Archives for category: visual response by Artisashwini


Nestled Inside The Sliver of a Delicate Crescent Moon, classical dancer, Sujit Vaidya, a kindred spirit, victorious and triumphant like his name. He moves majestically, draped in peacock-hued silk with a playful dash of vibrant pink! Reminiscing his dance recital, on the eve of 10th January, 2015, a resonance of hushed tranquility rests within.


With much inspiration and quietude…



Love’s Gong

When years ago I lay in a cupboard
Crying and wailing
Inside and out

An all heart man reached out
From the book I held
And cradled me

Strings of words woven together
A hammock that buoyed me
From falling down

I walked out of that cupboard strong
Dressed in tenderness
And love’s gong

~ A poem by Hema Agnihotri Bharadwaj


प्रेमाची तास

अनेक वर्षांपूर्वि
मी बंद कपाटात लपून
रडत होते ।

जेव्हा अचानक
एका दयालु माणसाने
लिहीलेल्या पुस्तकाने
मला सांत्वन दिले ।

गुंफलेले अनमोल शब्द
झोपाला बनुन
घसर्टे पाउल सावरून
मी हवेत तरंगले ।

आज त्या कपाटातून
मी खंबीर होऊन
जगाच्या सामोरी येते
वात्सल्याचा झगा व
प्रेमाची तास वाजवित ।

~ Marathi translation of ‘Love’s Gong’ by Ashwini Pratap Pawar


How do you hold a pain, a grief that everyone knows about, that they cannot fail to remind you of, at a time when you must transcend, if you are to dance at all! Dance you must, it’s the only thing that keeps you, from the edge of the abyss. But then, after you’re done, they’ll come for you, backstage, when you can no longer hold back your tears, and offer you words of comfort, a hand, a sympathetic look. But it’ll not do. No. You must go home to that sacred space where you are with those, who are as deeply touched as you are, and whose transcendence you could make yours, without guilt. If only we could remember our dear departed, by forgetting their conspicuous absence!
How is it that I sense another presence, in this Auditorium, on the lone empty seat, by chance, beside my own, watching keenly, listening, to the sound of your anklets!


When the honey spreads it’s sweetness upon your tongue,

does it concern itself, with thought upon thought,

of the flowers that caused it to be?

Be the honey and flow with sweetness.

No one would care to ask the honey

from where it gets it’s fragrance.

The Teachers are the bees

and the inspiration is the hive

from where your sweetness

flows like liquid gold.


All ‘falling’ is a ‘floating’ for something light.
There are no hard meetings with the earth –
No deep wounds, or, breaking of bones.
Every encounter is a kiss, or, an embrace.
When the wind blows hard, it’s just a dance.
It’s a moment of rest when the wind lets up.
Whatever is light grows lighter still,
Till someday the sun shines through
And one may see the glow of its tender veins.
One day, soon, it crumbles and returns,
Like a rain drop, merging
With the waters of a still lake.

Visual response by Artisashwini


For some time now I’ve been asking,
“How far do I travel down
This road before turning around
To where my true destiny lies?”
My back hurts and my feet are sore.
I’m all tired and very confused
At not knowing what I’m looking for.

You look at me, all worn out
From my eventful journey, and say,
“There is no turning around!
You’ve been walking all this while,
Simply to accept, this is your life!
You are already where you need to be.
Drop your bags and have some tea”.

Visual response by Artisashwini


When everything is falling apart
I remember that my heart is beating still
And I return to the marvel that is God.
Word after word, page after page
The story of my life unfolds
That which gives life to words on a page
Is subtle and cannot be touched
Even if the pages are ripped apart.
Very few words live on their own
Most need others to complete their meaning.

Visual response by Artisashwini


It’s been a long wait to take this bus,
And all this while we’ve been talking
Of what we’ll do, once we arrive.

During the journey, in all this long while,
We’ve been talking of all those places
Which we’ll never see, ever again.

Now, even as we get off this bus,
We talk of the journey and all that
It has been, since we came aboard.

It’s no wonder we have forgotten
To collect our bags which are
So full of unopened presents.

Visual response by Artisashwini


Could I break in to your emptiness,
When you are simply gazing,
Lost to the moving stillness
Of just some clouds passing by?

When I asked you to ease my pain,
You smiled, bid me sit with you,
And asked me just one question,
“How come the sky is so blue?”

Under a clear, blue, cloudless sky,
I tasted the treasure of your empty bag,
And forgot something I had brought,
Upon that threshold, of your open door.

Visual response by Artisashwini


I lay beside you the whole long night
Feeling you and yet not touching you still
It was as though I stood and watched
From a threshold which I dared not cross
Something unspoken between us
Barred my path like a sentry at the door.
I awoke this morning from something other than sleep
To see that I had fallen asleep right where I stood
How easy it is to build such walls!
How difficult to walk through open doors!

Visual response by Artisashwini