Notes - From the Nib of Heart

ज़िंदगी, तेरा साथ.

2012-11-01T16:16:00.001+05:30

कामयाबी के लंबे इंतज़ार से उबास हो,

मुक़द्दर मेरा जमुहाई लेकर सोना चाहता था,
खुली आँखों से कल के सपने दिखाकर
इस नाकारा को मैने सोने ना दिया.

वक़्त के थपेड़ों की चोट का मारा
नसीब मेरा ज़ार ज़ार रोना चाहता था,
कुछ खट्टे कुछ मीठे क़िस्से सुनाकर
इस बेसहारा को मैने रोने ना दिया.

हर किसी को यूँ हताश देखकर
खुद का दिल ही मुझसे खोना चाहता था,
हाथ पकड़ा, और खुद के साथ चलाकर
इस आवारा को मैने खोने ना दिया.

Midnight Blue Desires in Awaken Eyes

2012-11-01T16:07:00.002+05:30

Facial tranquiliy

Unmeasured depth of the lonely black lake

The solitude of soul,
Nomadic owl of frosty blue nights
Soliloquy of sighs,
Thin cries of skies ooze on yellow desert
And squall in heart,
Howls of suffering in woman’s red eyes.

Be the stone,
That plucks strings of the surface lake
Or the companion in dark
That flies with bird and keeps him awake
That drop from heavens
Which travels a universe to die on his lips
Else innocence of a child,
That soothes her cries in the nights of eclipse.

I Miss Home - Place Called Home

2012-09-02T11:55:00.000+05:30

'I miss many places. Home is the place I miss the most.'

I was doing Facebook this lazy Sunday morning and my attention was caught by a quote shared by one of my favorite page. The Quote said:

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I asked myself the same question."

I instantly thought of home. Home.. Just the thought of home made me feel safe, warm and cozy like a baby-bird under wings of his mother. It was 2002 and I was 13 when I left home. For my studies and since then I could never be home for a enough. And when I became homeless, I realized what actually a home is. We are like kites flying in the sky attached to home with a thread. No matter what we do and wherever we go, this thread always keeps you connected.

"Home is where one starts from." Said T.S. Eliot. I often see in Hollywood movies when a soldier is tired of fighting long wars (I particularly am fond of movies based on WW-II), they have only one wish,"When the war will be over, I want to be home." Homesick, by Sela Ward is the autobiography of a Southern American girl who moves to NY to fulfill her ambitions and becomes a well known actress but she remains strongly attached to Mississippi where her home is. While writing this post I feel like reading the book again.

It is our childhood that strengthens our bounds with home. Those mischievous activities, that childhood within those four walls, that love of grandparents, that small yard which became our playground... those all precious memories keep calling. This fast moving life and sky touching ambitions! If I did not die in an accident, I will die in my nest. The nest where I was born.

I Feel Wonderful Lyrics Vodafone Delights Ad

2012-07-30T19:08:00.000+05:30

I feel wonderful lyrics (additional by me):

Oh…! I feel wonderful,

Life is so beautiful

With friends like you...

I love this Vodafone Delights TV ad since the very first time I watched it. Its background music and particularly those two lines of lyrics, they are just so cute and reminded me of my friends that I could not help myself from writing a poem on this ad especially dedicated to all my friends because of whom my life is wonderful and beautiful. This poem is composed by adding two stanzas in initial lines of Vodafone ad lyrics. Each stanza narrates a small fiction wonder-friendship story.

Through this poem, I want to say thanks to all those awesome, amazing outstanding people there in my life. Who keep warmth in my heart and smile on my lips. Thank You!

Oh…! I feel wonderful,
Life is so beautiful
With friends like you.

In playground grids
We were little kids
That ice-cream stall
I’d run and fall
Hurt knees on land
Your extended hand
In that chocolate flavor
Found a friend forever

Oh…! I feel wonderful,
Life is so beautiful
With friends like you.

On that farewell day
I had too much to say
Heart was full of rain
In the evening your train
A halfhearted good bye
Drop in the corner of eye
My heart was on race
I turned away my face
Train left I walked back
Someone patted my neck
You couldn’t go a mile
My god! It’s your smile

Oh…! I feel wonderful,
Life is so beautiful
With friends like you.

And if you also have something to say about your friends who make your life beautiful and wonderful, show your care below in comments:

To Edward! In My Aching Solitude

2012-05-13T21:51:00.000+05:30

Twitter melodious to Forks, October yet so deaf

Leaden November fall like a pale forsaken leaf

Calm, cold, solitary as lifeless December frost

Took e’rything with you; when left me you in rust.

Haunting of solitude, severe sufferings do me slay

Lost in nothingness drifting like seacoast clay

Eyes seek everywhere, no sign of your sight

Loneliness of the day, hauntings of the night

Memories cause of glee; likewise source to be sad

The one who killed my dreams, was my only zeal

Though you are gone but in a way I am glad

The pain is my only reminder that it was real.

P.S. This is my second attempt to write a poem on Twilight theme. I would highly thankful to you if you let me know how successful I could become in my attempt. Read my earlier poem The Sick Masochistic Lion and the Stupid Lamb.

The Wind Chime

2012-05-13T16:47:00.003+05:30

Gentle dawn breeze through curtains tall ocean

Fleeting o’er sleepy soul, eyes silently ticking clock

And clinches hung the Wind Chime, in contented motion

Twirls Chime, chants harmony on this dearest knock.

Glides wind the song, door to door on lighter wings

Like music echoed Olympus that Apollo Phoebus played

Or song of beauty girl for lover she warmly sings

Overheard country-boy and forever they stayed.

You have been source of life, endless flow of psalms,

In shape of my impulsion summing up to me alms

O wind! You flow always, O Chime! You blow forever

Your songs shall echo till eternal, in heart shall die it never.

Porphyria's Lover Summary and Analysis Robert Browning

2012-04-10T11:56:00.005+05:30

Text of the poem

The rain set early in tonight,

The sullen wind was soon awake,

It tore the elm-tops down for spite,

and did its worst to vex the lake:

I listened with heart fit to break.

When glided in Porphyria; straight

She shut the cold out and the storm,

And kneeled and made the cheerless grate

Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;

Which done, she rose, and from her form

Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,

And laid her soiled gloves by, untied

Her hat and let the damp hair fall,

And, last, she sat down by my side

And called me. When no voice replied,

She put my arm about her waist,

And made her smooth white shoulder bare,

And all her yellow hair displaced,

And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,

And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,

Murmuring how she loved me—she

Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,

To set its struggling passion free

From pride, and vainer ties dissever,

And give herself to me forever.

But passion sometimes would prevail,

Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain

A sudden thought of one so pale

For love of her, and all in vain:

So, she was come through wind and rain.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes

Happy and proud; at last I knew

Porphyria worshiped me: surprise

Made my heart swell, and still it grew

While I debated what to do.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,

Perfectly pure and good: I found

A thing to do, and all her hair

In one long yellow string I wound

Three times her little throat around,

And strangled her. No pain felt she;

I am quite sure she felt no pain.

