Here was the romance of growing up
In the days of yore when it was all throwing up
Then, life had no aims to think on
Then, life had this thing to always move on
Come what may
That was the only way
That was the romance of those pre-college years
When eyes followed eyes, when ears were just ears
A fancy bicycle or an open rickshaw ride
The days were as narrow as the choices were wide
Sometime, it was all about that comic book
Or a routine hide and seek in every possible nook
That orange, or red, or green, or cocoa ice-cream
Was like a trophy in every night’s dream
The joyous rupture of getting a cricket bat
And then some lashing words from that uncle fat
Oh, that daily craving and charm for hot brews
Starting the day early on a sporting cruise
Thinking that everything could be yours
And all you needed were multiple doors
And you would go to every shore
To try with your random oar
Come what may
That would be the only way
That was the romance of growing up
Walking and dancing and showing up
No matter if it didn’t make you feel comfortable
No matter if it didn’t conform to some label
All that mattered was the inner urge
Something, that was notorious for its impulsive surge
To get things done, to meet them all
When past didn’t matter, when future didn’t make it fall
When eyes followed eyes, when ears were just ears
That was the romance of those pre-college years

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –



I am a regular reader – and of what not.

And I love good books.

Someone once asked me how I selected my books.

Now, various facets may be to this – that how I select my books. But the direct one is – I go through some of the pages, scan it, read a few and make my decision on whether to pick one.

Most of my books of the lot, my personal library, have entered my life like this. And I have a healthy library.

Then there are books that I know about – like about the author and the quality of the work – and the subject matter.

These books are always a ‘decision-making’ proposition for me.

And the book by Rakesh Kayasth ji (or Rakesh Sir – that is how I know him), ‘Kos Kos Shabdhosh’ comes in this category.

The days with Rakesh Sir at Videocon Tower, Delhi, were really good days of sitting around, talking on some issue, and discussing a thing or two, whenever we got time, or whenever we got mood. And with him came some good friends.

Rakesh Sir had been given a seat with us and our conversation began like that only – a senior who was willing to listen to his junior – who believed his junior could talk sense. And we would discuss things – from Manoj Kumar’s Clerk to the anti-corruption movement led by Anna Hazare. The visit to the Ramlila Ground after the office hours during the agitation led by Anna Hazare was one such product of our sitting hours. Sometimes, he would drop me to my place at IP Extension, Patparganj while en-route to his home in Ghaziabad.

Our discussions would not have a definite purpose mostly and that was for good. He was famous as the writer of our network. He was famous as crispy script writer who was called to deal in with complex subject matters. He would always look in a thoughtful mood, like thinking about his subject(s) or character(s) at hand.

He is a sensitive human being and a writer in that garb.

My time spent in that office led me to wait for the day he would write his book. Though he left the city some three years ago for better options in Mumbai, and we could not spoken with after that, our Facebook pages kept me in touch with him, even if irregularly because I am not a regular Facebook user.

And through his Facebook posts and columns, I came to know about his book ‘Kos Kos Shabdkosh’. And it was the one book I was waiting to read because I knew the author personally.

And Flipkart delivered it in lightning fast time, within 24 hours of placing the order.

Yes, I could not read it then, due to my long engagement with the AIIMS and winding hours of visit.

But now it is here. And I am writing about it.

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –


My city calls
As the Spring falls

It’s been some time
Since the last design

Of a quick stopover
On a nascent crossover

To its lanes
Through its planes

But it played out not
As it was thought

With a half-done trip
With some missing kick

And my city calls
To its hallowed halls

For the needed next
To meet the other west

It’s the rewind time
Of that singing line

To live that day again
To read that text again

On the wilder rhymes
To the random mimes

Holding the unsung ink
Twisting the chanted zing

From its steps of life
From its flow of light

Yes, my city calls
As the time since recalls

To live a life again
To go beyond death again

To join the ride again
To feel that love again

Through its winding paths
On its mystic ghats

Where colours enchant
As the days demand

A city longs
For my unsung songs..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –


It was coloured fresh,

Like the rainbow,

It was so earthly,

With the fragrance,

Meeting was mutual,

Like it always had been,

Ends of the horizon,

Talking to each other,

And to the places,

They met on the trip,

Spread across the life,

Coloured by nature,

It was so connecting,

Words had their way,

Finding the meaning,

Following the silence,

Making it brighter,

The rainbow this evening,

Had the colours of hope,

With your scent in the air,

Reuniting with memories,

When we talked,

Of colours, of life, of us..

©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey –