True Love and Real Love

I would love to differentiate two kinds of Love, the True Love and the Real Love. True love its just as a sugar coated pill but the real love its natural, that you can see in your mother's or brother's love . The real love is the best and there we are holding, expecting and possesing, but it will not be practical with most of our friends or relatives, there olny the true love will be work out.
I got the piece of this article from the internet and I think it is a good one to explain what is the true love and real love. And think it is a good advice to your heart broken friend, one way or another it also help to heal the wound. Enjoy the article!
I once had a friend who grew to be very close to me. Once when we were sitting at the edge of a swimming pool, she filled the palm of her hand with a little water and held it before me, and said this "You see this water carefully contained on my hand. It symbolizes Love". This was how I saw it.
As long as you keep your hand caringly open and allow it to remain there, it will always be there. However, if you attempt to close your fingers round it and try to posses it, it will spill through the first cracks it finds. This is the greatest mistake that people do when they meet love...they try to posses it, they demand, they expect... and just like the water spilling out of your hand, Love will retrieve from you.
For love is meant to be free, you cannot change its nature. If there are people you love, allow them to be free beings. Give and don't expect. Advise, but don't order. Ask, but never demand.

It might sound simple, but it is a lesson that may take a life time to truly practice. It is the secret to true love. To truly practice it, you must sincerely feel no expectations from those who you truely love, and yet an unconditional caring. But here the love become artificial.

But come to the real love, it will give and expect, advice and order, ask and demand because that is warmed with afection and intimacy. Because it is naural and budding out from the depth of heart not from the surface of skin. That love will make noice, clash and quarel but it never be lost or leave out you. It will be change to true love when you dont want the real or want to be walk away from it. Such a love you can see only one who is whole heartly loving and really caring and can found in your real well wishers mind and there is no seperation or segrigation between two hearts. And there should be a strong thread which is tied together that you cant be break it. That thread simply we call it as blood realtion. Mother, sister, brother, son or daughter they will ask, they will expect, they will order and demand. Only the real love will try to mould and change you, because they want you to be the best. In such kind of relations, when you are try to mould or change one, they will not think "you are controlling or imposing your will on them" beacause they knows you have keener insight and and taking real care in to the direction your life should be taking. In ture love you have to ask if you want someting, but in real love no need to ask they knows your needs and wll be do it for you even not waiting for yuor permission, because they have the right on you. And such love will not congtatulate when you are gaining, just share the happiness with you and take it as the victory of them and feel they are also the part of that gains, but when you are loosing or paining they will be with you and will take it as their pain.

I am taking back you to the above story. Instead of the water, suppose you are holding the crystal clear gum in your hand. As long as you keep your hand caringly open and allow it to remain there, it will always be there. However, if you attempt to close your fingers round it and try to posses, it will spread and stick to your hand will not spill out through any crack. That means one who really loving then you have right to change, reshape and mould by applying the soft pressure.

The conclusion is all that depends on the attitude and the vision. If you are making your love jsut as free flowing water, then it will be spill out but if you can concenrate your love with affection and intimacy then it will be as viscous crystal clear gum that will not spill out as free flowing water. Only the real love can be understand or trust you.

Now its your turn to choose Real Love or True Love as your wish.


I dont know why this happens...........

Some times I wish if I could be alone for a while.......to scream loudly..........
And finally, it happens and I am alone at home... with wandering thougthts... Thought about rain... .................................... For the first time in my life this year I started observing the season........
In winter...Dew Drops shined like jwells in my mind.. as promised this December did not bring any surprise for me.............
Then came Vasantham.... Flowers every were... even the intermediate ring road was surrounded with lots of small small flowers...one of the best jounrney I had while going home... only me and flowers...every bush wore a flower carpet.. even the worst looking plants had beautiful flowers on them.. I wished if could some more time there..........
Then fall and the most hated summer... every day in summer I was longing for Rain.. I was dreaming she coming in the night while I am asleep ...through the open window stretch her fingers and embrace me... I asked wind to tell the rain clouds that I am waiting........... with a thirsty heart........... And in monsoon... first rain..like the first lovemaking............ She gifted a bouque of cloudy days to us in Bangalore... so romantic weather.......... And now...why are you keeping away...dont you have anything to gift us.......?
I haven't done loving you........... I want to get wet in you............... I want to dissolve in you.............. I want to flow away with you................ I want reach the mighty ocean along with your droplets.......... Finally get lost in the cosmic life of the universe......... where are you....?

