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. 

Lucy Gray - William Wordsworth : Summary and Comments

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.

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I Know You Will Keep Me Alive

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

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.

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