As a shut bud that holds a bee,

I warily oped her lids: again

Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

And I untightened next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:

I propped her head up as before

Only, this time my shoulder bore

Her head, which droops upon it still:

The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

That all it scorned at once is fled,

And I, its love, am gained instead!

Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how

Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now,

And all night long we have not stirred,

And yet God has not said a word!

Comments and critical appreciation of the poem:

Porphyria's Lover written by Robert Browning in the form of monologue somewhere shows a theme of a tableau vivant (French : t -bl v -vä) visualization of sick mentality because of super-possession in love. Written in a rhyming pattern ABABB which suggests madness and high intensity in the verses of the poem; is the representation of the insane personality and peak sentiment. The lover of Prophyria though we are not too sure, really loves her and is extremely possessive of her or terribly disturbed psychologically, kills Porphyria under influence of his eccentricity. When comes Porphyria, the lover is so pale and too weak to move but later he kills her with strings of her hair. Look at the line "I am quite sure she felt no pain." He strongly believes that the act of killing is for the sake of love and there is no sin in doing it. He believes that by killing Porphyria he is not ending her life but he is making their love eternal because by killing her she will not be able to possess another man and will remain his for always. It refers to his maniacal misbalanced state and also implies a noteworthy point that love cannot be killed and it endures.

Porphyria is the name of a disease that is somewhere attached to the theme of the poem. Porphyria, no doubt loves her lover a lot as she comes to meet him in bad weather, fixes the fire for him, and shows affection however, we are not sure she did not resist the deadly violence of her lover or her blind possessive lover could not see it. As the poem is a monologue and is written from the point of view of the lover and the lover is himself an insane persona to make it hard to guess the exact facts. Some scholars even doubt the real existence of Porphyria.

But at the same time somewhere he is afraid of God in committing this act of sin and is well aware of this thing. This is clearly visible in the last line of the poem "And yet God has not said a word!" Perhaps he wants forgiveness from God and if not at least accepts the guilt of the sin he has made; though he already has debated a lot in his word for the proof of his innocence. Another poem by Robert Browning, My Last Duchess is also on a similar theme in which a wealthy nobleman kills his wife because of suspicion and jealousy. Porphyria's Lover is one of the finest studies of sick human mental state and love.

TWENTY5 Years of Penguin India - An Evening in the Celebration

2012-03-29T16:43:00.001+05:30

Winters of 2012 were on verge of bidding goodbye and Penguin was celebrating its TWENTY5 years in India. While I preferred to spend my lazy days within office and home boundary, Penguin India were all set to rejoice this benchmark occasion. Fever of the celebration continued for ten days long at India Habitat Centre of New Delhi and several legendary names like Anupam Kher, Yaana Gupta, Shashi Tharoor, Gulzar Saahab, Rajnikant, Ravinder Singh, and many more accompanied Penguin in the celebration. Spring Fever 2012 started on March 16th and continued till March 25th, 2012. Like many others, I too got to know about the occasion on official Facebook page of Penguin India. Penguin had set various themes for each different day in their schedule. While browsing through their schedules, something caught my attention. Delhi’s Got Talent – That’s what it was named and it said:

Do you have a special way with words?
Does prose or poetry brings out best in you?
Do you dream of seeing your name appear on a book-cover?
Is being an author your ambition?

As I read, my breath raced faster and my heart pounded heavier. I continued.
“If you answered yes to any or all of the above questions, guess what, we at Penguin Books India might be looking for you!” It further stated. In the event of their celebration, they were on the hunt for a writing spark from Delhi. I call Delhi the city of talent and there is no doubt about my opinion. Be it professional skills or the artistic side of human talent, Delhi has got plenty of them. So Penguin had made doubtlessly the right city choice. Within those few minutes of reading the leaflet, dream of my life revolved in my eyes. I visualized the book – with my name written on it – ASHISH CHAUHAN YOUNGY and there was sign of Penguin in orange circle at the bottom of the book-cover. I am sure I was smiling while thinking of the most passionate dream of my life.

Couple of Days Later
“First of all, I am highly thankful to Penguin India for offering such a nice platform to young talent. I remember the story of Ravinder Singh, author of two best-selling books when he talked about how he struggled to get his first book published. He would wander in streets of Old Delhi to get a publishing platform for his book that later became one of the most selling and loved book among Indian readers. So, I am grateful if some of us writers get a platform for their writing career. This will be like seeing a dream come true. And which writer would not love to see his work published by PENGUIN!”

As excited I was for this event, equally I was confused too. I agree I have a story and a dream but I did not have a manuscript already prepared. I had few poems on my blog but I was not sure of they will accept it as all these poems already have appeared in front of public. Writing a small piece of prose – is really not my style. Even if I make up my mind to do that, what I would write about. Busy working days, tired evenings, and sleepy nights - the weekend is yet far. When I will write? The rest of the hopes were killed by the unnecessary stress I was taking. Well, thanks to Anvesha, a friend and Ritu, my friend and co-worker for boosting me up and at least starting me up with writing something.

I wrote about war, it seemed too heavy; in their opinion. I wrote about rain, it seemed gentle yet too common; in their opinion. I wrote about life, it seemed too complicated; in their opinion. Ughh! This was too much. Consumption of teas and breaks during work increased and my think tank denied to work anymore. I was doing my best. What was wrong then? I remember expert advice; it says, “Whatever you write, write from your heart.” Oh, so this was where I was lacking. I was writing for some hope of return. I was not using my heart. I went to cafeteria and played table tennis… a lot; worried about the next day’s competition. Came back and Googled a lot, randomly. The search for my muse took me into the thought search of purpose. Purpose took me to the meaning of my life and I found myself standing on the bank of a river. It was green all around. White lily flowers were growing on stoned on the river-side and birds were swimming in the clear blue running water of the river. It was so relaxing. In my curiosity, I started talking to the river. And it was amazing she was replying to me back. I weaved this discussion into a poem and named it ‘That is why I Dance’.

On the Evening

Special thanks to one of my poet friend Nithin Jacob for his precious review on my poem. The poem was green flagged from him and thank God! I felt confident for the first time. DharmRaj and Rohit, two bosom friends accompanied me and we headed towards the Southern parts of Delhi. I am also among most of Delhites who love South Delhi. Neat and clean, higher ratio of Mercedes and BMWs on roads, less encroachment and a feel of freedom (in comparison to other parts of Delhi, of coarse). After parking car, we made our way to M.P. theatre where all the set up by Penguin was done. It indeed was an atmosphere of celebration. Plenty of books kept for showcase which were loudly screaming successful 25 years-long journey of Penguin in India. A big stage was prepared and then multiple rows in ascending heights. Posters all around singing the glory of Penguin and raising the curiosity of contestants and audiences. I caressed Delhi University ID card in my left pocket as I saw the additional twenty percent discount for students.

It was an abundant feeling being with lots of people with same heartbeat – The Writing Throb. A comment by a young girl writer – “Wow! There is a great variety of people here.” – promoted my cheeriness to the next level. “There are more 70 people participating”, announced the information my friend as he estimated length of the queue for registration. Every face was glowing with a dream. Everyone wanted to win though there was no fear of losing. Because even we would lose, it was our victory. Presenting our work at such a platform was an achievement in itself.

