#destiny's rainboww

[khudrang]

My days are constituted of elements of three- longing, anticipation, and thee. My eyes curse me with scarlet tributaries branching through the snowy landscape, my spine longs for a linear alignment, but I disregard these trivial corporalities and yearn- yearn like the traveller does for a tree and the farmer does for the rain. I was born for soul crushing devotion, and I was born with it to a fault. The sun rises not when it pours in its honey-coloured self onto my bed, but when you acknowledge the inherent optimism in that hour of the day. Having a schedule is so unromantic, so instead I plan my days around when my screen lights up with your name. The darting eyes towards that elaborate nom de plume, the urgency playing at my fingertips showing itself as an itch, the strenuous exercise in self-restraint that leaves me exhausted, the well-adjusted norm of being orderly and even-tempered that I shrug off with a trancelike ease, in possession of the knowledge of what character it would make me in a romance novel, but oh dearest one, it seems like I’m an ill fit for civilization, for you see, I am uncivilized for loving you like I do. 

-destiny

@keats-and-shauq

moodboard and prose by me

(image credits to their respective owners on Pinterest and Tumblr, except the center-most image- that's me and my beloved)

[khudrang]

lootera ft. sunflowers by low

edit by me

no copyright infringement intended

[khudrang]

made this for my LinkedIn cover teehee gonna remain unemployed 4evr

[khudrang]

diwali- hometown edition

[khudrang]

Mann Mayal (Qurat-ul-Ain Balouch and Shuja Hyder)

Niyat-e-Shauq Bhar (Noor Jehan)

Asleep at the Trigger (Autolux)

Till Tomorrow (Don Mclean)

Mehfil Barkhaast Hui (Kavita Seth)

@aspiringanarchist @herawell @saathiray @hindumyththoughts @kairoscelrosis @keats-and-shauq

(that's it don't have a lot of friends lol) (no pressure whatsoever)

🎶✨️when you get this, put 5 songs you actually listen to, then publish. Send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)🎶✨️

Around the World (ATC)

Toxic

Sweet But Psycho

Bright Eyes

Ek Chanchal Shokh Haseena (Baaghi)

@burntchickennugget2468 @thesouldevourer800 @livie1507 @softbeanofexistentialcrisis @dukh-dard-peeda @fierreth-who @hobgoblin-meat @k3bookwormalert @namesarehard123 @ruler-of-none

[khudrang]

The plasticine blades move in an obsequious circle; the wings of a man-made butterfly. A beam of light penetrates the space and deposits itself onto this shuttering circumference, it being from a ball of fire as circular as the axial rotation. The blades seem to slice through the beam, but to no avail; it remains as solid as the will of Prometheus, bringing those flames akin to mankind, striving to bring man closer to the gods. It angered them, made them burn like woodfire, and they punished Prometheus for this transgression, for they knew, a transfer of knowledge means a transfer of divinity. The skies above hold the superlatives, and can be accessed by no mortal. But a longing must be fostered, strata must be established, distinctions must be made, for without them, the gods are rendered futile, lost and obsolete. So they send their soldier called Morpheus, who visits the puny mortals time to time, and churns out a show reel of Paradise- a illusion of a geography, where the feasts replenish themselves, the streams mirror crystals, and the only war present is that between the Sun and Mother Earth, the former throwing tantrums about setting into a slumber, and letting his sister have her playtime with the surrealist vapours prancing against the blue, yellow, orange, red, or was it black? backdrop. He instills these images in the meager, mortal minds, and lulls them to a place that exists nowhere but in their imaginations. 

And so the mortal opens his eyes, and looks up at the sunlight in his room across the ceiling fan, run by electricity, a modern man-made miracle. The gods never wanted them to have fire, yet they have discovered heat of a superior utility and efficiency. Why, then, was the primitive Paradise the ultimate desire?

A gust of wind shut the door and the room succumbed to darkness. He listens to the dance of the leaves outside, rustling in a rhythm, their paternal figures smashing into the electric wires above. It was then that he understood; Paradise is not a place, it is a man’s longing not to be man. 

-destiny

(prose and moodboard by me)

(all image credits to their respective owners on tumblr)

[khudrang]

The face that launched a thousand ships,

A beauty so divine it drove the gods to madness

His eyes resemble daffodils, bright and alluring

Lips like the diagonal of a rose

But what is that I see?

Why has dew set upon the petals, o fairest of all?

