It crumples and crushes;
It chafes its skin
As you step with your horde
Laughing with superiority
At the norm.
It endures your kicks and shoves;
It loses its way in the crass world
As you merrily run and joggle in conform.

Soon the white turns pale
And then muddy black.
The wrinkles grow deep
And the scars, irreparable
Even begin to trace a track.
It still lies there helpless, in pain
With the marks of your shoes on its face
As if just beaten by a group of bullies
In sheer disdain. 

With tears and cuts
Rips and ruts,
Bearing your spits and dirt,
It feebly mutters–

कभी किसी को इतने गहरे घाव न दो, के उसके निशान कभी न जा सकें |

And the rumpled piece of paper 
That was worthless to all
Still lies there forlorn. 

Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen have always worked wondrously to give us such splendid reads. Accompanied by Aarti  Katoch too this time, the book as the name suggests deals with the Indian Teens. The teenage years are tough; that is the time when everything seems like an insurmountable challenge; parental rules and regulations begin seeming gratuitous, peer pressure gain new heights, your looks become important and everything begins to seem endlessly exasperating. Facing them, overcoming your greatest fears may seem gruesome at first, but learning to deal with them, gathering the strength to face them without being cowed down, that’s where the real valor lies.

This batch of Chicken Soup consists of 101 stories, each written by various teenagers or even adults describing their teenage experiences. It is a learning experience that every teenager can relate to and learn from without feeling criticized or judged. This book describes the toughest teenage challenges and how other teens, with the same struggles, overcame them. This collection is a support and a companion for teenagers and encourages, comforts, and inspires them, showing them that, as tough as things can get, they are not alone. It will help teens as they journey through the ups and downs of adolescence. Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul: Teens Talk Growing Up provides support and inspiration for teenagers as they grow up, reminding them they are not alone, as they read stories from teens just like themselves about the problems and issues they face every day. The stories in this book serve as a guide on topics from the daily pressures of life and school to friendships, parents, the pressure to have to be on the apex, the contend for a fine career and much more.

The book is divided into seven themes Facing the Challenges, Family Ties, Going Beyond Prejudice, In a Lighter Vein, Life is a Teacher, On Dreams and Passions and Teens Today. Each thematic section contains many one-to five-page inspirational stories offering advice through real life lessons. Chicken Soup fans will find that this book strengthens their heart and calms their spirit. Teens will discover that their own feelings are normal and that they are not alone.

In ‘What’s in a Challenge’, actress Sushmita Sen describes her experience with the class 10 board exams and the fact that how your mother’s support can help to achieve even those things which may seem implausible at first. Boxer Sushil Kumar shares his experience with prejudice in ‘Sometimes You Just Gotta Wrestle It Out’, and how it helped to instigate him to fight against it even more, which ended up in him winning the Bronze in the Beijing Olympics in 2008. In ‘Finding Your Passion’, fashion designer describes her journey in discovering her passion for designing. Pranav Bhattacharya, a college student who was treated like a pariah by his college mates, narrates in ‘The Madcap’, how his only friend stood by him against all odds.

All the 101 stories by people from different walks of life are a motivational read; something that each one of us are either experiencing or must have experienced. But, what this book lacks is a broader scope in perspective. The book mainly deals with how the teenagers suffered the challenges and how they managed to overcome them in one go, thus achieving success. But what about the failure stories? Life is not that easy. There are many who suffer bigger censure each day and yet don’t give up. Well that’s the real pluck – ‘Never Giving Up’, this is the theme that was missing.
But, in all Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul: Teens Talk Growing Up is a fairly nice choice to read to satiate your motivational buds.

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

Yeah, these were my words until this morning. Sounds cliche? Ya, I know.

Until today Valentine’s Day was something that was too much hyped inside my head. And all this while I had only been thinking about my last Valentine’s; how special it was and feeling miserable, obviously. But, that feeling just emended itself, all of a sudden, today. 
Why only ‘Valentine’s Day – A special day of Love’, for the overrated term “LOVE”? Each day spent peacefully with your loved ones, then be it your family even, or even your pet dog, for that matter; every such day ♥ is a Valentine’s Day ♥. 