As the dusk fell and chill increased in air, our curiosities were intensifying. Ravinder Singh, part of the jury panel, came on the stage and brought himself the popular RJ of Red FM, Swati. I already had an encounter with her at book launch of Can Love Happen Twice. It was nice to see them once again, both intellect and prompted. Without killing any more time, we were briefed with the rules. We were given two minutes to show what we got. Number 1 to 5 were asked to be around in order to be most time-efficient. Luckily I was 30th, good enough to keep me psychologically relieved. Writers did their best in those two minutes. These were two minutes which could change their entire lives, two minutes which could convert their dreams into reality. Poetry, prose, excerpts. Synopses – whatever represented them best, they did. Most of them were really good and some of them were outstanding. Few of them which I personally liked were – Part of the novel in which there was Mrs. Singhania and non-fiction on Delhi by SOMEONE. God! She was completely in love with Delhi and I really loved it when she pronounced Hindi words in her English accent. Many writers, many views. Some spoke of love, some talked about life, some revealed secret of atomic theory, some said of purpose of life. Doubtlessly, bond of a father and daughter is most heavenly bond on earth and is beyond to be kept in words but the way it was put in words by someone, touched most of hearts. I recited my poem too:

Born in the auspicious lap of mountains,
River, where you go; over peaks and plains?
She curled and twirled, blushed, and then smiled,
She kissed my feet and ran into the wild.

Gorgeously she took the curve, to jump over the cliff,
Thunder song she sang, repeated with the riff,
Oscillated white lilies, dearly grown on stones,
Delighted swans swam, glided on your tones.
In your rhythmic walk, from town to town,
Through narrow valleys, and then deep down,
Dance of thy streams, like waves of damsel hair,
Sashay way you walk, like ballet dancer flair.

Birds, trees and human, beast, brute and nature,
Blessed all with your love, you never ask for favor,
What makes you to travel, generous and so kind?
Carry silence in motion, what you want to find?

One crave in my heart, one wish like a fire,
Destiny of my being, the only one desire,
Thousands miles far, lies there my devotion,
I was born to conflate, to meet my soul-mate ocean.

Time was moving on, all of us were enjoying among stories, celebration, drinks and bliss. Where the pace slowed down, spontaneous Swati spiced it up and rest of the job was done by the youth spark. We got to see two great examples of time utilization there, which I would love to mention. One of the contestants, aged around 55, suited and designed in French-cut beard, congratulated and appreciated the good efforts of Penguin and his fellow contestants, as he realized he has lost most of his time in congratulating, he made one more announcement, “MY TIME STARTS NOW.” and started reading his poetry. This made most of us laugh hard. Another youngster came and directly hit a question Ravin Sir, “What is mean of life for you? What would you call life in one word if you had to?” On being reminded that her time is running, she was like this, “That’s OK with me.” “Life is journey.”Ravin Sir replied. Her Hindi poem was also about life and quite impressive. We shared viewpoints about love, pain, joy, and different human emotions. Every view presented a different perspective on the subject. Not just quite entertaining but informative too the event was and we loved being there. As the evening came to an end, we left for home with sweet memories in hope of the best.

Post Event

Heartily congratulations to Maryann Taylor, Vikas Agarwal, Raghav Mimani, Amit Gupta and Aakash Joshi. Heartily thanks to Red FM, Ravinder Singh, RJ Swati, judges, participants, audiences and everyone. Special thanks to Penguin India for organizing such a talent hunt. Such efforts are not only an opportunity but a fuel supply to our dreams. May you celebrate millions of TWENTY5th anniversaries, Penguin India.

Your valuable comments below:

A Talk with the River : "That is why I Dance"

2012-03-27T14:58:00.001+05:30

About the poem: That is why I Dance is a discussion between a river and the poet. A day in my imagination when I was searching for purpose of life, I had a talk with river and asked her question about purpose of her life. Read this poem to know what she replied to me.
I presented this poem at Penguin India Spring Festival on the 25th anniversary of Penguin India. Hope you like this poem.

Born in the auspicious lap of mountains,

River, where you go; over peaks and plains?

She curled and twirled, blushed and then smiled,

She kissed my feet and ran into the wild.

Gorgeously she took curve, to jump over the cliff,

Thunder song she sang, repeated with the riff,

Oscillated white lilies, dearly grown on stones,

Delighted swans swam, glided on your tones.

In your rhythmic walk, from town to town,

Through narrow valleys, and then deep down,

Dance of thy streams, like waves of damsel hair,

Sashay way you walk, like ballet dancer flair.

Birds, trees and human, beast, brute and nature,

Blessed all with your love, you never ask for favor,

What makes you to travel, generous and so kind?

Carry silence in motion, what you want to find?

One crave in my heart, one wish like a fire,

Destiny of my being, the only one desire,

Thousands miles far, lies there my devotion,
I was born to conflate, to meet my soul-mate ocean.

Remember Me with the Name

2012-03-26T22:07:00.002+05:30

Thanks, much O friend! For traveling together,

All warm sunny days and stormy weather,

Lanterns’ luminous evident, the coast is not so far,

The purpose hath served, Look! Fell shining star!

Cruise to the shore, on deck hangs spare yacht,

Time is the only truth, take this father’s watch.

Comrade, go explore, let me slow the motion,

Allow to heave halyard, to glide far in the ocean.

But don’t grieve as I go, I shall never die,

Happiness, joy, and carnival, happily, I’d fly.

The ship sails off away the harbor,

Wave me love and farewell on my departure.

No wish of flowers on grave; nor I want fame,

The last wish which I ask - remember me with the name.

Post Comments: This poem is what I was about to present at the Penguin India Spring Festival. But at the last moment, I wrote another fresh one entitled That is Why I Dance.

Your valuable comments below:

Downfall of the Clairvoyant

2012-03-15T16:34:00.001+05:30

Torn in futility, and dried in dust

He was thrown on the busiest square of city

Dancing mob drenched in blood;

Spilling the red, their beast mouths

Singing and celebrating and dancing in lust

It was downfall of the Clairvoyant.

Ruin of his fate, he already had seen

Like his prediction never proven a false

Heavens were mourning on the death of their son

Auspiciousness scared, hidden in a corner

Afraid of horrific laugh sounds of the Evil

It was downfall of the Clairvoyant.

They cut the seer into pieces with the saw,

And thrust him in chest with shrill spears

Dragged him by rope to the square of the city

And purified the prophet in the rain of finest wine.

The Clairvoyant was brought to downfall

And then he died with a smile on lips

Because he just had seen his last prediction.

Lucy Gray - William Wordsworth : Summary and Comments

2012-03-14T17:41:00.002+05:30

Lucy Gray is one of the finest literary ballads written by William Wordsworth in blank verses. Below is the original text and a detailed summary of the poem.

