Dancing dandelion

 ಮುಗಿಲ ಮಾರಿಗೆ ರಾಗರತಿಯ ನಂಜ ಏರಿತ್ತ ಆಗ ಸಂಜೆ ಆಗಿತ್ತ ನೆಲದ ಅಂಚಿಗೆ ಮಂಜಿನ ಮುಸುಕು ಹ್ಯಾಂಗೋ ಬಿದ್ದಿತ್ತ ಗಾಳಿಗೆ ಮೇಲಕ್ಕೆದ್ದಿತ್ತ To the edge of the clouds rose the nectar of passionate love, And then it turned to dusk; To the fringe of the earth, a misty veil gently descended, And the wind lifted it skyward ಬಿದಿಗಿ ಚಂದ್ರನ ಚೊಗಚೀ-ನಗಿ-ಹೂ ಮೆಲ್ಲಗ ಮೂಡಿತ್ತ ಮ್ಯಾಲಕ ಬೆಳ್ಳಿನ ಕೂಡಿತ್ತ ಇರುಳ ಹೆರಳಿನಾ ಅರಳಮಲ್ಲಿಗೀ ಜಾಳಿಗಿ ಹಾಂಗೆತ್ತ ಸೂಸ್ಯಾವ ಚಿಕ್ಕಿ ಅತ್ತಿತ್ತ On the face of the pale moon, a soft smile bloomed like a flower, It mingled with the silvery haze; In the depth of night, the scent of blooming jasmine Quietly sighed, like a hidden sob. ಬೊಗಸಿಗಣ್ಣಿನಾ ಬಯಕೆಯ ಹೆಣ್ಣು ನೀರಿಗೆ ಹೋಗಿತ್ತ ತಿರುಗಿ ಮನೀಗೆ ಸಾಗಿತ್ತ ಕಾಮಿ ಬೆಚ್ಚಿಹಾಂಗ ಭಾವಿಹಾದಿ ಕಾಲಾಗ ಸುಳಿದಿತ್ತ.. ಎರಗಿ ಹಿಂದಕ್ಕುಳಿದಿತ್ತ A woman, the embodiment of yearning in, walked to the waters, And then returned home again; Like a desiring cat, wandering along the path of emotion, She stumbled, turned back, and sat still ಮಳ್ಳಗಾಳಿ-ಸುಳಿ ಕಳ್ಳ ಕೈಲೆ ಸೆರಗನು ಹಿಡಿದಿತ್ತ ಮತಮತ ಬೆರಗಿಲೆ ಬಿಡತಿತ್ತ ಒಂದ ಮನ...

  India, with its 22 official languages and hundreds of dialects, is a living archive of diverse cultures, stories, and histories. In such a multilingual nation, translation is not just about converting words from one language to another — it’s about bridging worlds, preserving heritage, and enabling cross-cultural dialogue. From ancient Sanskrit texts like the Vedas to regional epics and modern literature, translation has played a key role in shaping Indian knowledge systems. Movements like Bhakti and Sufism spread across regions precisely because their messages were translated into local languages, making profound spiritual and philosophical ideas accessible to all. Translation in India is deeply tied to identity, caste, class, and gender. For example, Dalit and tribal literatures bring forward raw, lived experiences that often resist easy translation. Works like Omprakash Valmiki’s Joothan, when translated into English, challenge readers to confront caste realities that are ofte...

All of my readers might be wondering what new topic I’m planning to post about, but I’ve been thinking a lot about mental health. It’s a subject that many people write about, and it’s always open for debate. Mental health and the middle class often seem like two entirely different worlds. For people like us and by "us," I mean those of us who belong to a similar socioeconomic class it can feel presumptuous to assume everyone shares our experiences. We can afford clothes, food, and other essentials that we deem necessary, yet when it comes to mental health and therapy, we often hesitate. Why? Because we’re usually not ready to spend money on something that, for many, feels intangible. I can personally relate to this struggle. There have been days when I’ve spent the whole day in tears, overwhelmed by thoughts that seem to torture me from within. Instead of discussing my feelings with friends or family, I often stay silent, scared of being judged by those around me. Most colleg...

We live in a world that’s always rushing constant notifications, work deadlines, and everything in between. But if you pause for a moment and look around, there’s beauty everywhere, waiting to be felt. That’s where Indian aesthetics comes in. It’s not just about how something looks it’s about how it makes you feel. Indian aesthetics is like that moment when you hear your favorite song on a random afternoon and suddenly everything seems brighter, or when you read a line of poetry that stays with you for days. It's all about how art whether it's music, poetry, or a painting stirs something deep inside. The Magic of Rasa: Feeling Art, Not Just Seeing It Ever had a moment where a piece of art maybe a song or a movie hit you right in the feels? That’s Rasa , the heart of Indian aesthetics. It’s the idea that art is meant to evoke emotion. And not just any emotion, but the kind that sticks with you, changes you, even if only for a little while. There are nine core emotions, o...

He left this world on August 12th, 2024, They said he passed quietly, not troubling his son, On a Monday, they told me—people who leave on Mondays Are said to find their way to heaven. Always in his kache panje , crisp and clean, You were so strong, Ajja—witness to a world That spanned from the dawn of independence To this age of AI, and yet you never needed glasses, Still walking with purpose even in your ripe years. The way you loved your wife—how I dreamed Of a love like that, of living a life as full as yours. But today, a heavy monsoon morning, The rain outside matched the misery in my heart, And I never imagined that grief would flood my soul like this. You were a part of my whole childhood— Those dolls, those sweets, the delicious snacks You saved and brought home from different shops, Your quiet acts of love I never fully understood Until now, as an adult, I cry for you, for your absence. Will you ever forgive me, Ajja, For not being there, for not s...