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Sujatha

@mandhirakaari

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Child of resistance. Life of morality, devoid of rules.
Open to playing in art/theatre/photography.
Performing arts collective:@decolonialdogs

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As India erupts in another era of resistance against dictatorial powers that skew and segregate people for its own benefit and pleasure;
here are some pictures of my people and the place that birthed me, from two summers ago when I breathed her last,
blackened by the sun, the spirit still the lightest, trodding on with naked feet to make ends meet, the heart held only by kindness, resilience and the ever lasting hope of a better tomorrow.

A country where the statues of goddesses are revered with far more fervour than the tens, thousands and millions of trans, queer, womxn, dalit, bahujan, farmers, daily wage labourers who continue to live below poverty line, continue to be marginalised, oppressed and walked upon so the elite savarnas and the so called ‘democratic’ government can thrive in peace and power.

I don’t believe in mythological, dreamt up goddesses, but You better believe She is watching.

Long live the resistance.

“தனி ஒருவனுக்கு உணவில்லை எனில்
ஜகத்தினை அழித்திடுவோம்“

Jai Bhim!
💙 by @mandhirakaari

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9 days ago

Equal parts childing/ adulting, crying/laughing, letting go/holding on, cleaning/preserving, grating/growing, petting/ purring, eating/feeding, confused/clarified, loving/ loving, but most importantly grooving through it all.

Hear my train a comin’
♥️ by @mandhirakaari

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18 days ago

Bowing ZZ:

A speck in a boiling cauldron,
nothing in the grand scheme of things
he said,
and I hate to say he is right,
how bright the field outside,
the darkness in my halls still eludes,
a perfectly working dreg,
of a spectacular dysfunction.

A woman who had her face drenched with blood,
so close to the butcher;
it was lamb.

It could have been guilt ,repentance, or change of ways,
but dinner was good that day,
enjoyed with rosemary and a smirk.

I could be a film,
twixt the lotus and the droplet,
not significant,
but a phenomenon nevertheless.
Here I am though,

a red stain of my wined lip,
and you my treasured sorrow.
I fear leaving my sadness,
for that is my person now.
I am it, and it, me.

Atleast there are a room full of books
to burn within, and without,
Bulgakov smouldering on my lips,
Shakir in my viens,
aloft in glory,
And the wine!
Oh the wine!

The concoction
which stills and distills
moving tears,
eyelids a reservoir
of untold grief.

I see a stranger and I smile,
still,
I stroke a curl, and kiss a lass,
still,
fresh English snow on my brittle leaves,

There is hope of life,
I would still say,
when there is no life,
at all.
.
.
Painting: mirror of my heart, by most talented giulia.calo by @mandhirakaari

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a month ago

Angels in disguise WILL come, and you SHALL find your sweet little pockets of deep blessings.
Always look up to the rainy sun clouds, and a rainbow shall appear sooner or later.
It is just science.
Blessed be the angels, rainbows and rainy clouds in my corner,
and the ones who show me to my sorrows, only so the joys may seem manifold.
♥️ by @mandhirakaari

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a month ago

Recently met Sujatha Pillai @mandhirakaari a
NHS doctor, classical dancer, poet, theatre actor, activist and Green Party member. She’s also the co-founder of @decolonialdogs a Manchester arts collective. She recently returned to performing after many years, taking to the stage at the brilliant @longsightartspace

Sujatha is warm, creative, fiercely intelligent and has that infectious positive energy. Naturally, I’ve already started the gentle campaign of “Sujatha for councillor?” 👀💚 Because Manchester could definitely do with more people like her around the Town Hall. Photo credit @greenpartyamir. taken in The Klondyke by @mandhirakaari

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2 months ago

“In a time of universal deceit — telling the truth is a revolutionary act.” – George Orwell by @mandhirakaari

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3 months ago

the smallest act of just about floating to the surface to meet yourself.
♥️ by @mandhirakaari

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4 months ago

Even in the gift of the ND spectrum, I have the one most incompatible with STEM academia. Needless to say, we persevere.

We should live as we are. And rewrite our success as we please. The world can catch up if it so wants.
❤️ by @mandhirakaari

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4 months ago

Sorrows are defeated by gratitude, as I turned 34 in a deep sea of silence and meditation. It was extremely hard, and I am all the more grateful for it.
Funny that I don’t remember who first told me about Vipassana two years ago, and that’s exactly how the wheel of dhamma turns, for no reason or accord.

I have a terrible unending affliction of searching for purpose, only to be reminded time and again, that it is nothing but this. To learn dhamma with the law of nature, and to learn nature with the law of dhamma.

Ever indebted to the sacred land of Dhamma Sampatti at Schwarzwald for holding us, for giving the opportunity to tend back to her and for imbibing all our collective misery.

May we all believe in nothing but love and compassion and may we all walk together on this path.

(If even one person is led to it, I shall die happy. For the ones eager to tend to their soul, all information on dhamma.org)

(Pictures taken with permission after the end of a ten day course)

#vipassana #dhammasampatti by @mandhirakaari

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4 months ago

Nature’s gifts are swift and spontaneous. by @mandhirakaari

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5 months ago

as I enter another chosen void, not dark and bereft of meaning, but rather one cupping a bright light at the end, awaiting me to swim towards it with ease and patience,I am encountering several sudden guests.
long lost, forbidden, forgotten, buried, obscured, shoved away questions and unrequited emotions surround my senses once more.
like death. the perennial of those guests.
i found a day old dead bird on a parking lot.
too early to tell what it could have been.
maybe a crow, maybe a magpie.
fallen from my most favourite, magnificent red leaved tree in our front yard.
i looked up and imagined the free fall, the baby bird must have thought it was flying early perhaps.
and then looked at the insulting concrete.
devoid of bones to be broken, i assumed it only could have departed of ‘cessation of life’.
i was momentarily angry at the wind, the favourite red leaved tree, and several plausible culprits comprising of a squirrel, a kestrel, an electric wire, weak bough, maybe its own mother.
the baby bird, however, continued to remain dead.
neither was my anger unjustified, nor was the outcome any different.
the world too, around me rises and crumbles every day. the heart weeps and endures, whilst enraged and bringing change.

existence is an amalgamation of contemporaneous life forces.

i am willing for my soul to continue enduring, navigating this life with the persistence and gentleness of a wild flower, for building and rebuilding the love no matter how seismically ravaged it is.
to enter the black forest with the cleanest essence, for kindness to be my worship, crutch and pillar, to thread all this along till i am the fallen bird.

we dug a grave and my lover read a poem,
then we sat in silence.

.
.
Poem for the ever living bird in us all written by @merlindabobis , gifted by @lucknownumaa by @mandhirakaari

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5 months ago

One really could see Monet for hours. taken in Städel Museum by @mandhirakaari

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5 months ago