Original Text of the Poem:

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:

And, when I crossed the wild,

I chanced to see at break of day

The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;

She dwelt on a wide moor,

--The sweetest thing that ever grew

Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,

The hare upon the green;

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray

Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night--

You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, Child, to light

Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:

'Tis scarcely afternoon--

The minster-clock has just struck two,

And yonder is the moon!"

At this the Father raised his hook,

And snapped a faggot-band;

He plied his work;--and Lucy took

The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:

With many a wanton stroke

Her feet disperse the powdery snow,

That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:

She wandered up and down;

And many a hill did Lucy climb:

But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night

Went shouting far and wide;

But there was neither sound nor sight

To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,

A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,

"In heaven we all shall meet;"

--When in the snow the mother spied

The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small;

And through the broken hawthorn hedge,

And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;

And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank

Those footmarks, one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none!

--Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

Summary and Development of Thought in the Poem:

The poem Lucy Gray was written by William Wordsworth based upon a real account of the death of a little girl narrated to him by his sister Dorothy. In the poem, the poet portrays imagery of a little solitary girl who lived in a house in the valley with her father and mother. As she did not have any friends, her most of time was spent in playing alone or helping her parents. Wordsworth further progress by adding that one can get a chance to see a fawn or a rabbit while passing through those valleys (which are usually hard to trace) but you will never be able to see the innocent face of Lucy Gray.

Now Wordsworth takes us back to the sad incident. It was an afternoon and Lucy was at home with her father. Her mother had gone to the town. Her father took his hook and started to pile bundles and instructed Lucy to take the lantern and bring her mother safe before evening because they were anticipation storm. She left for the town but against the expected time, the storm arose earlier and Lucy lost the way. She searched for the way back home but could never find it. Her mother came back home. Worried her parents explored the entire valley the whole night to catch a sight of Lucy but she was nowhere found.

At the break of the day, her parents found patterns of Lucy’s small feet in the snow. They started following those footprints which led them to the bridge of the wood which was only a furlong far from their house and after that prints disappeared. It was an indication that Lucy had died. Her parents lament for her. The dearest child of nature was gone. But it is still in belief that Lucy is alive and sings her solitary song in the valley.

Noticeable in this poem is that Wordsworth has not emphasized the death of Lucy but after her death her fusion with nature. He has tried to associate the boundaries of birth and death with this beautiful and calamitous ballad. Wordsworth as a poet of nature, in this poem, has associated the action of death with nature. After the death of Lucy also it is believed that she is alive and her song whistles in the air in the valley as if she has become part of nature. Beautiful imagery, and similes are quite seen as the very flair of William Wordsworth.

Comments and Critical Appreciation of the Poem:

Lucy Gray was written by Sir William Wordsworth in 1799 and published in the second edition of ‘Lyrical Ballad’, a collection of poems by William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1800. The poem states story of a little girl named Lucy Gray who died early on a story night in the countryside. She lived somewhere in the western countryside with her parents. The clue of living in Western Countryside is given in lines ‘The minster-clock has just struck two,/And yonder is the moon!" the moon is visible during daytime there. She had a small family and no friends. As a solitary child’ she had no mate or someone to talk to, play with, or share.

Poem Lucy Gray starts with a reference to a popular story of Lucy Gray. Wordsworth has represented Lucy as a child of nature. We can notice in the poem Lucy perhaps, is often used to help her parents in small house works because when her mother goes out of town, her father sends her to fetch her mother. But when the storm comes before the expected time, Lucy lost her way keeps searching for the right path, and mysteriously dies. The death of an innocent lonely child hits the reader deep and leaves an impact of sorrow. At the end of the poem, the poet takes the help of supernatural theory to keep Lucy alive. People still believe that Lucy is not dead and her spirit roams and sings the songs which whistle in the air. This supernatural theme indicates how strongly Lucy was attached to her town and singing her solitary song implies how lonely she was. The tragic end of the poem leaves an everlasting impact on the readers.

The ballad is written lyrically. A scenic view stands in front of the eyes while reading the poem and imagery is widely used but nowhere seems to be in the excess. The unfortunate death of the little girl at the end of the poem and then keeping her alive in the hearts with the help of supernatural elements is its very own style of Wordsworth.

Your valuable comments below:

I Know You Will Keep Me Alive

2012-03-10T23:39:00.001+05:30

What if I go, leaving you back someday?

I know you will cry, feel lack and pray

Believe I, gave you reasons,

To sit by riverside, think and smile.

Like a fire burning in heart,

Like running blood in veins,

Sweet memoires; and you’ll survive,

I know you will keep me alive.

You will think of me and smile,

Think of old days those were good,

In the spring, in summer,

On swing and in the wood,

You will sip on cup of tea,

That time you will think of me,

Close eyes, and you will smile,

I know you will keep me alive.

Look you will at my snaps,

You will wander through the maps,

On we’d walked a day,

And this is when I’ll come,

Your hair, my fingers play,

You will feel of me and smile

I know you will keep me alive.

Learning the Secret of the Alchemy

2012-03-05T04:42:00.000+05:30

There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.

I feel my throat too dried to be able to stare at the book anymore. I place the bookmark between pages and pour a lot of water on my dried throat. I am sick. I go and stand in front of the mirror. My face is pale and lips dehydrated. Brightness in my eyes has gone off like a lantern after its fuel ended. I wash my face to feel refresh and succeed till an extent. The only thing that I am surviving upon is few pills, some milk and few remained fruits I bought two days ago. I swallow those dark colored pills and capsules. People say they taste bitter, for me they have no taste. Everything is tasteless except only the book that is kept side by my pillow. I think of my present, I think of my past. I remember a saying from the book: Don’t think what you have left behind. I know who has written this line is a wise man. I want to follow his precious advice. I try not to think of what I have left behind.

I am not even allowed to think by the force of that precious advice. I have nothing to do – nothing except sleeping and reading. The entire day I have been doing both of the activities alternatively, each an hour. Sleeping today is more likely falling unconscious and reading today is more likely consuming drug. In every span I sleep, I dream. In every span I read, I dream. But there is difference between both of my dreams. There is a saying about dreams: Life’s most passionate dreams are seen with eyes open. And I can sense truth of these lines. I slowly walk back to the cot. Suffering I, lay on my back and put the book in front on my eyes; once again. More than half of it I have finished and as I progress, I lose the thought of sleeping again. I read and re-read when there is a sentence of wisdom. I feel as if there is some treasure in my hands not a book. I feel vital in the burned out lantern.

There is one great truth on this planet: whoever you are, or whatever it is that you do, when you really want something, it's because that desire originated in the soul of the universe.... The soul of the world is nourished by people's happiness. As I progress I get lost in deserts of Sahara. I am destined to Pyramids of Egypt. Once the boy threw his book away in the sand where used to be ocean someday, I wish I was mounted on the camel behind him so that I could step down for a while and could read the world’s greatest lie. And I learn that – At a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That's the world's greatest lie.

Everyone should dream a lot as the old king had suggested and everyone should follow his destiny. Sometimes love comes as an obstacle in the path of their destiny and pulls their legs back. But they should know that love will never be an obstacle in the path of one’s dreams if it is true. So was told by the king. I see my own dreams – and I am going to put my heart on suffering. To follow my own destiny with The Alchemist.

