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Srividya Srinivasan quotes Showing 1-30 of 84

“You are truly home only when you find your tribe”
Srividya Srinivasan
“Be very very very gentle with yourself. The world is very very very hard on you”
Srividya Srinivasan
“Of all the deep longings, this ache for missing intimacy, cuts through sharply, like a scream in a silent room, like the last gasping breath under a stifling mask, like the huge lump in the throat that one is unable to swallow. This deep ache to be held, to know touch both the casual and intense variety, to catch an eye in answering laughter, to merge into oneness, to sing through existence in resonance with another, to simply be in deep love in openness. to live and die in intimacy and vulnerability in a loved one's arms. And, you ache alone...”
Srividya Srinivasan
“It is finally about the quality of the conversations and silences we share, isn't it? We become strangers when we have nothing to say to each other. We die to each other, when the conversations in us die. Sometimes, a little every day, until one day we go completely silent and we are simply left looking at a stranger whose habits we know”
Srividya Srinivasan
“The Valley Weeps

Weep softly o mother,
the walls have ears you know...
The streets are awash o mother!
I cannot go searching for him any more.

The streets are awash o mother
with blood and tears, pellets and screams.
that silently remain locked in the air,
while they lock us souless inside.

The guns are out o mother,
while our boys go armed with stones,
I cannot go looking for him o mother,
I have no courage to face what i will find.

They fill the air o mother,
The fragrance of plastic flowers
I will place them beside your grave
if i ever do survive,
flowers that have no soul.
and would never fade with time,

The sun shines glorious o mother
The water sparkles so fine
The buds are closed in terror
and birds have gone silent with fear
There is poison in our heaven o mother
I dread for what more is in store.

They came for him o mother,
yesterday as you slept inside,
He went marching o mother
with all the others beside.
I never told you o mother,
I do not know if he would ever return.
The streets are awash o mother!
I cannot go searching for him any more.

Weep softly o mother,
the walls have ears you know...
If your old blind eyes can see,
You will want to see again no more.

Our men have lost their spirit
Our women have lost their smile,
Our children have lost their laughter,
The valley has lost its shine,
Weep softly O mother
For, we still have our pride.

Srividya Srinivasan
“And, when i peel away, I find my superficial layers run deep, and the deep layers are just superficial layers in disguise. And, when i seek depth, all I can find is a gaping hole, a certain hollowness, cleverly painted by my superficial selves to appear important. And, my ego sneers at this feeble attempt at self honesty.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“You know you have arrived when you have stopped caring about the destination”
Srividya Srinivasan
“The winner has a different memory and the loser has a different memory of the same event. Where then is the question of a shared memory? What is history? Where is the notion of a We? Unless, the victory has the grace to accept the loser into his moment of glory or the loser has the grace to accede the winner his moment of glory ?”
Srividya Srinivasan
“May every man find the softest and most fragile expression of his personality with the right woman who would treasure and honour the beauty of his femininity and not misuse it and may all women find empowering and supportive men who would exult in her self expression and success without fear of being overshadowed by the power of her masculinity and in that beautiful new world, shall we enter as partners, equal and empowering, supporting and caring, vulnerable and strong.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“An adult seeking validation is a child that did not receive any”
Srividya Srinivasan
“You talk of beauty, love, laughter and life like a precious memory. As if the sunshine of love and laughter shall never flow into your life again. You make it sound like your present and future shall promise you nothing but safety and comfort in a sort of dead, dull way. What killed the spirit of madness, the spark of adventure and the sense of delicious fun ? Your aliveness ? Is this what it is to get old ?”
Srividya Srinivasan
“Poet's Note: Kindly do not use my poem without giving me due credit. Do not use bits and pieces to suit your agenda of Kashmir whatever it may be. I, Srividya Srinivasan as the creator of this poem own the right to what I have chosen to feel about the issue and have represented all sides to a complex problem that involves people. I do not believe in war or violence of any kind and this is my compassionate side speaking from all angles to human beings thinking they own only their side to the story. THIS POEM IS THE ORIGINAL WORK OF SRIVIDYA SRINIVASAN and any misuse by you shall be considered as a violation of my copyrights and legally actionable. This poem is dedicated to all those who have suffered in Kashmir and through Kashmir and to not be sliced and interpreted to each one's convenience.


Weep softly O mother,
the walls have ears you know...
The streets are awash o mother!
I cannot go searching for him anymore.

The streets are awash o mother
with blood and tears, pellets and screams.
that silently remain locked in the air,
while they seal our soulless dreams.

The guns are out, O mother,
while our boys go armed with stones,
I cannot go looking for him O mother,
I have no courage to face what I will find.
For, I need to tend to this little one beside,
with bound eyes that see no more.


Weep for the home we lost O mother,
Weep for the valley we left behind,
the hills that once bore our names,
where shoulder to shoulder,
we walked the vales,
proud of our heritage.
Hunted out of our very homes,
flying like thieves in the night,
abandoning it all,
fearful for the lives of our men,
fearful of our being raped,
our children killed,
Kafirs they called us O mother,
they marked our homes to kill.
We now haunt the streets of other cities,
refugees in a country we call our own,
belonging nowhere,
feeling homeless without the land
we once called home.


Weep loudly O mother,
for the nation hears our pain.
As the fresh flag moulds his cold body,
I know his sacrifice was not in vain.
We need to put our chins up, O mother
and face this moment with pride.

