facts and figments

What is going wrong among our youth?

2012-02-15T05:36:00.000-08:00

Being a news editor, I sit back and get astounded at news flowing into our news bulletin everyday. Of late, accidents and stabbing cases have been frequent. Almost all accident causes are over-speeding. While stabbing case among youths seems to be popular...and causes are vague but 'very serious'. Within last few weeks, several stabbing cases has been reported. Crime has been growing among youths in the country like fungus over rotting cheese.

This is a serious problem. If not looked upon, it will certainly cause serious problems in future. It is, sure, the tip of iceberg-- an abyss of reasons must be looming within this problem.

But there must be a solution too.

This is the report from BBS NEWS Bulletin (15th February):

"Three boys are under police custody for stabbing two victims on two separate incidents.

The boys, all 20 years old, were arrested last night at around 10 pm from Olakha, in the capital. All three suspects are school dropouts from Wangdiphodrang.

According to Thimphu Police, the first incident occurred on the night of 13^th February.

The three suspects had come to Thimphu in a taxi and had asked the driver to drop them to Zilukha. The suspects, then, stabbed the driver on his arm and knee. But the driver somehow managed to escape.

The suspects took away his car keys, mobile phone and 3000 ngultrum. After that, they had headed towards Punakha.

The next day, they drove back towards Thimphu. On their way, they stopped another taxi at around 5 AM, and stabbed the driver. They robbed 6000 ngultrum and mobile phone from him. The victim suffered a cut on his arm but managed to escape.

Meanwhile, Thimphu police started an extensive search for the suspects with the help from Thimphu Traffic police.

At around 9pm yesterday, police caught the suspects from Olakha in an alto car they had stolen from one of the victims. They had changed the vehicle number plate.

Along with the stolen items belonging to the victims, police also seized one samurai sword, one Khukhuri, two daggers and 92 N10 tablets."

Stabbing (among our youth) in our country has become what shooting at schools has become in the Western countries.

I remember reading about similar juvenile delinquency or youth crime in the USA, in the book, The Tipping Point. It talks about how youth crime increased in the USA one time, and how it declines mysteriously.

"By 1992 there were 2,154 murders and over 600,000 serious crimes in one year in New York City. But then crime begin to fall precipitously, with murder falling by 60+ percent and all serious crime by over 50%."

Meanwhile, the most celebrated nonfiction book of the year, Freakonomics, talks about the theory on how legalizing abortion cuts down crime rate-- how legalizing abortion saves young mothers from giving birth to unwanted babies who would have nothing to live for...

It basically talks about how small things have a huge impact on some biggest problems of our lives.

There might be similar reasons for the escalating youth crime in our society too. There might be solutions too... solutions that are small but efficient. We cannot change our youth's attitude or behavior over a night, at a go... but there might be small ways we can help them be good and rational-- guide them and show them the right tracks of life.

Redefining ‘Life’ (with Life of Pi, a novel)

2012-02-04T23:52:00.000-08:00

“My life is like a memento mori painting from European art: there is always a grinning skull at my side to remind me of the folly of human ambition. I mock this skull. I look at it and I say, "You've got the wrong fellow. You may not believe in life, but I don't believe in death. Move on!"

Sometimes, all that matter is, reading a nice book and thanking one-self for reading the brilliant.   

Reading a nice book is like… stumbling upon a soft warm banana-oatmeal muffins while you are sipping your favourite cup of latté. 

I felt full and fulfilled after reading the novel, ‘Life of Pi’. It served me what a good meal does to a hungry person… I was craving for a good read. And a good read it was. 

The blend of facts and fiction in ‘Life of Pi’ is not much of “an allegory or magical-realist fable, but as an edge-of-seat adventure”. 

It is a magical story of survival, magic and faith in God and oneself. The novel talks about a 16 year old boy (Pi Patel) who survives for months in a life boat with a giant Bengal tiger (Richard Parker) in the middle of Ocean. 