Krishna Nee Bagane Barooo....

Oh my dear Krishna,

What can I say or how I can express my thanks before you. Its really difficult to define my happiness. I was searching him for years. Its also may be one of your Leealavilasams. Anyway at last I found out my soul mate, where you was my Krishna. Why you stayed away from me? I don't know where you was and what you was?
I am so tired, was in a long non stop journey to find out my Krishna. Now I am stopping my travel here and putting all my emotional baggages, which was carried over my days, before your foots. Each and every moments my heart is whispering your name to my mind and calling you to me, my dear Krishna. Dear please come and hold me tightly my hands and hug me hard.
I am loving you not only as my friend or as my better half but as my soul. No I cant live with out you, can't take my breaths where your unbreaths exists. Now my room is filled with the sweet fragrance of your smell which is carrying by the cool breeze from you and is filling my Lungs, Heart and Soul.
Krishnaaa Nee Begane Baroooooo........

Angel from Heven

She said in the mail....

Whats the magic is there in your hand.... Whenever you hold my hand I feel...secure in your love and care...I dont have any words to explain that feelings its beautifull...moments.....
I feel like holding your hand for life longgggg...I lost in my world and I will forget everything When you hold me. By holding your hand everytime I beg god to make this love as mine.
Very few times in my life I beg god for my sake. But still he wont listen. "savi savi nenapu savira nenapu namma preethiya sundara nenapu...."
My mind is badly fighting with my heart but my mind is not answering for the question asked by my heart. Dont know what will win?
But one thing is true that I am ALIVE still only because of you. Now you are the one who is giving spirit to fight with this life... Missing you very badly in each and every moments.
Thanks a lot for your love, eventhough I am not worth it. How many birth it would probably take to meet some one like you.??????


when I was a infant...
I did not know what a friend is... and was not necessary
when I joined first standard... I felt the girl who was weeping along with me was friend
When I got upgraded to third standard... Some one lent me a pencil and I called him friend
When I was in fifth standard...We together sneaked into wayside farm and grabbed tender mangos I felt he is also a good friend of me
When I was in seventh standard...My friend helped to copy in final exam Without whom it would have been difficult for me to get into high school

When I was in tenth standard...When I was trying to fill my empty stomach with water In one of those troublesome afternoons She shared her lunch box with me, and I felt that the meaning of real friendship
When I was in eleventh standard...My real good friend introduced me to the beautiful girl Who stood first in the folk dance competition During the arts day.
When I was in twelfth...Me felt a sense of social justice and We provoked friends joined hands and stoned the bus refused to stop in the HS junction
That was the end of long dream.. School life.
In the sweltering sun of mid March With watering eyes and trembling heart Wished good luck and parted the good friends
When I entered the biggest ever campus I had been of 10 arcs And that was the beginning of some life long friendships. Five of us took bath in the same bathroom Did many brave things like curing the grass of the greens With a wire a cutter. Jumped the compound wall, got Drunk and puked in the toilet Helped each other to sleep in the study hours
He wrote the record book I have to submit the next day Sneaked into GH during April fools day and Worked together to install timer enabled crackers Celebrated B'day lighting 29 ohm resistors.
She spared her share of Egg for me And many more moments lingering in my heart...
Without my knowledge, some point of time Friends became the elixir of life. Waking up in the mid night and wishing happy birthday, Walking upto the cliff of the mountain and shouting
"we are on top of the world"!
Partying and dancing whole night.. Cleaning up the mess the day after.
As a shoulder to cry on...As a rock to climb on...
As a throttle for the race of life...As a rain in the desert...
As a peg of rum on heavy hearted evenings...
My friend you are there in my life....And...
I have no word to express my gratitude
Thanks for being my friend

Creation of Excellance

Once Up on a time there was a Bull. One day the Bull came to saw lots of Golf Balls while it is grassing on a Greenery field. The Bull start to have the balls and after finishing all the balls the beautiful oily skin of the Bull is start to change and finally looks as the Golf Ball.
Its not a story just an Imagination of one of my friends, his name is Mr. Deepu Das. I would love to introduce him before you. He is a talanted Graphic designer and a Photographer. He made lots of wounderful creations with the Photoshop.
He mabe this work called as the Golf Bull and won the First Prize with 100 Credits in the Photoshop Talent Contest, the biggest international Photosop Excellance competition. It covering the Cash award, Certificate and Shield.
He made to find new usages of the Photoshop Tools, even the proggramme developers was ignorant on that. He won the first prize in the contest beacise of the finding of the optionalized usage of the tools and talents and creativity he made in the Picture.
For more details Click Here

Bull before having the Golf Balls
Golf Balls which was had by the Bull while Grassing
Golf Ball Bull
After the having the Golf Ball the skin and appearance of the Bull changaed because of the Mutation on in its genes.

