She comes to the waterfall the way water comes to itself on impulse, remembering its own nature. The nine-yard saree moves with her the same way. That white cloth hasn't yet remembered its cloth. I sometimes think they must both believe they're the river.

Her charm gives her the name of a siren, just like Medusa, who was the priestess of Athena. Her charm and the ability to see through you frighten everyone. And then the myth of demonising isolates her. Truth has its own cost, and she bears it on the tip of the whip. When she wields it in her hand and cracks it, the hypnotised heart comes to its senses.

Her company cures all the KARMA piled up since ages. Her intuition guides not only you but the generations coming in the future. Her womb is not a physical space to claim but a doorway to the world unknown. She is the one who is living proof of creating without division or dying. Your system called her witch, a Rakshasi. But she is RAKSHA misunderstood by the one who cannot sense the true energy that we all need to heal.

You are the holy desire that carries me from flesh to beyond. Trishna is the one who stands beyond all pretence, laying bare every illusion and theory. You are the harbinger of storm and calm, both at once. You are the eternal question, where the answer lies hidden within itself.

आयुष्यातील सर्वात सुंदर क्षणांपैकी एक म्हणजे पावसात भिजणे. आज जो पाऊस आहे तो उद्या वाट पाहायला लावेल, कधी आपणच त्याच्यापर्यंत पोहोचू शकणार नाही. तो कोसळताना आपण निर्माण केलेले कुठलेही भेद तो पाहत नाही. आपण सर्व त्याच्यातूनच निर्माण झालेलो आपल्या आत खेळणारा तोच. जेव्हा तो नर्तन करायला येतो तेव्हा आपण बाहेर पडायलाच हवे. मग ती लहान मुले असोत, वृद्ध असोत, मुली असोत, स्त्रिया असोत कोणीही असो. त्या नर्तनातले, भिजण्यातले सुख हेच खरे नैसर्गिक सुख. कोणी पाहो वा आपण एकटे असू तो पाऊस

I have always carried this question inside me like water carries the light. Bending and blending it beautifully. Why is a man drawn toward beauty ? Why do we seek cinema, photographs, paintings, sculptures? Why do we fall in love not only with the beauty but also the reflection of beauty ?

"Even as she lifts the water-pot to her head, her waist bends like a vine in the wind. O traveller, why do you hurry? Stay a little. The road can wait." -Gatha Saptashati She is not the nayika of perfumed chambers. She is closer to the poetry of a couplet immediate, unadorned and devastating.Someone who doesn't mind disappearing into the ripple of water or rising on wind like a bird's feather has already made her peace with impermanence.