Your valuable comments below:

Stella

2012-01-27T21:40:00.001+05:30

In the stillness of the new moon night,
When all the twinkle of Stella
Is blushing in the pinkness of heart
A name flickers, on silent lips
A face blazes, in insomniac eyes
Handful memories sail, on the passing cloud.

Homesick smile of blue petals
Inquisitive appetite in search of place
Incomplete piece of puzzle
Eager to reconcile
Right in the place, by side of Stella.

Your valuable comments below:

I Am Sorry : Confessions - I

2012-01-25T00:28:00.000+05:30

I showed my heart good but it was too bad,
You sobbed on phone, screamed on you; mad
You gifted me smile, all made I you sad,
Me, O baby! I am so awful so bad.

I made you cry, cry for your love your care,
You longed for me, I wasn’t there
You carried tears, tears those were of my share
You floundered in pain, I pulled your hair
Me, O baby! I am so awful so bad.

I played the game; I played your heart,
Innocent your heart, I played, threw in dirt
I was laughing, standing on my feet
Yes baby, to see you down on knees,
Me, O baby! I am so awful so bad.

Bestow me pain, honey! Pain that I deserve
Punish my soul; throw me out of the verve
Thank you; you gone, I burn in fire
Act of sanctum, guilty, I do admire
Each moment I die, is justice for my sins.

I am sorry for everything, all pain I caused,
I do apologize for your life I paused
Take all the blame for everything wrong
To seek thy forgiveness I write this song.
Never show mercy on me, merciless I am that lad,
Me, O baby! I am so awful so bad.

Your valuable comments below:

The Sick Masochistic Lion and the Stupid Lamb

2012-01-23T02:11:00.000+05:30

As white and calm her face
As the solitary valley post snowstorm
Wafted the wind touching her palms,
Ah! It was glacial cold.

Spellbinder she seemed,
Mesmerized I followed,
Exceptionally fast, too speedy to catch.
She was pacing? She was flying.
An inch above, from the green grass.

Breezy swift, lightly fast
Galloped I after, in green wood vast
Once I succeeded to touch her finger nail
Thunder of frost, through my veins sail.
Snatched elle off, vanished in the green.
Rapid, imitation! Lifespan Nay me seen.
For an instant she stood, tempted and ran
Disappeared in broad forest, mysterious she again.

Chasing her, running after, I lost her any sight
Wide greens, open sky, and the heavenly twilight
There she was, still, stood in cold and charm
Here I, hypnotized, what a stupid lamb! And warm.
Violet flowers, white lilies, stretch emerald meadow
Sparkling face, neck, bare hands! There was no shadow

Nay we said, nay we talked, only eye to eye
She - lion on left, lamb on right ‘n’ wish to together die.

PostScript : I am a big fan of Twilight Series and Bella and Edward. I was irked of writing love-sick sad poems and wanted to write something different this time. All of a sudden a thought bubbled to write about my favorite characters and I happened to write this poem. Not intentionally, but very while writing this poem, I happened to exchanged roles of Edward and Bella with each other. As Breaking Dawn is released and we all know Bella too is a vampire now, I have portrayed Bella as ‘The Sick Masochistic Lion’ and Edward as ‘The Stupid Lamb’.

I am looking forward to readers’ reaction on this effort of mine and then I may add some more poems to the series. Most probably describing pain of Jacob Black and unexpressed, suppressed, confused feelings of Bella for him.

Your valuable comments below:

A Poem Written to My Butterfly

2012-01-18T23:08:00.002+05:30

You fold your wings and the world faints into
A colorless black and white wall
Discolors the rainbow in the sky,
Even the red roses have black petals
Greenery of grass looks as pale as hay,
And the blue sky thunders with stormy winds.
It is when my butterfly folds in her colors.

Ye flutter in the wind, thy wings wide open
Flipping all around, spreading all smiles
Dried out plants and lifeless my lips
Come back into verve,
Gentle and gratifying as a rain on desert.

Each color on your forewing
Is the color of my life
And your decorated hind-wings
Are the symbol of my grin.

The red on you makes me feel the love,
And this green into you is why I rejoice
The orange and the yellow
Keep the warmth in my sensations for you
And my tinted butterfly, flicker and listen
The black and the all deep colors on your wings
Sometimes make me feel blue when ye not flying around.

Wish I could express, reason of my colorful life,
It is all painted because of and into;
All the beautiful colors you have on you-
And the meaning of my life lies in those colors.

Just an attempt so that you can know how beautiful, colorful and meaningful everything is to me when you are there. And how senseless and colorless even the best things of the world, the best gifts of the nature are to me if they are meant to be without you. To you, Butterfly.

Your valuable comments below:

Subah Ho Gayi Mamu : A New Beginning

2012-01-01T12:59:00.000+05:30

‘Subah ho gayi hai, uth kar mirror me face dekho, smile greeting do apne aap ko, brush kar lo din acha jayega :)’

Yes my dear all friends, first of all the awaited year for which we have been making plans, resolutions, has arrived and… okay ab resolutions ki hi baat ki hai to lets pehle yahi kar lete hain, apne message baad me type karunga padh to rahe hi ho na koi jaldi thodi hai. Haan to resolutions made in 2011, made for 2012… sabse jyada log to chahte hain apni waist wa size reduce karna increase karna. Boys want from 34 to 32 then girls taking an oath for fitting themselves in curved jeans of 24 nahi to 26 ya fir 28 bhi chalegi :-P
Per ladkiyon pehle khana to kam karo. Raat din khati hi rahogi to Jeans ke alawa aur kuch nahi pehn paogi ek din ;-) Maine khud resolution liya hai. I mean lena nahi chahta tha but jis tarah log kasme wade kar rahe the Facebook pe, maine bhi kar liya. Maine kabhi na nibhane wali ksam khayi that I will save 40% of the earnings I do. Huh! To kya ab savings me chakkar me mai Nikon SLR na lu? Blackberry sabke paas hai office me mai apna 4 saal purana Nokia le ke shaan se gumta rahu? Ya fir core dual 2 processer laptop le ke wait karu ki kab ye hang-mode se bahar nikle aur kab mai type karu? Mujhe bhi i7 chahiye. Lo sir ji and madam ji, mere resolution ka kaisa rape hua all of you have already seen. Well, after reading this article tum log bhi apne pura ya na pure hone wale resolution jinki tumne kasmein khayi thin, write down in comments. OK :)