Creation in Photoshop, which won the Third Prize in the Photo Shop Talent Contest.
The Picture given by the Organizers, by using this he explored the Bomblasting Location.
The pictur is just created in the photoshop. The importance of this pocture is no filter is used and all manually made. He tried to visualize the half burned and crashed Jeep stained with blood of the victims just after the the Blast.
For more details Click Here

History of Nehru Family

I was stumped when I read these. I have heard about the Nehru family, I dont know there would be much more to it than what meets the Eye.
The Nehru Family
At the very beginning of his book, "The Nehru Dynasty", astrologer K. N. Rao mentions the names of Jawahar Lal's father and grandfather. Jawahar Lal's father was believed to be Moti Lal and Moti Lal's father was one Gangadhar Nehru. And we all know that Jawahar Lal's only daughter was Indira Priyadarshini Nehru; Kamala Nehru was her mother, who died in Switzerland of tuberculosis. She was totally against Indira's proposed marriage with Feroze. Why? No one tells us that!
Now, who is this Feroze? We are told by many that he was the son of the family grocer. The grocer supplied wines, etc. to Anand Bhavan, previously known as Ishrat Manzil, which once belonged to a Muslim lawyer named Mobarak Ali. Moti Lal was earlier an employee of Mobarak Ali. What was the family grocer's name? One frequently hears that Rajiv Gandhi's grandfather was Pandit Nehru. But then we all know that everyone has two grandfathers, the paternal and the maternal grandfathers. In fact, the paternal grandfather is deemed to be the more important grandfather in most societies.

