I read The River Woman and Other Poems slowly, the way one reads something that does not want to be rushed. A few poems at night. One in the quiet between two tasks. Sometimes just a single page, because the lines had a way of lingering—like the aftersound of water moving past stones long after the river itself has slipped out of view.   Renu Roy’s poetry does not announce itself loudly. It arrives softly, almost tentatively, and then stays. This is a collection that lives in

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 prec