Why, you ask? Why, I shall tell

Of what avail are these velvety palms, if they are to launch harm towards my brethren

Of what avail are these twinkling eyes, if they are to witness the spilling of the domestic red

Of what avail is this luscious mane, if they are to be matted under the metallic armour

Of what avail are these bee-stung lips, if they are to make utterances of mortal termination

Of what avail are these rugged arms, if they are to carry lifeless shells to their ultimate haven

Of what avail are these stallion legs, if they are to be sat idly atop a spent equestrian accessory

Of what avail, o Dear One, is this celestial form, if it is fated to be responsible for the disfigured in this realm

-destiny

for Havan, Day 8 , "Pandava"

Modern AU for Nakula, the most handsome of the Five

tagging event mod: @chaanv @agnisuta

and the ride or dies: @hindumyththoughts @ambidextrousarcher @kiriti-savyasachin

edit, poem, and playlist by me

[khudrang]

The shutter sound snaps and captures the linear streams of golden drenching the luscious green in an almost palpable sheen, reminding me of the treacles of honey being deposited on awaiting squares of flakiness. The scenery mimics my iris, where I let it linger for a little longer. Walking into the room, the dreary does not pass my sensibilities, and I step back out to let the warm currents pierce me once again. 

The following day, my fortune takes a bow and I visit a dwelling that itself dwelled in my heart since I was child. My heart skips a beat upon witnessing it in its full glory; perhaps it went back to the time the residence took foundation. The red tiled roof against the bleach white walls, like the dusk bleeding its farewell on a blanket of fresh snow. Creepers mark the path, and the rows of petaled jewels usher me into that archive of an abode. Stepping in, I’m first greeted with the scent of limestone, followed by a waft of jasmine, perhaps from the incense, perhaps from the silver braid of the woman of the house. The space is suspended in a time before, and I can feel myself regress to a cooler summer with every passing second. The shelves around the room are chock full of reminders; reminders to hone, reminders to seek, reminders of benevolence, reminders of spirit, reminders of patronage, reminders to create, and reminders of decay. Each merchandise on those stone shelves loudly boasted of its fineness; the meticulously weaved threads, the highly refined and finished edges, the laboriously carved impressions, the tanned leather beaming with its glossy surface. If you kneeled closer to the ground, however, perhaps to feel strands of a bamboo basket on your fingertips, you would hear the quiet pleas running through these prideful declarations; the plea to be saved from extinction. 

A tinkering from the adjacent room grabs my attention, and I float towards it as if in a state of hypnosis. My eyes bear witness to a figment of my imagination; the sunrays from yesterday tip their hats through the windows near the ceiling, greeting me once again in an unbending, militant fashion. They lay to rest, as if spent from their journey of lightyears, on the glorious wooden swing that resides in the middle of the room like an unyielding but nurturing patriarch. Two hangings of earth lamps flank the swing and sway lightly in the breeze entering the room, making that soft tinkling noise, mimicking the rightly analogous fireflies. There is a painting of an infantile holy figure on the left wall, its blue striking against the copper lap that is perched right above it. 

As I was leaving, I noticed another characteristic of houses from the bygone era: the high ceilings, which make anyone standing under them feel invincible, make them feel as tall as the walls themselves, and offer them plenty of space to explore and make mistakes. It is exactly the kind of place tradition and heritage would prosper in. While I walked out with my arms full of many commodities, I also walked out with a lingering question; these symbols of craftsmanship that will now adorn my bookshelf, that adorn the dresser of another, and that adorned the rooms of that fantastic house, will they get lost in time or passed down with it? Do they represent the time gone, or how it stands still while the world goes by?

@hindumyththoughts (since you asked to be a part of my taglist :D)

[khudrang]

drench me in a rosey limelight

[khudrang]

i'm back!

hello everyone! life updates below the cut but a tldr; im back on tumblr and want to start creating again! drop some suggestions or requests for prose or image/video edits :)

***

i finished my masters! and am done with academia for a while. now im onto looking for a job, but im going on a p long holiday v soon! excited for that since ik ill get really cool pictures and content for the blog. also, my birthday was only a couple weeks ago! and my very few friends sent me a lot many (amazing) gifts. one got me a vintage film guide from '99, might y'all be interested in seeing that?

***

also! thank you for all the likes, reblogs, and love while i was gone :') it really played such a big role in me coming back

[khudrang]

too on the nose to be back from the dead on Halloween? i have missed the hellsite <3 like crazy, have so many ideas for content to post, and am bummed i couldn't do nufin for spooky season since it's my favourite time of the year :/

anywhosers, uni has been kicking my ass from every direction and i barely get time to do anything besides sleep and work. however i have holidays beginning next week, so i'm hoping i'll get more time to create and post on here, if only for myself :)

Free Palestine, Fuck Israel, and to hell with anyone who says otherwise.

PS- hope y'all like my Halloween look :)

[khudrang]

This should be the year when we stop demonizing historical fashion and rather learn from it. The corsets and stays were NOT used to make waists smaller, they were used to give shape to the garment as one would use a bra today. The layers of undergarments were used to help keep warm in the winter months and to absorb sweat and keep cool in the summer months. In other parts of the world, headgears and coverings were used to keep the head cool and away from the direct, hot sun. Historical fashion has often prioritized practicality and its wise to keep that in mind.

Nothing brings me more joy than people learning from history and then modernizing it up a bit.