Why is it then no where we find Rajiv Gandhi's paternal grandfather's name? It appears that the reason is simply this. Rajiv Gandhi's paternal grandfather was a Muslim gentleman from the Junagadh area of Gujarat. This Muslim grocer by the name of Nawab Khan, had married a Parsi woman after converting her to Islam. This is the source where from the myth of Rajiv being a Parsi was derived. Rajiv's father Feroze was Feroze Khan before he married Indira, against Kamala Nehru's wishes. Feroze's mother's family name was Ghandy, often associated with Parsis and this was changed to Gandhi, sometime before his wedding with Indira, by an affidavit.
The fact of the matter is that (and this fact can be found in many writings) Indira was very lonely. Chased out of the Shantiniketan University by Guru Dev Rabindranath himself for misdeveanor, the lonely girl was all by herself, while father Jawahar was busy with politics, pretty women and illicit sex; the mother was in hospital. Feroze Khan, the grocer's son was then in England and he was quite sympathetic to Indira and soon enough she changed her religion, became a Muslim woman and married Feroze Khan in a London mosque. Nehru was not happy; Kamala was dead already or dying. The news of this marriage eventually reached Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. Gandhi urgently called Nehru and practically ordered him to ask the young man to change his name from Khan to Gandhi. It had nothing to do with change of religion, from Islam to! Hinduism for instance. It was just a case of a change of name by an affidavit. And so Feroze Khan became Feroze Gandhi.The surprising thing is that the apostle of truth, the old man soon to be declared India's Mahatma and the 'Father of the Nation' didn't mention this game of his in the famous book, 'My Experiments with Truth'. Why?
When they returned to India, a mock 'Vedic marriage' was instituted for public consumption. On this subject, writes M. O. Mathai (a longtime private secretary of Nehru) in his renowned (but now suppressed by the GOI) 'Reminiscences of the Nehru Age' on page 94, second paragraph: "For some inexplicable reason, Nehru allowed the marriage to be performed according to Vedic rites in 1942. An inter-religious and inter-caste marriage under Vedic rites at that time was not valid in law. To be legal, it had to be a civil marriage. It's a known fact that after Rajiv's birth Indira and Feroze lived separately, but they were not divorced. Feroze used to harass Nehru frequently for money and also interfere in Nehru's political activities. Nehru got fed up and left instructions not to allow him into the Prime Minister's residence Trimurthi Bhavan. Mathai writes that the death of Feroze came as a relief to Nehru and Indira. The death of Feroze in 1960 before he could consolidate his own political forces, is itself a mystery. Feroze had even planned to remarry. Those who try to keep tabs on our leaders in spite of all the suppressions and deliberate misinformation, are aware of the fact that the second son of Indira (Mrs. Feroze Khan) known as Sanjay Gandhi was not the son of Feroze.
He was the son of another Moslem gentleman, Mohammad Yunus. Here, in passing, we might mention that the second son was originally named Sanjiv. It rhymed with Rajiv, the elder brother's name. It was changed to Sanjay when he was arrested by the British police in England and his passport impounded, for having stolen a car. Krishna Menon was then India's High Commissioner in London. He offered to issue another passport to the felon who changed his name to Sanjay. Incidentally, Sanjay's marriage with the Sikh girl Menaka (for Indira Gandhi found the name of Lord Indra's court dancer rather offensive!) took place quite surprisingly in Mohammad Yunus' house in New Delhi. And the marriage with Menaka who was a model (she had modelled for Bombay Dyeing wearing just a towel) was not so ordinary either. Sanjay was notorious in getting unwed young women pregnant. Menaka too was! rendered pregnant by Sanjay. It was then that her father, Colonel Anand, threatened Sanjay with dire consequences if he did not marry her daughter. And that did the trick. Sanjay married Menaka.
It was widely reported in Delhi at the time that Mohammad Yunus was unhappy at the marriage of Sanjay with Menaka; apparently he had wanted to get him married with a Muslim girl of his choice. It was Mohammad Yunus who cried the most when Sanjay died in the plane accident. In Yunus' book, 'Persons, Passions & Politics' one discovers that baby Sanjay had been circumcised following Islamic custom, although the reason stated was phimosis. It was always believed that Sanjay used to blackmail Indira Gandhi and due to this she used to turn a blind eye when Sanjay Gandhi started to run the country as though it were his personal fiefdom. Was he black mailing her with the secret of who his real father was? When the news of Sanjay's death reached Indira Gandhi, the first thing she wanted to know was about the bunch of keys which Sanjay had with him.Nehru was no less a player in producing bastards. At least one case is very graphically described by M. O. Mathai in his "Reminiscences of the Nehru Age", page 206. Mathai writes: "In the autumn of 1948 (India became free in 1947 and a great deal of work needed to be done) a young woman from Benares arrived in New Delhi as a sanyasin named Shraddha Mata (an assumed and not a real name). She was a Sanskrit scholar well versed in the ancient Indian scriptures and mythology. People, including MPs, thronged to her to hear her discourses. One day S. D. Upadhyaya, Nehru's old employee, brought a letter in Hindi from Shraddha Mata. Nehru gave her an interview in the PM's house.
As she departed, I noticed (Mathai is speaking here) that she was young, shapely and beautiful. Meetings with her became rather frequent, mostly after Nehru finished his work at night. During one of Nehru's visits to Lucknow, Shraddha Mata turned up there, and Upadhyaya brought a letter from her as usual. Nehru sent her the reply; and she visited Nehru at midnight..."Suddenly Shraddha Mata disappeared. In November 1949 a convent in Bangalore sent a decent looking person to Delhi with a bundle of letters. He said that a young woman from northern India arrived at the convent a few months ago and gave birth to a baby boy. She refused to divulge her name or give any particulars about herself. She left the convent as soon as she was well enough to move out but left the child behind. She however forgot to take with her a small cloth bundle in which, among other things, several letters in Hindi were found. The Mother Superior, who was a foreigner, had the letters examined and was told they were from the Prime Minister. The person who brought the letters surrendered them..."I (Mathai) made discreet inquiries repeatedly about the boy but failed to get a clue about his whereabouts. Convents in such matters are extremely tightlipped and secretive. Had I succeeded in locating the boy, I would have adopted him. He must have grown up as a Catholic Christian blissfully ignorant of who his father was.
"Coming back to Rajiv Gandhi, we all know now that he changed his so called Parsi religion to become a Catholic to marry Sania Maino of Turin, Italy. Rajiv became Roberto. His daughter's name is Bianca and son's name is Raul. Quite cleverly the same names are presented to the people of India as Priyanka and Rahul.! What is amazing is the extent of our people's ignorance in such matters.The press conference that Rajiv Gandhi gave in London after taking over as prime minister of India was very informative. In this press conference, Rajiv boasted that he was NOT a Hindu but a Parsi. Mind you, speaking of the Parsi religion, he had no Parsi ancestor at all. His grandmother (father's mother) had turned Muslim after having abandoned the Parsi religion to marry Nawab Khan. It is the western press that waged a blitz of misinformation on behalf of Rajiv. From the New York Times to the Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post, the big guns raised Rajiv to heaven.The children's encyclopedias recorded that Rajiv was a qualified Mechanical Engineer from the revered University of Cambridge. No doubt US kids are among the most misinformed in the world today! The reality is that in all three years of his tenure at that University Rajiv had not passed a single examination. He had therefore to leave Cambridge without a certificate.
Sonia too had the same benevolent treatment. She was stated to be a student in Cambridge. Such a description is calculated to mislead Indians. She was a student in Cambridge all right but not of the University of Cambridge but of one of those fly by night language schools where foreign students come to learn English. Sonia was working as an 'au pair' girl in Cambridge and trying to learn English at the same time. And surprise of surprises, Rajiv was even cremated as per vedic rites in full view of India's public.This is the Nehru dynasty that India worships and now an Italian leads a prestigious national party because of just one qualification ?? being married into the Nehru family. !