Ek bandi ne resolution liya,“No abusing.” I clicked on ‘Like’ and made a wink. You know why? Because I know when she will see my wink, wo apna resolution tod degi ;-) Hehe One frustrated Facebook-sick guy says my new year resolution is that I will quit Facebook. Kamal hai sir :-) Facebook ke samne hi bol rahe ho Facebook ko chhod ke chale jaoge. Bade bewafa nikle aap to. Look, is bandi me dum hai who says,“I will make new boyfriends.” Sahi ja rahi hai dost… ek aad chance mere ek do desperate friends hain unhe bhi de dena ;) shayad tum logo ki kahani set ho jaye :D Ak bache ne majak kar diya new year wale din. Bolta hai,“To study hard.” Joke of the year award goes to you kid :) Hats off to you Ankit Gupta. Ankit says,“Parents ko time duga.” That is such a good thing you can do in this year and I wish you fulfill your pledge bro. Another she wrote,“ To get my book published....” and I wrote her back, this time in inbox, wishing her all the best for her book. I pray that her book gets published this year. And let me talk about the last kasam and then we will move on to further discussion. Priya says that she will get up early in the morning and try not to fall in love. Girl, falling and not falling in love is not in your hand. And mai bhagwan se hath jodkar prayer karta hu ki kisi ko saal 2012 me pyar ho chahe na ho, aapko zarur ho jaye, by God kasam se maja aa jayega (:

Chalo bahut ho gaye kasme-wade… wo to humne bhul hi jane hain, lets come back to kaam ki baat pe. OK I left my sentence incomplete in the beginning. Well, I was saying morning has risen up. Day has started. Just like you brush your teeth every morning so that you day goes well (I know usse pehle tum 10 baar bed tea pi chuke hote ho, so it doesn’t make a sence in fact … LOL) just like that day one has started and instead of wasting its precious moments why not utilize those moments in writing a history. I mean not literally writing history. Woh to hum exam sheet pe bahut karte hain. Mera matlab hai khud ki history likho. Uff.. how to tell, words nahi fit ho rahe. OK… let me try one more time. Khud ki kahani liko… apne aane wale kal ki. Har ek pal ko jiyo aise jaise ho pal ye akhiri tumhari zindgi ka. Rone me barbad bahut kar li zindgi, ab haq hai mera khilkhilane ka… hasne ka… muskurane ka… mar jauga ek din… marne se pehle ji jane ka. Smile in every moments, live life at full etcetera etcetera etcetera :D While writing this article one of my friends jumps from no-where and says,“Precaution is better than cure.” Hehe.. how true. Sahi baat hai yaar accident se acha hai pehle hi savdhan ho jao. Agar pyar nahi karna to college jana band kar do. Na college jaoge na bandi dikhegi na pyar hoga. Agar boss ke anger se bachna hai to precaution le lo, office 10:00 clock pe jate ho 08:00 jana shuru kar do. Chalo.. forget… jisko jaise suit karta hai, adjust karega. O! dirty minds, motivational lecture chal raha hai yahan and you people thinking about I know what. Sudhar jao bata raha hu, huh.

Alrighty, keeping our lecture on hoping you aren’t getting bore, I am pulling it bit lengthy. Ugghh!! Will anyone let me write in peace, please? Another friend disturbs,“Bhai new year kaisa gaya tera?” had hai yaar. New year gaya? Kab gaya? Kahan gaya? New year start huye abhi char ghante bhi nahi huye aur ye puch raha hai kaisa gaya? Gaya nahi hai mere dost just start hua hai. Still 365 days and few hours left, uske baad batauga kaisa gaya new year. OK… thoda sa inspirational add-on deta hu yahan pe. Hmm… so still 365 days and couple of hours left, we have plenty of time and energy to make this year one of the best year of our life. I mean seriously… think about it. Think… what you since ever wanted to do. What is within deadline… what you can plan and what you can do. Start working on it. And the most important thing is start working on it right now. The best example is the girl above who wants to get her book published and I am hell sure it will happen. So let your passions live; live for your passions. Nautanki karne me time bahut waste kar liye, ab thoda sa invest kar lo. Aur itne impress mat ho jana meri baton se ki nautanki karna hi band kar do… that is also an important part of life and it makes you clicking lots of photograps ;-) Photographs? Haan, photographs. Memories bahut zaroori hain. Keep cherishing moments, bahut yaad aate hain baad me, especially after college jab sab apni apni professional life me ghus jate hain, paise kama rahe hote hain na, tab udhar ke paise se pi hui chai bahut yaad aati hai. When you eat meals in expensive hotels on office-expense, canteen ke samose ki bahut yaad aati hai. Build memories mere dosto, kyoki bina mamories ke to rona bhi nahi aa payega tumhe. Kam se ro loge to man halka ho jayega.

Chalo ab mujhe khud rona aa raha hai, mai ja raha hu rone :-P Heehee… baad me milege. I hope khuch ghusa ho tumhari khopdi me. Maine pura one hour spend kiya hai ise likhne me. Mera naye saal ka ye ek hour waste mat hone dena, investment hai ye mera. Wish you all a bombastic, positive, happy year twenty twelve. Celebration aaj sham ko khatm na ho jaye dosto, pura saal baki hai. Lets keep the fire burning throughout year within ourselves. And yes, not be afraid of dying. Mar bhi jaoge to kya, maro aise ki log yaad kare.

Love, Ashish

Your valuable comments below:

Sayonara 2011

2011-12-31T04:22:00.001+05:30

As 2011 is going to be a memory followed by unfolded tomorrow and looking forward with a very positive outlook, I raise my glass in reminiscence of the glorious year, “To friends and to friendship.”
Situations are always there, sometimes in favor and sometimes against; but say time flows with its own swiftness, careless from everything. How true! 2011 has been all about going along with time. All my life I carved for love, this year taught me friendship. Since always I read in lines that love is above friendship, this year I realized. To write names of people is not a necessity because they already know their place in my life but yes! This year has given me few people as the gifts which belong to me forever. Friends, you make my world and I am really in love with you.

Second best thing happen to me is increase in my love for literature and by the end of the year I am at a point from where I can be sure that I will write a book someday. I have developed a group of people who regularly read my writings and come up with their appreciation and criticism. Though they are few in numbers and receive my numerous thanks for spending their precious time to read me and write me back with their valuable responses.

Lesson of the year is, “Keep a faith in people and they will never break a promise.” Here are few random incidents of the year:

My sister gave birth to the little champ and now I am a happy mamu of 3 kids :)
An outline of my novel has been written and at least I have an idea of climax.
Watched the whole Twilight movie series and loved it beyond degree. Now anticipating its final part in November, 2012.
Can Love Happen Twice? Book launch. First time met a bestseller face to face.
I will be a graduate next year :)
And now just in last week of 2011 I have changed my job and seeking for a better career with new opportunities in my new organization.

I would like not to write a long article saying lots of things. I would love to cherish them in my heart for always rather. Thanks to everyone who made my 2011. Thanks to 2011 which made my people. Sayonara.

Your valuable comments below:

Love to See You "Laugh at Me"

2011-12-30T00:56:00.000+05:30

Ah! Pain nips me and I tend to show,
And I come running to you from miles away
But before I unwrap a single layer of feeling
How terrible I feel right… I feel right now
I melt and flow, without saying any word of my pain
And you laugh at me, showing me your middle finger.

