ज़िंदगी, तेरा साथ.

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

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

'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

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

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

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

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

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"

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

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

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.