Now, I can proudly say, without feeling even peewee amount of miserable, that I spent the whole day at home, dancing to trite songs, watching histrionic television shows, and eating loads of junk. Well, that’s how I celebrated my day. Sometimes, you just fall in love with your home.

Of course, in all this imbecility, I did one fruitful work. 
My first hindi poem, which I began writing on 17/12/2011 but never managed to complete it; I finally consummated it today. Well then, I must say – Cheers to 2011, 17/12/2011!  
That commenced my crooning: 

मोर के  मख़मली पंखों में,
रंगों की चादर ओढ़े
नाचे अपनी ही नई दुनिया में,
डरती दुबकती घबराती
छुपती और हिचक के पीछे हो जाती
बैठी है एक नन्ही सी चिड़िया |
कहती है छुपालो मुझे,
ये दुनिया |
मोर उसे समा लेता, अपने पंखों से छुपा लेता
थोड़ी सी राहत में, सुरक्षा के एहसास में
फिर भी वो बेचैन है,
कहती है
मुझे खोना है |
हाँ पूरी तरह से खोना है |

बाग़ की हरियाली में बैठी
वसंत की खूबसूरत फुलवारी को महसूस करती
बैठी है एक अकेली सी लड़की
किताब में लीन,
जैसे वही हो उसका सहारा |
देखे वो भी उस चिड़िया की ओर
सोचे,
तुमको तो ये मोर बचा लेगा
लेकिन मेरे लिए कौन आएगा ?
जब अकेले दिल घबराएगा
तब मेरे लिए कौन आएगा ?
जब लोगों से ही डर सताएगा
तब मेरे लिए कौन आएगा ?
बचा नहीं अब किसी पर भी भरोसा है
इसलिए मुझे भी
अब बस खोना है |

जाने कहाँ से आई एक आवाज़
“में दुनिया से भले ही खुद छुपती हूँ,
बड़ी बड़ी चीज़ों से डरती हूँ,
भले ही में बहुत छोटी हूँ,
लेकिन
मैं आउंगी,
हाँ में यहीं हूँ |”
किताब के खयालों से बाहर निकल के
नज़रों का दायराना घुमाके
पाए वो
उस छोटी सी चिड़िया को
बैठी है उसके कंधे पर जो |

Immense pain suddenly fills my soul, as I sit in the class enduring every tiny fleck of it. Counting every minute as it passes, I curse, as there are still three hours to go before I can rush home. Wondering if I’d be able to tolerate more, and further contemplating if I’d be able to reach home safely; I gather strength, bring in courage seeing that at least I have someone sitting beside me who’d make sure I land home safely. Someone I can rely on.
I tell my friend, “I’m having terrible pain. I don’t know how I’d be able to attend it for the complete time.”
“Tell Sir, go out and take a medicine”, I get a reply.
“No medicine helps me! I’ll bear it till the end somehow.” I try to tolerate the pain as it intensifies.

I, somehow, managed to hold the pain till the terminal, as the class ends. In hopes that my friend would care for my condition, I hoped he’d sternly offer to drop me home making sure I’m safe. Just to make sure I don’t black out and fall somewhere in between, in the route. But, the air abruptly darkens and a skirmish breaks out between us and results in criticism and- in the opposite. Unable to bear it more, I decide to go home on my own, covering the one and half hour long journey completely on my own, with this pain; though inside me I knew it would be really tough and still hoped for some help.
To my surprise, the very next moment my friend rushed his car past me, rushed it towards his home and I was left standing there all alone.

I gathered strength, and began walking towards the Metro Station, now the pain hitting my back as well. Amid my entire journey, I tried to fool the black outs and the dizziness many times, when finally they took over.
I tripped down with black out at the Inderlok Metro Station, the crowd suffocating me. I didn’t know whom to call, I didn’t know how to assemble myself again, I just wanted someone to make me sit. Everything was just black, I could hear voices which seemed like screeches. Chaos. More suffocation.
When finally, someone stepped in to help me, to take me to the bench and offer me with water. Within few moments, I could breathe again, I could see again. The air seemed to clear a little. There was still pain, though, but I felt better as oxygen rushed into my lungs. I called my Dad and finally, reached home.