Perhaps you can ever realize, how beautifully painful it feels,
Oh yes! Beautifully painful it feels to my fucking dumped soul.
Don’t cry sweetheart! It is none of yours faulty foul.
You love playing, I love being played
You love laughing, I love being sad,
I love you laughing, you love me being sad
What is the problem? Let’s continue together,
Yeah! Hearless sweetheart, together forever.
And you know what? I know you don't
So let me tell you because, all this not because
you love to celebrate at my limitless pain but
Because Oh no! "I Love to See You laugh at Me."

Your valuable comments below:

Can Love Happen Twice?

2011-12-19T06:41:00.000+05:30

December 17th, 2011
Ambiance Mall, Gurgaon

An anticipation of this book was somewhere on my mind at the very moment when I finished his debut novel I Too Had A Love Story in tears but when I read about another upcoming novel on the Facebook Fan Page of Ravinder Singh, the anticipation turned into eagerness and excitement. And seriously, as author Ravinder himself says, Facebook contributed a big part in conveying updates, establishing coordination between author and readers and much more than that developing a relation.

First of all mazel tov to Ravinder Singh for release of his most awaited book. May God gift him with success and happiness in every aspect of his life. The very moment I saw Delhi/NCR book launch event of Can Love Happen Twice on his page, I RSVP with a positive confirmation. I mean this was something very exciting for me like OH MY GOD!! I AM GOING TO MEET Ravinder Singh, THE BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF INDIA. Oh! Oh!! My god. I already had ordered my copy of Can Love Happen Twice on Flipcart time long ago. And when I shared this news with one of my best friend, she was excited too, more than me. We both set up a plan that we will be going on the book launch together. Wow! Evening was going to be a great thrill for me.

By afternoon I heard from my friend that she will not be able to accompany me on the event and we both were bit gloomy about it. But finally I reached Ambience Mall with my copy of Can Love Happen Twice? 1 hour prior from the event. Hoppering around, enjoying my curiosity, missing my friend and waiting for Ravinder Singh, I was impatient to know the atmosphere of Reliance Timeout what was going on there. At the beginning during the security check, they updated me that I cannot go in with the book bought from outside. There is one thing about me, whenever I read any book, I underline quotes that touch me, write my own notes beneath lines. So after reading a book, I feel special about that particular copy of book. And when mustache man told me that book is not allowed, I gone off. Still I had almost half an hour before the event was supposed to commence. I paced to sales persons regarding my issue from where I was referred to their sales manager and then to their security head. Anyhow within twenty minutes I was able to have a star shaped security stamp fixed on the cover of my book which meant book could hang around with me inside the store.

I finished my latté in haste and took a seat to observe their preparation. There were people from Reliance store itself, Penguin India and others managing the événement. A projector was set up above our heads which would play the presentation on a medium sized screen. Two big sized comfort chairs were installed on one I had a guess Ravinder Singh himself and on another any official from Penguin will be seated. Audio books of Can Love Happen Twice? recorded by Ravinder Singh in his own voice, copies of Can Love Happen Twice? all colored in blue (my favorite color) were arranged in a tower shape, few copies of his first novel I Too Had A Love Story in English and also translated in Hindi. In time all chairs were full and area of Café Coffee Day was also occupied by Fans of Ravinder Sir. As time was getting closer, the zeal was reaching to its top. Right then they stood a poster-in-red and printed numbers 93.5 on it. Oh yes! The opening chapter of the novel rang a bell in my head. And the thrill raised its bar to roof when we all were informed by Vaishali that RJ Swati from Red FM 93.5 will be reaching here with Ravin.

Soon the video of the book made by Penguin India was played on screen. Words popping from blue clouds. Few lines than can really make someone thinking.

We are born …once
We die…once
We fall in love… once
And when that happens,
We promise this very life to someone else
And then if destiny plays a cruel joke and that one love is lost
Would your heart stop beating?
Would you stop believing in love?
Or would you give love another chance?
Allow happiness to knock your door… twice?
From the author who has become an inspiration…
Ravinder Singh
Comes a second love story
CAN LOVE HAPPEN TWICE?

Around 1930 Hrs appeared the bestseller and most loved novelist of India, tall and decent Ravinder Sir and the most loved RJ of Delhi gorgeous and spontaneous Swati both in black and were welcomed with warm hearts in the its own Desi-Delhite-style :-) We are gracious to you that you have dedicated this book to your readers, thank you millions Ravinder Sir.
"So we all are here for book launch of Can Love Happen Twice?, how many of you already have got your copy?" Threw the question Swati to all of us.
I and many others raised my hand. Yes I had my copy of novel in my hands.
"And how many of you are planning to get it?" Swati again.
And I too again. I was going to buy another one too. Probably to gift someone. I love gifting books.
"Alright, that is a good amount. And how many of you have have the hreatbreak."
Uff! I was one of those who know pain of heartbreak. My hand went up.

From here picked up pace the discussion between RJ Swati and Ravinder which was utterly entertaining to audiences. The first attack by RJ Swati upon Ravinder,”How rude the character of Shambhavi you have portrayed in the book, Ravin! I am very nice with my coworkers.” Ravinder Sir had to be diplomatic on this to save himself otherwise you know well how perfectly Swati can trap someone, even the king of pen cannot escape from her word trap. This turned the ambiance light and during the conversation between both of them we were able to know many unfolded facts behind the scene. I was surprised to know that Ravinder Singh had never been in a radio station until release of this novel. How effectively he managed to describe the RED FM office as if he himself is a RJ. I had mistaken to think that he has done a good research on this part of book. As he has quit his studies for a business degree from some very reputed college of India, I do not recall name of the college at this moment, he told how hard he had to work on the book along with keeping his studies on. Every single day he had to make sure that he submits his college assignments before it is next day and dosed with cuppa. He would spend hours to google back in his own part of life, thousands of stories he received from his loyal fans and his imagination. Then only after tough work of hours for months this book could reach to our hands.

On the question ‘Can love happen twice?’ he tossed the question back to his fans. Well, I strongly have a faith in love and see it above from all social, emotional and any kind of boundary I believe that love can happen twice. I took the mic and with greetings to Ravin Sir initiated my words,
“Well, congratulations to Ravin Sir for his book. And as the title of the book is a big question itself, everyone has been talking about questions and answers rising and debating about them. I would like not to say anything about it and just to share how I feel about this. Yes, I agree love can happen twice. and I think second time more mature, more sincere, more deep and more caring. Because we already know how painful it is to lose someone we love. So I would say Love can happen twice.”

This time he wants to engage his story with Simar in a more effective way so this time he has came up with the audio book and that too in his own voice. When he read a couple of pages from the book in which Khushi, his girlfriend who unfortunately passed away (Only from the earth, in his heart she lives forever), gives an approval of his relation with Simar, everyone became emotional. Swati wanted to hear our reactions on it but when no-one could utter a single word about this and Swati was bit low about it, I grabbed the mic and said, “I am not able to say anything. I have lumps in my throat.” Swati in her prompted approach made the moment light again, “So when you read the book you have lumps in your throat and you are unable to speak. I think you should get this so that you can plug in your ears and go though the book WITHOUT-HAVING-LUMPS-IN-YOUR-THROAT,” Swati mischievous said pointing towards audio book and everyone indulged in this joyous moment.

