I was horrified when a close relative — whom I shall refrain from naming — casually remarked that Bhagwan Shiva was blue, probably influenced by comic books and calendar art. That one offhand comment revealed how far we have drifted from our own aesthetic vocabulary.
Almost instinctively, I found myself reciting:
कर्पूरगौरं करुणावतारं
karpūra-gauraṁ karuṇā-avatāram
He whose form is white and translucent like camphor, the embodiment of compassion.
Shiva, in our earliest imagination, is not blue in the literal sense. He is camphor-white — clear, luminous, almost translucent. His form dissolves into light the way camphor does. Somewhere along the way, symbolism became pigment, and depth became surface. That small moment stayed with me, because it opened up a larger question: how did our sense of beauty become so narrowly defined?
Before all this, India saw beauty everywhere
If we turn to our epics and poetry, we meet a civilisation that never believed beauty had to look one particular way.
Rama is described as:
श्यामः पीताम्बरधरः
śyāmaḥ pītāmbaradharaḥ
Dark-complexioned, radiant in bearing.
Krishna is loved as:
मेघश्यामं
megha-śyāmaṁ
Dark like a monsoon cloud.
Draupadi, born of fire yet dusky, is named Krishnaa:
कृष्णा मनोज्ञा
kṛṣṇā mano-jñā
The dark one, deeply captivating.
Sita, daughter of the earth, is remembered as:
काञ्चनप्रभाम्
kāñcana-prabhām
She who shines with a warm, golden radiance.
And Ulupi, the Nāga princess, brings in an entirely different geography and aesthetic:
नागकन्या रूपयुवती
nāga-kanyā rūpa-yuvatī
The beautiful young maiden of the Nāgas.
These descriptions are not just about skin tone. They speak of presence, grace, strength, virtue, and harmony with nature. Beauty was not uniform; it was regional, seasonal, and deeply human. Sangam poets adored ebony skin. Sculptors carved bodies full of vitality and sensual confidence. Nothing about our aesthetic imagination was apologetic or narrow.
Parvati, and the reminder that beauty is not skin deep
As I reflected further, I was reminded of the old adage that beauty is not skin deep — especially when I thought about Maa Parvati and how she has been described.
Parvati does not belong to one shade. She moves freely across the entire spectrum.
As Gauri, she is gentle and luminous:
उमा गौरी जगन्माता
umā gaurī jagan-mātā
Uma, the radiant mother of the world.
As Shyama or Kali, she becomes the deep, protective dark:
श्यामा रूपं धृतवती
śyāmā rūpaṁ dhṛtavatī
She who has assumed the dark form.
As Annapurna, she carries the warmth of grain and nourishment:
अन्नपूर्णे सदापूर्णे
annapūrṇe sadā-pūrṇe
O ever-nourishing goddess.
And as Tripurasundari, beauty transcends colour altogether:
मुखचन्द्रकला
mukha-candra-kalā
Her face shines like the crescent moon.
Parvati makes something unmistakably clear: beauty was never a single complexion. It was Shakti — strength, compassion, nourishment, radiance — expressed differently depending on the moment and the need.
When colonialism narrowed our gaze
Colonial rule quietly introduced a hierarchy where fairness became aspiration and power. Over time, this seeped into cinema, advertising, and even family conversations. Gods grew lighter on calendars. Heroines were softened on screen. A civilisation that once celebrated dark gods and earth-toned goddesses began to doubt its own reflection.
The loss wasn’t dramatic — it was subtle, and therefore deeper.
Coming home to our own way of seeing
India’s older imagination still whispers to us — in verses
22 yrs old raped 4.5 years old baby.
>She had multiple surgeries to survive
>Parents hv to hold her all the time because she can neither sit or stand.
>She has been on liquid diet.
>both parents lost their earning in order to take care of baby.
Rapist didnt show any remorse.
In an ideal world, two people fall in love, tell their families, have a small wedding and begin their life together, just the two of them. Simple. Clean. Theirs.
But in India, even love isn't yours to keep. Parents isolate themselves in cope-bhawan in manufactured grief until you surrender. Conditions are negotiated like contracts. Dowry is demanded even when you chose each other. The wedding becomes a performance for 500 people nobody actually likes, burning money that could have built a life. And then it's over. Four days in some overrated hill station and back to reality.
Then the real sentence begins. Husband at office. Wife in the kitchen. Both under the same roof as his parents. No privacy. No honeymoon period. No slow, gentle beginning. Just the grind, immediate and unforgiving. A dinner outside once a month if you're lucky. The occasional argument to break the monotony. And somehow this is called a good marriage.
Most Indian couples never get to just be together. They go from strangers to life partners with no in-between, no time to learn each other, no space to become something. Just two people slowly disappearing into a household. That's not marriage but just cohabitation with extra steps.