Gone are the Days

When the school reopened in June, And we settled in our new desks and benches. When we queued up in book depot, And got our new books and notes.When we wanted two Sundays and no Mondays, yet Managed to line up daily for the morning prayers. We learnt writing with slates and pencils, and Progressed To fountain pens and ball pens and then micro tips. We began drawing with crayons and evolved to Color pencils and finally sketch pens. We started calculating first with tables and then with Clarke's tables and advanced to calculators and computers.When we chased one another in the corridors in Intervals, and returned to the classrooms drenched in sweat. When we had lunch in classrooms, corridors, Playgrounds, under the trees and even in cycle shed. When all the colors in the world, Decorated thecampus on theSecond Saturdays.
When a single P.T. period in the week's Time Table, Was awaited more eagerly than the monsoons. When cricket was played with writing pads as bats, And Neckties and socks rolled into balls. When few played "kabadi" and "Kho-Kho" in scorching sun, While others simply played "book cricket" in the confines of classroom.Of fights but no conspiracies, Of Competitions but seldom jealousy. When we used to watch Live Cricket telecast, In theopposite house in Intervals and Lunch breaks. When few rushed at 1:45 to "Conquer" window seats in our School bus. While few others had "Big Fun", "Chock-o-bar","kulfi ice" and "Pepsi" at 2:00 Clock.Gone are the days Of Sports Day, and the annual School Day, And the one-month long preparations for them. Gone aew the days Of the stressful Quarterly, Half Yearly and Annual Exams, And the most enjoyed holidays after them. Of tenth and twelfth standards, when we Spent almost the whole year writing revision tests.We learnt, we enjoyed, we played, we won, we lost, We laughed, we cried, we fought, we thought. With so much fun in them, so many friends, So much experience, all this and more.Gone are the days when we used to talk for hours with our friends. Now we don't have time to say a HI.
Gone are the days when we sat to chat with friends on grounds. Now we chat in chat rooms.....Gone are the days where we studied just to pass. Now we study to save our jobGone are the days where we had no money in our pockets and fun filled on our heartsNow we have the ATM as well as credit card but with an empty heartGone are the days where we shouted on the road. Now we don t shout even at homeGone are the days where we got lectures from all. Now we give lectures to all... like the one I'm doing now....Gone are the days But not the memories, which will be Lingering in our hearts for ever and ever and Ever and ever and Ever.....

Silence of Krishna

In the extremes, I long to come to you and hold your feet close to me and put all my emotional baggages down there! Why are you silent O my dear Lord?Though your silence, as always is the answer to all my questions, this child wants your response.I die for that presence, that grandeur which makes me silent, and my eyes filled with the love towards you. Why can't you take a break from the minds of great Yogis and come to the poor ones like mine?How can you be this partial?Come, fill my soul with the spiritual knowledge from your flute, have this garland made for you of those breatheless moments of my thoughts on you...

