looking at you
because even God’s grace couldn’t be
as beautiful as that sight of yours.
And then I’ll say, I love you. I’ll say,
“Even a hundred years from now, and I’ll still
be engaged in the subtle art of loving you”.
I’ll then walk you home and you’ll say once again
“The moon did look pretty today, right?”
and I’ll again look at your eyes and say
“It always does. To me it’s the most beautiful thing to have ever existed and that it’s beauty is poetry”.
You know exactly what to do—Your kiss, your fingers on my thigh—I think of little else but you. It’s bliss to have a lover who,Touching one shoulder, makes me sigh—You know exactly what to do. You make me happy through and through,The way the sun lights up the sky—I think of little else but you.…
You know exactly what to do— Your kiss, your fingers on my thigh— I think of little else but you.
It’s bliss to have a lover who, Touching one shoulder, makes me sigh— You know exactly what to do.
You make me happy through and through, The way the sun lights up the sky— I think of little else but you.
I hardly sleep—an hour or two; I can’t eat much and this is why— You know exactly what to do.
The movie in my mind is blue— As June runs into warm July I think of little else but you.
But is it love? And is it true? Who cares? This much I can’t deny: You know exactly what to do;
Her eyes were the kind you do not just look at; you fall into them and never really climb back out. They had that color of honey mixed with dusk. A warmth that holds you without asking. A light that hurts and heals all at once. When she looked up, the whole garden changed its breath. The world seemed to tilt toward her, as if everything in it was trying to get just a little closer.
Aaditya Bajpai 