You cannot:
Work full time, raise children, keep a spotless home, show up fully in your marriage, maintain friendships, stay fit, build wealth, read books, pursue hobbies, serve only home cooked meals, answer every email, and still make the 3:30 school pickup.
That standard was created to keep you exhausted and blaming yourself. Let it go.
Eat all mangoes. Eat every mango you can. The small, juicy, fibrous, nameless ones you pluck off that old tree down the gully. The planted-a-Dussheri-seed-but-never-grafted Dussheri-ish mango from your masi’s garden in Bhopal.
Blushing Sindhuras. Sweet Kesars. Yes eat as many of those beautiful Alphonsos from Devgad packed carefully in cardboard boxes as you can. But also eat Pairi, Neelam, Ratna. And Sindu - a cross between the Ratna & the Alphonso which is slowly gaining more ground because climate change has wreaked havoc on the finicky Alphonso - ask farmers, yields have been down for a few years now, talk to farmers.
Eat with the season.
Eat the early mangoes from the south - Mankurad, Badami, Banganapalli, Imam Pasad in late April-May.
Eat your middle-India mangoes - Kesar, Bombay Green, and also Malgova and Mallika which are late season bloomers from the south, and your Himsagar, Gulabkhaas, beauties from Malda and Murshidabad - try to lay your hands on a Champa, Saranga, or Kohitoor in May-June!
And go both hands in, into piles of Amrapali, Chausa, Malihabadi Dussheris, Langdas in July.
This is just the tip of the mango iceberg, there are so many more loved & delicious varieties - India has near 1,500 varieties of mangoes.
Why would you eat just one? Of course have your favourites but also look at our beautiful biodiversity - please cherish it! Eat widely. Eat greedily. Eat because these mangoes are so delicious. Eat in RESISTANCE TO LOSS, eat like these mangoes might disappear because some of them already are!
I need to stop reacting to literal femicide going in this world.
Nothing is going to ever happen. Women/girls/baby girls are going to be assaulted/abused/raped/murdered for various reasons and no one is going to do anything.
I only burn my blood.
This is my blackpill.
Since the Nirbhaya case, inserting iron rods and pulling out intestines and reproductive organs during rape has become horrifically common in India.
It’s at the point where getting raped is ironically the least of your mind-shattering fears. It’s this other stuff that keeps you up at night.
But yes, the men of this country are such victims.
If you haven’t had to worry about your internal organs being pulled out of you and dying horribly just because of someone’s lust don’t talk to me about Men’s rights. Fix that first then we’ll talk about fixing the laws or whatever.
I legit can’t understand the debate around #chiraiya … if there’s no consent then it’s rape , your intra status is immaterial and it doesn’t even matter if you’re newly married or been together for donkey years … it’s still rape and there are no iffs and buts to it.. period !!
What a boring planet.... no fairies, no elves, no mermaids, no dragons, no vampires, no werewolves… just bills, stress, gossip, and insufferable people.
Why does nothing in life happen in moderation? It's always one extreme or the other, never in between. Some moderation would be good, some breathing space would be good..
I am myself an example.
One of my gurus in lineage "Acharya Sudarshan Dev" has authored the most comprehensive commentaries on Yajurveda and Ashtadhyayi available today. He came from SC community.
Swami Ramdev is a Yadav. His gurukul of full of such Brahmans. It is a prevalent practice among many gurukuls. They induct teachers irrespective of birth-based-caste and as teacher designate every teacher to "Brahmin" after ritual.
In north India, most gurukuls have been like this in last 100 years. Just that these realities will hurt the agenda of leftists and evangelist crooks and hence are never highlighted.
Swami Shraddhanand - who founded Gurukul Kangdi and was hero of Shuddhi Andolan - was himself not a Brahmin and yet upheld as among wisest and most respected of his times. And officially a Brahmin after rituals.
You don’t have to be born in a Hindu family to feel a longing and devotion for Lord Krishna. There is something about him that reaches past labels and traditions and touches something very human. As a child he is full of mischief and joy, as a young man he is love and beauty, as a leader he is calm and strategic, and as a teacher he goes straight to the deepest questions of life. He never tells you to escape the world to be spiritual, and he never lets you get lost in it either. He shows how to hold both at once.
What makes Krishna even more powerful is how he shows up in relationships. As a son, a friend, a lover, and a guide, he meets people where they are and gently pulls them toward who they could become. He does not dominate or lecture, he awakens. Whether he is guiding warriors on a battlefield, comforting someone in grief, or dancing with simple villagers, he treats every moment as worthy of the divine. That is why he is called a poorn avatar, complete in love, wisdom, and action.
And maybe that is why he feels so timeless. Krishna speaks to something universal. Live fully, love deeply, and act with care. He erases the line between spiritual and ordinary life and turns everything into a space for meaning. In that sense he is not just someone to worship. He is a reminder of the highest version of what a human being can be.