Like you wanna grow your hair long? Stop washing it so often and brush it more to keep it clean. Your hair will be way healthier too. And stop cutting it (and use a boar bristle brush, it’ll work better as it’ll actually absorb the oils, distribute them better, and work a hell of a lot better than non-absorbent plastic would) Edit: Early on, some well meaning person kindly asked me to inform you that the boar bristle brush technique does not work on curly hair, however I have since been informed by multiple parties that it does! My hair is as straight as a pin so use your own judgment!

You want to keep cool in the summer? Out with the polyester and in with the linen and cotton. Natural fibers are going to keep you cooler because they’re literally made to breathe

You want to preemptively stop the underwire in your bra from poking through? There’s a very simple embroidery stitch you can do that the Edwardians used to do to stop their corset boning from coming through.

We don’t have to just learn from our ancestors mistakes, we can learn from their stakes too

[khudrang]

[khudrang]

I posted 5,749 times in 2022

That's 4,772 more posts than 2021!

53 posts created (1%)

5,696 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wilwheaton

@allegoriesinmediasres

@spaghetti-trek

@saathiray

@jem-in-eyee

I tagged 2,093 of my posts in 2022

#&lt;3 - 167 posts

#wardrobe goals - 115 posts

#space stuff - 92 posts

#pretty boi - 81 posts

#watchlist - 65 posts

#:0 - 56 posts

#destiny's rainboww - 41 posts

#yea - 38 posts

#dream interiors - 37 posts

#currently - 30 posts

Longest Tag: 116 characters

#bc youve got dreams and wanna go to concerts and have a pretty home and take care of ur parents and fall in love and

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Mirabai and Krishna

(click for better resolution)

Hark! The Dark One speaks of his most beloved:

O Meera! The bounty of love, the chalice of desire,

Why, pray, do you beg for the nectar from my lips?

Your words, through the centuries, have carried more nectar

Than could ever suffice inside this humble cowherd

Why then, must you await my footsteps

When your strains have brought milllions of them to my threshold?

O Devotee! Some may call you deranged, mistake your courtship for madness

But who else would give up the body adorned with jewels

Sitting on a throne, but the wisest of all?

Know this, Dear One,

that love that you wait on

the one needed to unfurl yourself,

is ever-present

sometimes beside you, sometimes inside you.

-destiny

edit and poem by me

(text at the bottom right reads:

mere toh giridhar gopal doosro na koi

jaake sir mor mukut mero pati soyi

mine is giridhar gopal, no other is mine,

the one who bears the peacock feather on his head is my husband)

74 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

#4

See the full post

76 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

#3

Main tumhari hokar rah gayee,

Tum mera mukammal vajood ban gaye

(I became yours,

you became my entire being)

- Amrita Pritam

Readers of Indian literature, and listeners of Bollywood classics have no doubt come across the names of Amrita Pritam and Sahir Ludhianvi. I was intrigued by this post, and decided to read up on them. After doing so, I can only say this: I have never been in love, but the in the past couple days, have experienced everything that the four letter word encompasses.

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

“In her autobiography, Rasidi Ticket, Pritam writes about how they’d sit in silence and gaze into each other’s eyes while Ludhianvi chain-smoked his cigarettes. After he left, Amrita picked up the stubs left by him and smoked them, pressing her lips upon the invisible imprint of his.” (source)

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Tumhare darakht ki tahani ka jo aasra mila

Mere toote hue dil ka parinda wahin ruk gaya 

(When I found a branch of your tree, 

the bird of my broken heart remained there forever)

-Amrita wrote this couplet to Sahir in the initial days of their courtship.

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

“In her first love, woman loves her lover,

In all the others, all she loves is love.”

- Byron

Amrita said this to Sahir as a last goodbye

⋆ ࣪.  ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖࣪ ˖࣪ ∗

Muhabbat jo anjaam tak pahunchi nahin,

Wahi muhabbat hai, baaqi kuchh nahin 

(A love that remains unfulfilled,

is the only true love, rest nothing is)

- Sahir Ludhianvi 

83 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

#2

See the full post

100 notes - Posted February 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

picnic for one

154 notes - Posted January 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[khudrang]

forbidden love

léon morin, priest (1961) dir. jean-pierre melville// fleabag (2016)// black narcissus dir. michael powell (1947)

[khudrang]

They did this to the Taj Mahal too. Taj Mahal literally means "The Crown Palace" and they named it that because well it looks like a grand palace on the outside. What they completely disregarded was the fact that houses the tomb of Mumtaz Mahal, who was the queen of Shah Jahan, and also his close political advisory. After her death during childbirth, Shah Jahan built the monument to honour her (another half-fact floating around is that Shah Jahan was in love with her because she was extremely beautiful. While that may be true, it was also because she was very sharp and intelligent and extensively helped him run his kingdom.) The Taj Mahal is a tomb, it houses graves, and while it is a wonder to be marvelled at, it is NOT a palace, as the English have made it out to be by christening it with a new name.

we need to change the part of the history where yt ppl are given credit for “discovering” things that were never lost and were known by the indigenous ppl in the first place 

also they need to change the name officially 👌🏾