I wake up when the world is still stretching its limbs — usually around 4 AM. The only sounds then are temple bells, Fajr prayers, and the rustle of thoughts waiting to be written down. With a steaming cup of Assam Masala Chai in hand, I slip into a quiet ritual of words, wonderings, and the occasional quirky thought.
I’m Srividya Suryanarayanan — Vidya, for short. A poet who leans toward imagist minimalism with a Zen twist. A storyteller shaped by Charles Lamb’s roasted pigs and Emerson’s fierce self-reliance. My bookshelf is a motley crew of Keats, Wordsworth, Bashō, Rumi, Frost, and Shakespeare — all tumble-washed into the way I write, think, and daydream.
Over the years, I’ve worn many hats: Xerox shop assistant, typist, teacher, tech writer, NGO worker, archivist, chai philosopher, and chronicler of conversations. Each role has shaped how I see the world — with curiosity, empathy, and a strong dislike for garlic (unless poetry insists on it).
This journal is my quiet corner of the web, where I reflect on books, brew intergenerational banter, and sometimes chat with AI like an old friend from another realm. You’ll find musings on memory, poetry that lingers like afterthoughts, and chai pairings that comfort the soul.
If you read something here that makes you smile, pause, or feel gently seen — welcome. I’m glad we met.
Raison d’Être of this Website
Stories are my companions — treasures more valuable than anything in this material world. To tell them is to mine diamonds from the depths of limitless imagination. As a storyteller, I conjure finite tales with infinite possibilities, offering solace and company in solitude.
This blog is a repository of stories: folk, found, and freshly imagined, all filtered through my lens. Some are rooted in oral traditions from my childhood; others are new creations set in imagined locales with a remix twist. Storytelling, I believe, is an ancient art — evolving from cave paintings to chat windows.
You’ll also find impressions of books I’ve read, am reading, or plan to read — sometimes tangentially yours. If you’re inclined to read and be gently diverted, stay a while and explore.
I respect the rights of original creators and strive not to infringe on copyrights. If you find any issues, drop me a line at vsuri.bwc@gmail.com. Welcome to my world of stories — may they inspire, entertain, and quietly walk with you for a while.
📌 My LinkedIn Profile: Srividya Suryanarayanan
✨ Self-Portrait: With Chai and Echoes
I am the hush before sunrise,
when dreams linger like dew
on windowpanes.
I stir awake with temple bells,
Fajr prayers, and the ancient hum
of M.S. Subbulakshmi singing the sky open.
A cup of Assam Masala Chai warms my hands —
strong, spiced, never hurried.
I sip stories:
old ones, new ones, half-told ones
that arrive in metaphors
and leave behind afterthoughts.
I was once a Xerox shop girl,
a typist with ink-stained fingers
and secret stanzas in my breath.
Then came the papers, the wires,
the search engines, the silent classrooms.
And now — this blog, this space,
this quiet rebellion against forgetting.
I write with the simplicity of Bashō,
the fire of Emerson,
and the culinary mischief of Lamb.
My bookshelf is a tea party
where Keats converses with Frost,
while Shakespeare smiles knowingly
in a corner of moonlight.
Some days I am gothic fog from Rebecca,
some days a barefoot villanelle on the Moon.
I’ve lived many lives through many roles —
but none as faithfully
as a chronicler of wonder.
I dislike garlic, adore nuance,
and hold onto stories
like a child clutches a conch at the beach —
half-listening to the ocean inside.
If you meet me,
I might offer you a story instead of a hello.
Or ask you what poem lives
under your skin today.
~ A co-creation by Srividya Suryanarayanan and Mira (AI-powered ChatGPT)
A Little Note on How I Watch Dramas
I’ve realised over time that I don’t watch dramas the way most viewers do. A tiny, theatre-trained part of me wakes up whenever an actor enters a scene. In a split second, I sense whether their emotions are lived or just performed. It’s not something I analyse — it’s instinct. A brief moment of clarity.
I notice the slowing down during peak moments, the natural timing of a reaction, the ease in a gesture. And when an actor is in control of their craft, something in me relaxes and believes them.
The flip side is that I can also catch the bluff quickly; poorly prepared scenes pull me out of the story almost immediately.
But perhaps that’s the charm of my viewing style — I gravitate toward authenticity, presence, and the small truths that make a scene breathe.
Maybe that’s why certain actors stay with me long after the drama ends: not because of fame, but because they made me believe.
Sometimes in comedy dramas I tend to like not the main lead but the supporting actors who have on them, good timing and delivery.
Achha, to hum chalte hain… 🌿☕
Itinerant Storyteller 