When I asked about art of literature he uses in his book. “We know Sir, you are much inspired by your own and your readers’ lives; how do you bind all those stories together. Do you follow literary conventions and fit your stories into the definition of novel? How do you go with the flow?” on which his reaction was, “Oh! I am really not too much into the grammar and all. I simply start writing from one end to another and pour out all my feelings. I flow like a river, from beginning till ending. Not following particularly any particular regulation.” And when I asked for tips on writing he came with only one, “Write with your heart. Pen down what you have in your heart. Write truly and truly with your heart and you will end up with a great story.” What a man of heart he really is! May God bless him.

Finally we all were invited were for autograph ceremony for which we all were desirably waiting. The already copy I had, I got signed for my friend who could not join in today and an audio book for me.

For Ashish,
with love.
Ravin Singh

While having my copy being autographed he had to say, “Tum thoda smile nahi kar sakte?” :-) and we all again burst into laughter. When finally I reached him with another copy to be signed for my girlfriend (yes, I never call her my ex-girlfriend because there is nothing like ‘ex’ in true relations) Sir baptized me with a new name,”Tum bahut SENTI-BANDE ho yaar.”
“Weak at heart Sir, like you perhaps.” (And strong at the same time)
I was about to leave there Swati’s eyes caught my sight,”Hey Hey, yum wohi ho na josko lumps aate hain throats me. (You’re the same same guy who come to have lumps in throat)
“Thank You Swati, because of you I got the audio book too.”
“OK, you take a little amount of turmeric with (I do not remember what she told) whenever you have those lumps again,” she was not ready to miss a single chance of leg pulling, “And you never talked to me on air, call me on zero one one four…”
“I already have called you once, you know.”
“Oh that’s great, when?” her known –known-to-entire-Delhi accent.
“It’s been two years. After my break up and you know what! You told me to move on move on.”
“So you moved on?” raised she a question.
“Mmm, yaah!”
And with these words we ended the short discussion, shook a warm hand with Sir Ravinder Singh with a wish to see him again. What a beautiful and unforgettable evening it was!

I, the guy in white behind with his copies in hand.

Disclaimer : The above article is based upon my experience of being in book launch of Can Love Happen Twice? in Delhi/NCR. The dialogues and incidents are rewritten the best I could recall and may be different from original.

Your valuable comments below:

The Open Window

2011-12-15T07:03:00.000+05:30

(English translation of this poem can be read below.)

Apne ghar ki khidki ke parde ke pichhe se
Mai un rasto ko der sham tak dekhta rahta hu
Ab tak mujhe yakeen hai aaoge tum
Palke bichhae tumhara rasta dekhta rahta hu..
Mai un rasto ko der sham tak dekhta rahta hu

Bharosa kiya hai tumpe apne aap se bhi jyada
Janta hu meri fikar nahi hai tumko
Per sochta hu kya pata mere khatir na sahi
Mere bharose ki khatir hi
Kissi din bhuli raahon se wapis aa jao
Issliye aone bharose ko tutne se rokta rahta hu
Mai unn rasto ko der sham tak dekhta rahta hu

Duriyon me bhi maine nazdikiyon koo dhoondha hai
Janta hu mere akelepan ki fikar nahi tumko
Per sochta hu kya pata mere akelepe- ki khatir na sahi
Mujhse dooriyoan mitane ki khatir hi
Kissi din veerane hue raston se wapis aa jao
Issliye inn duriyon ko ankho me sametata rehta hu
Mai unn rasto ko der sham tak dekhta rahta hu

Translation:
Standing behind curtains hanging on the window of my house,
I keep gazing at those paths till late evening
And still, I have a strong faith you’ll come
Hopefully, with gazing eyes I in hope of you
I keep gazing at those paths through open window till late evening.

Have kept my trust into you, more than I believe myself
I know you do not care for me
But then I console me thinking, may be not for me
But for my trust at least
From forgotten lanes, A day perhaps you come back
Ergo, I keep stopping by faith from braking
I keep gazing at those paths through open window till late evening.

I have searched for warmth of closeness even in distances
I know you do not care for my loneliness
But then I console me thinking, may be not for my loneliness
But to kill those distances from me at least
From deserted lanes, A day perhaps you come back
Ergo, I keep shrinking distances in my eyes
I keep gazing at those paths through open window till late evening.

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Rang De Piya Re Mohe : Color of Love

2011-12-12T16:14:00.001+05:30

They say, color of love; once you are colored in love, no other color can leave it’s effect upon you. Being in love is like completely lost in the another world. You go blind. No other color you can see. This poem Rang De Piya Re Mohe, writing a Hindi poem after almost a couple of year, is about a lover who is totally lost in love and now wants to dissolve his soul in the love of beloved and vanish in it to attain integrity with the soul mate. So here is the Rang De Piya Re Mohe…

Rang de piya re mohe apne rang me aise,
Rang aur kisi ka mope chadh na sake,
Preet me teri, meri doobe aisi naiyaa,
Meri naov vahan se aage badh na sake.

Tere prem ka pyala peeta rahoon,
Pi pi matwala ho jau
Mujhe itna pyar pila de tu,
Main prem ki madhushala kehlau
Mera hath tham meri shakti ban,
Bhagwan bhi mujhse lad na sake,
Rang de piya re mohe apne rang me aise,
Rang aur kisi ka mope chadh na sake.

Prithvi me dikhe, ambar me dikhe,
Chahun ore disha me mohe tu hi dikhe,
Mai itna pagal ho jau,
Tere siva aur mohe kuch na dikhe
Jis cheez me teri chhavi na base,
Vahan nayan mere kabhi khul na sake,
Rang de piya re mohe apne rang me aise,
Rang aur kisi ka mope chadh na sake.

Glossary: Naiyaa : Boat, Naov : Boat, Chahun : All four (Here in the sense of 'in all four directions'), Chhavi : Reflection

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My Birthday Gift

2011-12-07T19:27:00.001+05:30

They all called, and called it my day
For me it was just another Tuesday
Cheerless, noiseless; lying in my grey
Yes, it was my twenty first birthday.

Be it a new friend, or the oldest pal
Few wrapped me in warm-blessing-shawl
Few wrote wishes on my Facebook wall
Few messaged smiles, laughter and lol
Few made promise to see me at The Mall
Few forgot to remember, Oh! That’s all.

Mother sent blessings direct from sky,
Holy being exalted from inner soul high
Bless and bliss enough, to make me fly
Cheerless, noiseless, but I, waiting for thy.

Gazing at phone, refreshing my email,
Trying to feel fragrance, in the wind that sail,
Looking at the way, as if anticipating rail
Finally day passed, hopeless, frozen in hail.

Locked up entire day, needing for some air,
Almost at midnight, I open the door-pair
Fragrance of roses, all here and there
“Oh My God!” She had wished in her own flair.

Big ope’d eyes; yes I had smiling eyes
A wind chime there with two hanging butterflies,
A red rose had she sent coupled with a pink
A white porcelain coffee cup, “Look how does she link!”

There are few things, not possible to pay,
A thanks from my heart, is all I have to say.

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