Dear rasik bandhu,
Today, I carry a pad which does not tell us the entire katha, but draws a fragile veil over only a few scenes of the play of love. It is like looking into an immortal garden where one can only glance – where each moment is rasa, each look is poetry.
The pad belongs to Shri Lalit Kishori Ji, who writes not with pen and ink alone, but with the rasa oozing from his very soul:
The Pad
(Most likely by Shri Lalit Kishori Ji)
प्यारी नित ऐसे ही तुम्हें निहारूँ,
प्यारे नित ऐसे ही तुम्हें निहारूँ।तण तोडूँ या चंद्र-बदन पे,
राई-नोन उतारूँ।निज कर श्रृंगार तिहारूँ,
मुख पे भ्रमर विदारूँ।जब तुम कछु गाओ नारायण,
मैं ढिंग साज सँवारूँ।प्यारी नित ऐसे ही तुम्हें निहारूँ,
मेरी श्यामा नित ऐसे ही तुम्हें निहारूँ॥
The Scene: A Poet yearn for the Divine
Imagine Shri Lalit Kishori Ji sitting under a kadamb tree, the scent of sandalwood filling the air, the anklets of Kishori Ji tinkling softly in the wind. His eyes sparkle, not with tears, but with the pain of seeing Shyam Sundar's love. His quill shakes, for he is not penning words—he is watching. In his heart, he can hear Shyam Sundar whisper:
“हे श्यामा जू, अपको मुख को देखके तण तोड दूँ… पर मन अभी भी भरता ही नहीं। सोचा—नज़र लग ही जाएगी। तो क्या करूँ? राई लेकर आया हूँ। अपके मुख से चरण तक, नज़र उतार दूँ।”
Yet, the gaze is endless. Shyam’s heart flutters with a tender fear: “Nazar lag na jaye mere Kishori Ji ko.” With mustard seeds cradled in his palms, he circles them lovingly—from Kishori Ji’s moon-like face to her lotus feet—each swirl a prayer, each motion a heartbeat. The poet, too, feels his chest lighten, as if his pen brushes away the world’s dust from Kishori’s radiant glow, his own devotion mirroring Shyam’s eternal care.
Then, the rasa deepens. Shyam Sundar, smiling mischievously, picks up ornaments in his hands to decorate Kishori Ji, softly chuckling:
“हे श्यामा जू, ये भ्रमर भी कितने भोले हैं! फूलों पर मंडराते- मंडराते, कई बार आपके मुखमंडल पर आकर ठहर जाते हैं। ये तो भूल जाते हैं कि अपका मुख ही असली फूल है। कभी-कभी तो फूल भी लजाने लगते हैं, आपका मुख देखकर।”
At the corner, Lalita and Vishakha sakhi exchange knowing glances, their rasik smiles whispering:
“हमें सब पता है… ये भ्रमर कोई और नहीं, आप ही हैं। अपना ही रूप बदलकर श्यामा जू के चारों ओर डोलते रहते हो।”
The kunja erupts into guffaws, the air spangling with adoration that dances as merrily as the divine pair themselves.
English Translation
My Beloved, each day I long to gaze upon You.
Shall I break branches to frame Your beauty,
Or shield Your moon-face from the evil eye?
With my own hands, let me adorn You,
Chasing bees that mistake Your face for jasmine blooms.
When You sing, O Narayan,
I sit close, tuning my heart’s melody to Yours.
My Beloved, day by day,
My Shyama, I desire only to see You.
Rasik Twist for Today’s Readers
Now stop. Try to envision this scene with your own heart. Isn't this love different?
Not merely gazing at a phone screen, hoping for a "seen " response. Not merely emojis and "good night ."
Here, love pounds like the poet's chest—with worry, with playfulness, with laughter, with decoration, with friends' teasing.
Here, love is not "possession," it is seva.
Here, a mustard seed is more than diamonds—because it guards.
Here, a bee turns into a metaphor, and a smile is turned into poetry.
Love in Vrindavan means:
To look perpetually, but with adoration.
To adorn, not to demand.
To playfully tease, but never harm.
To guard, even against the evil eye.
That's why Rasik poetry continues to be vibrant today—it does not present love as a transaction, but as a leela.
How long is it since you looked at one you love—without rush, without agenda, for the rasa of it?
And maybe... just maybe… in that look, Shyam Sundar lingers still, like a bee in disguise, to remind us that love is not to be devoured, but to be lived.
Until next time, may your eyes too catch a look worth eternally.
— Rasik Path
Beautifully described 👏
Beautiful! ❣️