For blood is blood, and pain is pain,
and death is final,
The false story we must tell ourselves
is that we are always the right side,
and forget the pain we inflict on the other side.
Until it all stops, it must go on,
the dry tears on either side,
Every war and battle is within and without,
and must claim its wounds and leave its scars,
And, if we need to go on O mother,
it matters we feel we are on the right side.
We need to tell ourselves
we are always the right sight...
We need to repeat it a million times,
We are always the right side...
For god forbid, what if we were not?

Request you to read the full poem on my website.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“One waits an entire lifetime for a soul mate to appear. And no, God is not the answer”
Srividya Srinivasan
“A feminist is a woman lover not a man hater”
Srividya Srinivasan
“The stories we pretend do not exist, are the stories that will haunt us till the end.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“There are times when you are home to yourself and you long for company.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“Most of the conversations we are ever likely to have with people are the things we do not and cannot say”
Srividya Srinivasan
“I realise and finally acknowledge that at the core I am only a lover. Of life. Of beauty. Of love. Of being in love. Of kindness. Of words. Of conversations. Of dreams. Of imagination. Of ideas. Of realness. Of vulnerability. Of solitude. Of Silences. Of companionship. Of poetry. Of music. Of movement. Of stillness. Of energy. And, when the lover in me is stifled,starved, not finding resonance, is misunderstood, is dulled or ignored, I question my very existence because I do not feel alive. When the lover in me dies, everything in me dies. I realise that my inner fire is only a lover. I have no other identity of self than as a lover.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“We must learn to talk about the most difficult things, easily”
Srividya Srinivasan
“He could not take his eyes off her. Would she recognise him? Were their destinies linked this time? He had begged them to allow him this last chance. His seventh attempt. If he failed, their destinies would be severed forever.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“Become gloriously comfortable in your own skin, however awkward the fit.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“They prised open the door in the morning. The beatific expression on his face was exactly what one would find in a temple deity or the just dead - an unsmiling smile. The absurdity and humour was there if one could just see it, the question and answer staring one in the face”
Srividya Srinivasan, A Thick Fat Finger and other Stories
“Fix your strength before you feed your fear of your weakness.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“You can demand that I accept who you are, You cannot demand that I should like you too.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“When the moment is right, it simply is”
Srividya Srinivasan
“For a prince to rescue her, most often a princess has to give him directions”
Srividya Srinivasan
“Sometimes, I miss you with an intensity not even your presence can fulfill”
Srividya Srinivasan
“What makes you come alive? What keeps you going ? Is there hope in your heart still or has the weariness of the world attached itself to you like a limpet leaving you afraid and passionless? Do you wake up with a smile and stars in your eyes after restless, feverish soul-searching in the night? Do you dream, dream beyond what is possible and beyond the narrow confines of your jaded existence? How old do you feel? How much in love can you fall? How much step is there in your dance, o how many notes left in your song ? Have you decided to sit by and watch others dance or weep at the dying notes of your own swan song?

Shake your lethargy. Come alive to innocence once more. Believe past your own jaded cynicism. Pretend you are young once more. Jump up with a spring in your feet, fall breathlessly in love again. Let the colors of the world wash over your walls, brushing the greys away. Let the sunlight of hope flood through your doubting self, o let the music play.

Dance till you ache and drop, laugh till you cry. Sing till your lungs burst, and journey till the very road ends and dream by the moonless starless nights. Sleep with a secret smile on your lips, your body flush with the imprints of lips. Come alive, my dearest ...reclaim yourself from the living dead.

Life beckons”
Srividya Srinivasan
“Life is a little like getting on a bus with loads of passengers who are already on when you get on. A bus to nowhere but going with absolute certainty to nowhere or so it seems to you. And, you somehow secure a seat and think as long as you sit quietly, you might be allowed to stay till the destination, whatever it may be. You wonder if you could buy a more secure seat if you become the life and soul of the bus, since then nobody will want you to get off. So, you try.

There are people you like on the bus, some you cannot bear to be around with. People keep getting on. The bus is overcrowded. You watch some who gracefully get down, some who literally jump off the running bus and others who are abruptly forced off the bus. You feel sorry for those who have been forced off, happy you are still there. You must be special then for that privilege.

You sit there thinking if you are quiet and decent, and minding your business or counting your beads, you should be ok, not realising that you could be the next. There is deep down a fear that you could be, but you hope that all what you had done since you got on would guarantee a longer passage to nowhere. Maybe, to a better destination?

Where could the bus be going? Who will be getting off next? Will it be you? What is this strange journey with passengers you cannot choose, stops you cannot decide and destination unknown. Suddenly you cannot bear this torture anymore. This meaningless journey with atrocious company to nowhere.

And, you sit there in this tumbling, roller coaster ride, hanging onto dear life and swear to yourself that you will enjoy the journey while it lasts. Amidst it all, the question arises... who am I who is sitting here on the bus on a ride to nowhere?

And, you sit there... waiting, pretending, dreaming, smiling, laughing... living a little, dying a little, hoping your stop is not the next and wondering what if it is.”
Srividya Srinivasan
“It is highly abnormal today to be happy in this highly abnormal world. It can only come with complete distancing from all things around, all events around and all people and our equations with them. We transact, interact only to the extent of necessity and our well-being.The question is then what remains of us from such acute levels of detachments that we build as safety barriers to safeguard our happiness ? If our happiness is so fragile, then are we truly happy ? If we are immersed in the world and still happy then we must surely possess the highest degree of tolerance for the vilest of things. The picture that emerges of a happy individual is not a happy one.”
Srividya Srinivasan

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