I am here my Krishna

The path is quite strange to me. I am here for the first time. Shall I take my steps ahead? I could see beautiful gardens filled with fragrance around so far, or are the unseen more beautiful? I am closing my eyes and holding your hand, be there always...............
Even those who made this way for us turn helpless to show the right path . We should make our own way in this labyrinth; be there always...............
Gone are the days of timidity in me for you being a stranger, the uniformity in our footsteps pulled us closer; be there always................
Just seen the reflection of my face in the pond beside, wondered at the surplus beauty seen there. It may diminish on the way when we get tired of this journey..still, be there always.In bygone days I used to dream of this path and the journey not alone, but your face then did never come clear.now on, be there always................
We conversed through the bliss of silence so far; be there always.The long, dedicated saffron years turn fruitful to my soul here through you, and I know the real value of it; be there always................

Gone the Days are Gone

It was raining heavily outside. Dark clouds gathered in the sky and nature was in its ominous best. I took a break from my work and went to the pantry to grab a cup of coffee. I had a sip and went near the window to see the rain pouring down heavily outside the glass structure. I was inside our huge office building, unruffled by even the fierceness of the nature. Through the heavy transparent glass, I could see a small girl trying to hold on to her umbrella which the wind was snatching away from her. I felt sorry for the girl, and was happy that I was not in a similar pathetic situation. Yes. I take pride for the fact that I am an Engineer and researcher. I have everything which a common man would envy; money, status, respect, you name it I have it. I always wanted to be a professional and here I am, working for one of the best firms in the world. But then, am I really happy? Now, I could see an imprint of my palm on the other glass window, through which I reminisced my past, basked in the warmth of the sun shine.

My childhood was so much of fun. I vividly remember those rainy days, when I hugged my mother tightly during sleeping listening to all the stories told by her. Now, I have a big house here, but then it is just a house, not a home. My parents are pretty far away from me now. I have a cell phone to talk to them everyday, but then I really miss those dinners which I had with my family everyday. I could easily afford to taste all the different cuisines these days, but the best of food there, lack the love and affection which is present in the food prepared by my mother.

I threw a lavish party for my colleagues for my birthday, but then they would never replace the birthdays when my friends secretly brought a cake and at the end, half of the cake would have ended up on my face. The couple of hundred bucks that you save for a long period just to give a treat to your friends in the road side chat shop can never give the pleasure even after spending a few thousand bucks these days.

The scene of me crying and refusing to have dinner on the day when I fought with my best friend came to my mind. Today, he has gone far away from me, taking away my love and with it my life, but I am sitting and coding here with a false smile on my face. Everyday I meet new people, but then I long ceased to make a new friend.

It's true that I have a lot of things now. I have a nice bed, but no time to sleep. Lots of money, but no friends to spend it with. The latest designer clothes, but a worn out body. Quite a few to flirt, but no one to love.

Awards for technical excellence, but no reward for the crave for peaceful ambience. A confident demeanor, but a reluctant and apathetic mind. Full of rain, but no sunshine even in the farthest distance.

Now, I could see the small girl on the road enjoying in the rain with her umbrella firmly in her grip. She might not have all the comforts which I have, but then she has the innocence and fun which I lost a long time back. I have decided to come out of this false fantasy, even if it is at the expense of losing the tap of the Engineer. I am going to again enjoy my life. I am going to go out in the rain and play with the small kid now.

I removed my shoes, and went near my computer to shut it down. Just then, I saw a new mail alert in my mail box. I slowly opened outlook and I found a message from my manager with an attachment saying that there was a critical problem in the production line and I have to fix it soon. I convinced myself that I am not going to get bogged down again by these pressures and stick to my decision. I ignored the mail and went to the rest room. After a couple of minutes, the Engineer in me came out, wear on my shoes and tucked in with the perfect tie knot, sat before the files, and started find the problems and remedies.

Kathakali-the classical dance of Kerala

A dancer performing in the Kathakali tradition, a classical story-play style of Southern India which relies on mudras, or gestures, rather than speech to relay its stories, and colours to denote its character types. The dancer’s face is painted green – colour of heroic, kingly, and divine types – and he wears the sacred mark of Vishnu the Preserver on his forehead.

The figure represents Krishna, the Vedic Hindu god and principle of love who came into the world to combat evil, a story that is told in the Mahabharata epic. As a young man of outstanding beauty and great musical prowess on the flute, Krishna caused all the young dairy-maids to fall hopelessly in love with him. He taught that divinity could be found within the self through the gradual intensification of physical love until its eventual entry, or shift, into the transcendent realm of cosmic and eternal creative energy. In Tantric Buddhism, Krishna the lover, is viewed as being a form assumed by the Great Goddess – Lalita. As an adult, Krishna’s most significant advice is that ‘all is illusion, including war and death’.