Today, I was scared. Really scared, when alone.
I don’t know who helped me, I wasn’t in my senses, but whoever did, I’m really thankful. I really needed it.
In the same day, I experienced two paradoxical feelings about humans- कभी कभी अपने भी तुम्हे अकेला छोड़ देते हैं, और कभी कभी पराये भी तुमारी मदद करने के लिए आगे आ जाते हैं |

Still lying in pain weakening all my limbs, I wonder whether it’s selfishness or selflessness that will overpower if I began to estimate.
Well whatever it be, I learnt a lesson on promise day- Not to rely on anyone except your family, at least they’ll make sure you are always safe.
*Promise Day- Ironical*
Period.

This Promise

This promise
I keep making to myself
This promise 
Reminds me of ourself, 
When the Teddy Bear came, sat,
And is still sitting in the shelf. 
For, with this promise
We jumped every cleft.

Life for me has been unexpected
When you least look for,
It jumps upon and leaves you surprised,
Out of your sopor.

Things began to fall into its place
 Were floundering, but budging ahead in their own pace.
I saw the world, come together and then part
But, we are still there, from the very start.

Lucky I am,
To have found you by chance,
You made everything feel better,
With just your smile and a glance.

And this promise
I keep making to myself
This promise
Fills my life full of love in itself
For this promise 
Is to smile and keep gifting you smiles
As wide as the tide,
· ♥ Always! ♥ ·

··♦ Thank you for everything,
Helping me find that true road,
I’m hoping you will join me always,
As the life’s treasures unfold. ♦··

It had not stopped raining all evening, the dark grey clouds scudding across the city skyline until they were swallowed by night. The relentless downpour confided people to their homes, blanketing the street so that all that was audible outside was the occasional swish of tyres on a wet road, or the gurgle of swollen drains, or the brisk footsteps of someone trying to get home.

There were no messages on her answer phone, no winking envelopes suggesting a text message on her mobile. Her emails were confined to junk mails. Her facebook notifications indicated to zilch. She sat cross-legged on the sofa, sipping her second glass of Rum and rereading the text messages brawling and clamoring at her. There lay those letters, which she had begun to believe were only a figment of her imagination, and here were those text messages. She dodged glances between the two. It is nine hours since she left their apartment, but her mind is still humming. She sees the idyllic Boot; his eyes playfully teasing and searching only for his Jenny. She pictures her cosily cuddling with him, she sees her being adamant, being obstinate and yet being pampered by him.
Thiers, she thinks, was a ‘love’ affair that meant something. He was a man who cracked himself open in front of the woman he loved; he sought to understand her and tried to protect her, even from herself.  What did she have? A career falling into an abyss each day, no friends and a feelingless partner who hated the word ‘care’.

She knows she shouldn’t drink any more, but she feels angry, mournful, nihilistic. She pours another glass, cries, and rereads their letter again. Like Jenny, she now feels she knows those words by heart.

Being without you – even a few kilometers away – brings me a strange uneasiness of its own. I don’t know what more to say, because I am no speaker but one thing I know for sure is that I love you, I love you very much, and I wanna keep taking care of you just like this for the rest of my life.

She pictures her beau John standing right in front of her, hears him saying the words to her, and alcohol makes the two blur into each other – Boot and John. How does one lift one’s own life out of the mundane and into something epic? Surely one should be brave enough to ‘love’, isn’t it? She pulls her mobile phone from her bag, something dark and bold creeping under her skin. She flips it open to send a text to John, her fingers offish on the keys:

‘Please call. Just once. Need to hear from you please.’

She is giddy as she struggles with the send button. She knows he won’t respond. Conundrum. She presses the delete button.
Her head sinks into her hands and she weeps for Boot, for Jenny; she cries for herself, because nobody will ever love her like he loves Jenny. She cries because she is afraid of her own self, of her thoughts because she makes herself feel miserable and pitiful all the time.

She poleaxes her head subconsciously when she hears the door bell, she gets up to see.

