Happy 79th Independence Day!

Rakhi Festival at “Srilekha”, over the years!

“Sri Raghavam Dasharatha Athmajam” – Shloka, and its meaning

 

The Shloka "Sri Raghavam Dasharatha Athmajam" is a prayer to Lord Rama, praising his virtues and seeking his blessings. It describes Rama as the son of Dasharatha, the husband of Sita, and a great warrior who destroyed demons. The shloka is a way to invoke his divine presence and seek protection and guidance. 

The above video is the rendition of this Shloka by Smt. N. Lalitha Raghu

In essence, the Shloka translates to: "I bow to Sri Rama, the son of Dasharatha, the immeasurable, the husband of Sita, the jewel of the Raghu dynasty, having arms that reach his knees and eyes like lotus petals, the destroyer of demons."

The meaning of the Shloka in detail goes as follows:

Sri Raghavam: "To Sri Rama," the revered descendant of King Raghu.

Dasharatham: "Son of Dasharatha."

Atmajam: "Son."

Aprameyam: "Immeasurable, boundless, or infinite."

Sitapatim: "Husband of Sita."

Raghukulanvaya Ratnadipam: "The lamp (or jewel) of the Raghu dynasty."

Ajanubahum: "Having arms that reach to the knees."

Aravinda Dalayataksham: "Having eyes like lotus petals."

Ramam: "To Rama."

Nishachara Vinashakaram: "Destroyer of demons (or night walkers)."

Namami: "I bow down, I salute." 

With Mugs of Memories! Amidst Incessant Rain!

 

For three days, the rain has softly stayed,

Veiling skies in a dark shade.

The air is damp, the wind wears chill,

And coffee cups with family pics begin to fill.

Steam rises like a whispered tale,

Of warmer times in sunlit trails.

Each mug is a frame from days gone by,

Love and laughter frozen, spirits high.

Faces beam from ceramic gloss,

Moments held without time’s loss.

Family, friends in printed cheer,

Now warming hands when they’re not near.

These mugs don’t just hold caffeine,

They cradle echoes in between.

A sip, a smile, a thought of then,

Hope we all soon meet again.

Rainfall in Hyderabad

When rain falls hard in Hyderabad,

The streets become a watery bed.

Cars get stuck, and people run,

Their journey home, now barely begun.

But in my house, called 'Srilekha',

I'm warm and safe, no rain problem/Kasta/కష్టా 🙂

Hot food and drinks, a cosy cheer,

While outside, troubles reappear.

I watch the news, my heart feels low,

For those caught out in the rain's flow.

I wish them home, out of the plight,

Safe and sound, before the night.

Diamond Jubilee of Bhadrachalam Bridge.

It has been 60 years since the opening of the road bridge over the River Godavari to Bhadrachalam, the temple town. Until the bridge was inaugurated on 13 July 1965 by President Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, the only way to reach Bhadrachalam from Telangana and the surrounding towns and villages was by crossing the river using steamers, and in summer, by boats and steamers. From the Rajahmundry side, it was always by steamer, as the road connection was only available from Khammam, where this bridge is situated.

This bridge was a great gift to pilgrims visiting Sri Sitaramachandra Swamy temple, Bhadrachalam, and to the people of Bhadrachalam and villages, and towns on that side of the State.

The above photographs are of the ‘inauguration slab’ of the bridge and of my father, Sri N. Bhaskarachary, greeting the President with Namaskaram.

The Crescent That Connects Across Time 🌙

Over the course of a lifetime, from the innocence of childhood to the seasoned calm of the seventies, faces change, memories fade, and old acquaintances often drift into the fog of time. It’s natural. Most people, after long gaps, struggle to recognise familiar faces from the past. Names slip away, relationships grow distant, and time does its quiet work.

Yet, I have experienced something rather curious, something I’ve come to see as a quiet marvel. Despite the years gone by, people from different stages of my life often recognise me, not just by face, but by name and connection. This article is a reflection on that wonder, and perhaps the reason behind it, a reason etched, quite literally, onto my forehead.

I carry a prominent crescent-shaped birthmark (5 cm long) on my forehead, curved like a sliver of moonlight in a clear night sky. It has been with me since birth, an ever-present symbol, a quiet but visible part of who I am. Unlike marks that remain hidden, facial birthmarks are part of the immediate impression we give the world. They become intertwined with how we are remembered. And in my case, this distinct crescent has followed me through time as an ageless identifier.

Over the years, this mark has become more than a quirk of nature. It has become a companion, one that sparks curiosity, invites conversation, and connects me to stories far older than my own. People often stop and ask about it, especially when meeting me for the first time. Their interest opens the door to discussions on identity, belief, and the strange, beautiful ways in which the universe touches each of us.

While I don’t believe it holds any magical powers, I do find meaning in the symbolism it carries. In many cultures, and particularly in ancient Hindu lore, birthmarks are considered more than skin-deep. They are seen as divine imprints, fingerprints of fate. And when such a mark takes the shape of a crescent moon, it becomes something more: a talisman, a cosmic emblem.

In Hindu mythology, the crescent moon rests in the matted locks of Lord Shiva himself. It symbolises the cycle of time, the rhythm of creation, and the calming, eternal presence of the Mahadeva. I still remember how elders, upon noticing my birthmark, would pause thoughtfully and say with reverence, “That’s the mark of Shiva’s gaze. He’s watching over you.”

Whether that’s true or not, I hold the sentiment close. It brings comfort, a sense of connection to something vast and timeless. Perhaps it is this mark, this symbol of memory and divinity, that helps people remember me even after decades have passed.

So, here I am in my seventies, still greeted with familiarity, still called by name, and still carrying the crescent moon on my brow, my lifelong companion and silent storyteller.

🙏 Thank you, Lord Shiva, for your watchful gaze and for continuing to bless my family and me.