Sameer Gudhate Presents the Book Review of Meri Aankhon Ka Mehtaab by Neelam Saxena Chandra

Meri Aankhon Ka Mehtaab doesn’t ask to be read; it allows itself to be discovered, the way calm finds you only after exhaustion has done its work. I came to it out of habit, a few spare minutes, no particular expectation. And then something unfamiliar happened — the noise inside me softened. The world slowed its grip. A gentle warmth settled in, the kind you don’t notice immediately, only realize later that it stayed long after you did.

Neelam Saxena Chandra’s reputation precedes her, but this collection doesn’t rely on stature. It relies on intimacy. The title itself feels like an invitation — mehtaab, not blazing sunlight, but moonlight that doesn’t interrogate you, only listens. This is a slim Kindle volume, a bouquet of poems that read quickly, yet refuse to leave quickly. I found myself finishing it in one sitting and then reopening pages at random, the way one revisits old messages not to reread, but to feel again.

The narrative pulse of the book is gentle. There is no dramatic arc, no loud declaration. Instead, there is a steady emotional pacing, a slow inhale and exhale of love, longing, loneliness, memory, and hope. Pain exists here, unmistakably, but it never collapses into despair. Each poem carries a quiet reassurance, as if saying: yes, this hurts — but you will wake up tomorrow. That balance gives the collection its literary integrity. The prose never strains for beauty; it trusts simplicity, and that trust becomes its strength.

What stayed with me most was how everyday moments are treated with respect. These poems don’t chase grand metaphors; they notice the small emotional tremors we often dismiss. A fleeting thought. An unanswered question about identity. A silence between two people who once knew each other well. One poem like “Koun Hu Mein” feels less like a declaration and more like a mirror gently tilted toward the reader. You don’t see the poet alone; you see yourself standing beside her, equally unsure, equally curious.

There is also a tactile softness to the reading experience. The language flows smoothly, almost conversational, making the emotional impact feel earned rather than imposed. The inclusion of photographs and images adds another narrative layer, allowing emotion to be felt visually as well as verbally. It never distracts; it deepens. Even the thoughtful explanations of certain Urdu or non-Hindi words feel like a hand being extended rather than a lesson being taught, widening accessibility without flattening meaning.

Emotionally, this book works in waves. At first, it soothes. Then it nudges. Then it lingers. I noticed myself pausing more than once, not because a line was complicated, but because it was familiar in an unsettling way. The kind of familiarity that makes you think of people you haven’t called, feelings you neatly folded away, versions of yourself you quietly outgrew. That inner impact is where the book truly transforms — from a poetry collection into a personal reflection space.

If there is a hesitation, it lies only in expectation. Readers looking for sharp experimentation or dramatic tonal shifts may find the calm consistency limiting. The voice remains tender throughout. But that choice feels deliberate. This is not a book meant to challenge your intellect as much as it holds your emotional hand. Its functional value lies in comfort, reread potential, and emotional accessibility. It is poetry for late nights, quiet mornings, or moments when you want to feel understood without being explained to.

Culturally, Meri Aankhon Ka Mehtaab feels timeless. Its themes are universal, its language gentle, its shelf life long. It fits naturally into contemporary Hindi literature that values emotional honesty over ornamentation. Chandra’s journey here feels confident — an author who knows that softness can carry strength.

I would recommend this book to readers who enjoy introspection, who like their literary experiences calm but resonant, who believe transformation doesn’t always arrive with thunder. Read it slowly, or read it all at once. Carry it with you. Let it remind you that even in dim moments, there is light — sometimes not in the sky, but quietly settled behind your own eyes. If that sounds like something you need, this mehtaab is waiting.

If you’re craving poetry that feels like a pause rather than a performance, this book deserves a place on your nightstand.

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