“Hey fatso! Oh my God, scary fatso!”
She blinks, “Rory.”
“Nope, let his ghost in.”
She bites her lip and leans against the wall. There is a brief silence.
He eyes at her with a questioning countenance. She grimaces. “Not been a great evening.It’s fine if you want to go.” He takes another look around, “Well, drunkard! Where’s the tea pan?”
“It was a weird day. I, I -” suddenly she begins to cry again, tears pouring. “I’m sorry I’m soo- I don’t know why I am being so ridiculous.” She feels a hand on her shoulder, “Hey!” he says softly, “Hey, Shhh.. there’s nothing to worry.”
How would you know? She thinks. Nobody knows what is like me. I’m not even sure I know. He gathers her, trying to calm her down, “You’re beautiful and graceful and intelligent. Okay, perhaps not graceful”, he winks. She rests her head against his shoulder.
“I’m afraid.”
“Of?”
Her voice drops to a whisper, “I’m afraid nobody will ever love me like that.”
His eyes softened, his face shrunk a little, as if in sympathy. He picked up the letter and read aloud:

The day I first saw you, I was too shy to even come up and talk to you, and when you talked to me, words refused to come out. I’ve acted weird, I’ve acted crazy just to be noticed by you! I made a joke of myself when I bent down on my knees at the taxi station, but all that teasing of my friends seemed nothing when I got that worldly smile from you. Yes, you blushed! That expression, I have deep stored inside my heart.
Your smile means everything to me and I can go through any suffering to bring that.

She had closed her eyes. His voice, soft as cotton. She imagines how Jenny must have felt to be loved, adored, wanted.

I am not as good as you, but being with you, it makes me feel as if I’m something too. You are my most precious gift which I’ll always keep delicately safe with me.

Suddenly, she is driven out of it, she realizes it was – A dream. She still lays miserably with scattered letters and the Rum bottle.
Presently, -she would die for a hug right now.

कभी ज़ख्मों पर मलहम लगाकर देखो तुम 
कमज़ोर डगमगाती शाखाओं की ढाल बनकर देखो तुम |
गुमसुम सी, मासूम सी
जब वो तुमारी ओर देखती है
दुनिया से छुपकर,
ज़माने से बचकर
जब वो हाथ थामने के लिए बड़ती है |
तुम मूंह फेरते, तुम पीछे हटते
तुम लोगों से खुदको बचाते, तुम दुनिया से आँखें छुपाते 
लेकिन उसकी उम्मीद फिर भी नहीं टूटती है |

We all do stop by traffic signals every now and then and we all, surely, do come across young kids begging with wounded and bruised hands. I agree that’s a different sort of business that goes on in our country, but  have you ever stopped to humbly ask any one of the little souls; maybe have a complaisant conversation with one of them? Who knows, out of his innocence and ‘love for chocolates’, he might just end up telling you what goes on behind the scenes. Did you ever get down of your luxurious car to do so? Oh! Maybe you were just too scared of the rash Delhi roads to get out. Okay, understandable! I sympathize with you.
India. Winter. The hot tea. And the tea stalls. Yes, I know you get the very picture of it, we all Indians do. As much as we love to bring in the Indian-ness by binging in on a cup of strong hot tea (or I should say, a glass of strong hot tea) from a tea stall, that much we also like to ignore the things that goes around us. Yes! Yes! You would probably speed up your car to specially reach your favourite tea stall, get served by a chotu, but you would never care to even give a second thought to talk to the kid, trying to make him cognizant of the wrong and thus,saving him from child labour. Have you ever stopped to spend a minute of your precious time to do so? Or, probably it was just too cold for you to act. Okay, justifiable enough.
Living in a country like ours, where everyone is on a run, a different form of F1 race is seen on the roads everyday with new participants signing in each day. When the number of participants increase to a myriad, so does their racer-cars, and also does the road accidents. How many of us have actually come out to help a victim of an accident? Or maybe, you just considered it as just-another-histrionic-event and sped your car away from it. Of course, you were in a rush to reach home as you were missing your favorite TV serial -a better dramatic deal. Fair enough.
Then, can we say that humanity still dwells inside us? We easily expostulate for what we do or just say, “Who cares?!”

In one way or the other, we are always carping and find excuses to blame someone or something. How many times do we actually act? Sometimes Yes, Mostly No! Because most of us are just Too Busy To Care. We feel for the issue, imbue the commotion, we even feel inspired to do something, but most of the time, that inspiration loses its way in our packed, no-time-to-think, no-space-to-breathe, BUSY schedules.

Realizing, I can say that if I had stopped to help the tenuous woman in rags who abruptly fell on the road, maybe out of undernourishment, then maybe humaneness still existed, at least for her it did. If I had politely reacted to the kids begging near the shopping complexes, and hadn’t angrily rebuffed their presence when they touched my arm, then maybe mankind still persisted for some lots.

 Palpable feeling.
And It won’t go without any events of healing.
Yeah This time.
Because everything is disseminating into the air.
And this time
I am not too busy that I won’t care.

Rummaging through the dressing table of my thoughts, fiddling with the hair clips and the barrettes inside the chaotic silver box; searching for that tiny dazzling piece, fishing for an iota of glow and lease which can wash away all the filthy grease; I glance at the mirror. I look at the reflector sitting right in front of me, with a quiescent face much out of haze, gazing at the striking work when light meets its base. It engenders a new soul, which will always remain.

It sees you through when you cry. It hears you, sits with you when you don’t want anyone to pry. It supports you in the scorching Sun, it stays with you in the dark night’s run. When even the street lights fail to ease the plight, it moves along with you in the form of your shadow, so that you don’t lose your way through the seedy plateau.

I stare at the girl who stares back at me. Yeah, the girl in the mirror looking right in my eye with fervor.

Look at me, she says. Do you really recognize me, she surveys. You may think you see who I really am, you may feel you know where I come from. A mere mirror image, is what you call me. But, I am the ‘you’ which nobody besides me gets to see. Now, if I tell you about my part, I’m not just a figure lost in the gloominess of the dark; you can fool the world, but not my heart.

Back in time, you rebelled about the Mask that covers each one of us; trusting your thought, having faith in your insurgent slots, I hoped for more of your adamant chants, if that’s what made you rant. What happened to your expressions now, what blockades them from extruding out? Are they somewhere deep in hiding, or are they just safely residing?

I gaze at the woman in the mirror in amaze, wearing the same mask as me, but with a transparent veil and a higher sage. I utter with unrest, maybe even a little detest, “Who is this girl I see, staring straight back at me?”

I am now, I am you. I am someone that you were to transform and imbue, she expresses with a slight rage as if wanting to come out of the mirrored cage. This time with a saddened look, she shook, I don’t know what lies behind the glassy wall, is it a world where you are forced to hide your heart, or is it something you chose yourself to depart? I don’t know, I just don’t know, but one thing I would echo. There’s a heart that must be free to fly, that burns with a need to know the reasons why, when you keep it beneath a thickened ply.
I scowl as I raise my voice and frown, “Quit or I shall leave. Everybody arrives with their own set of preachings, coming close and then screeching. They know how to categorize and theorize, but nobody really knows how to empathize.”

Her countenance deepened, her brows wrinkled due to the feelings that under went vigorous fissions. And, this time she asked, “Who is this girl I see, staring straight back at me?”

With this she vanished in the hour of commotion, but she still remains with me with the same notion.

Standing in the line
Managing to breathe in the filth, in the grime
Pushing back the crass throng
As if fighting in war time;
I aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle.                      
I continued my sheepish-raw-steps
Though examples seemed rather inept.

But, in this course of tan
While the flooded line moved with its own plan
Stepping over you, suffocating you through;
I found a place to rant
To express; which I never could pant.
In this sluggish walk, tip-toeing my way through the flock
I, surely, aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle
But, I did find my piece-of-pax
Even though at the cost of a little tax.                                         

With the support of the side railings
Gradually entering the house of all ailings
Little by little, metamorphosing into someone more sensible
I regained my voice
Long lost in the miseries of choice.
Yeah, I must have aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle
But, I pulled a pour of my own
That I didn’t have to borrow or loan .

Shambling with endurance
Trying to grip a strenuous balance
Falling, bruising, treading and struggling
I finally reached the door step.
Now its my moment to knock it hard             
And exclaim, without any cowardly regard.
Coz I know I have aged a little
Maybe got even more brittle
But, I received a refuge from impertinence
Gained a shelter filled with breeze,
Away from any hindrance.
The journey will always continue
Just like my feelings will never subdue
And now with this prep,
I take my first step towards the door step.

** This post is dedicated to my blog, which just completed a year. It has been bearing and will keep on silently bearing my expectorates; trying hard to decode my jabberwockies.