There are three worlds in Ashok's poetic cosmos: the first entails strife, spin and dangerous choices; the second is the place where we're all going, the inn we visit in our old age; and the third is the celestial - where the stars wheel and tumble, where the moon shines its beautiful light and yields to the harsh blaze of the sun, and where creation is still happening. So while Ashok's approach is personal, he also sounds a note of universal concern, applauding nature's majesty; deploring man's lies, arrogance and futile materialism. He also looks over his shoulder at his motherland, to the mango grove at Kashipur, and has a gentle laugh at the expense of Indian politics. Life's a circus, after all, and we must find happiness in 'the little things' as well as the great. Maybe these ninety-plus poems are among those small transports of delight; maybe they're our rickshaws to a better day.

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