The magical and at-the-edge survival story is almost unbelievable— far-fetched because it is magical and fantastic. 

Every chapter takes you to a new beginning, a new end, a new danger, a new disappointment, and a new HOPE. I like the ‘hope’ element in the story… it blends well with every plot, to keep with the reader’s vigilant mood. It gives the reader a hope that ‘the story must have a happy ending’. I prayed all through my reading, I crossed my fingers as I flipped the pages, I hoped well for Pi. 

And with this magical hope, amid nothingness and hopelessness, Pi survived. 

“This was the terrible cost of Richard Parker. He gave me a life, my own, but at the expense of taking one. He ripped the flesh off the man's frame and cracked his bones. The smell of blood filled my nose. Something in me died then that has never come back to life." (Quotes from Life of Pi)

“Richard Parker has stayed with me. I've never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart…” (Quotes from Life of Pi)

And Pi cried like a baby when Richard Parker leaves him without a proper goodbye … Pi, who didn’t cry so much when the boat carrying his family drowned, when his companions died one after another on the life boat, and when he was dying of hungry and thrust in the middle of ocean with the fearful tiger on-board.

But Pi cried when Richard Parker (who was a continuous threat to his life on boat) left him after the struggle just ends. Richard Parker, the ungrateful beast, just vanish into a jungle…leaving Pi alone, to celebrate the survival. 

~Life is sometimes so beautifully magical and tragic that we are left with no explanations or answers. But we move on… live on… with bitter-sweet memories of best and worst times of our lives.  

From Chow Rasta’s Happy Prince to Buddha Point

2011-12-26T08:44:00.000-08:00

“High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt…”

These lines are from my all-time favourite short story by Oscar Wilde’s The Happy Price (1888).

When I saw this very brass statue at Chow Rasta in Darjeeling, I couldn't help but relate it to ‘The Happy Prince’. It is a beautiful heart-breaking short story about a golden statue and a sparrow—it sings of compassion and bitter realities of life.

In the story, a happy prince who turned a blind eye to the suffering of his citizens during his lifetime is reborn as a statue in the centre of the city. As a statue, he cannot help but observe all the hardships looming in his city.

So, as a golden statue, he gives away all its grandeur and gold to make the lives of the poor little better. The sparrow bird serves as his messenger.

Well, as I sat on a bench next to the brass statue at Darjeeling’s Chow Rasta, I wondered if it could also see the looming misery over the little bustling town of Darjeeling—if it could see some people suffering to make a living, while some making merriment over their luxury.

I don’t know much about Darjeeling’s society but an incident that occurred a day back then, made me feel sad.

I was on my way back to my hotel, and I just wanted to grab a hot ‘chola’ on the way-- so I had stopped near a chola stall when a group of drunk young guys were snacking. I threw my share of chola after seeing a young man, pissed drunk and knelling before the stall. He was so drunk that he fell and sat on the dust, and was still eating. I could smell the filthy stink of alcohol... and I felt a cramp inside my stomach... I felt weird and I lost my appetite.

I told my friend about my feelings... she said, “What do you expect? The guy must be poor, jobless and miserable-- what else will he do than get drunk at early evening hours and forget about misery...”

Next morning, as I sat next to the brass statue at Chow Rasta, I wondered how many people will be suffering-- and how lost some people could be. And I wondered ...if a ‘happy prince’ lived within the statue.

Similarly, we have a golden Buddha statue (at Buddha Point/ Kuenselphodrang) over seeing Thimphu Valley, perhaps, observing the lives of all of us from there. I hope some of our lives are not as miserable as in the Wilde story. I hope it doesn’t bring tears to Buddha’s eyes to see some suffer while some flaunt away their luxury.

Darjeeling Express

2011-12-21T21:19:00.000-08:00

I visited Darjeeling after over five years again... and nothing seems to have changed-- same old little town, crowded traffic, honking mahindra taxis, colourful small shops and same old favourite momo and thukpa stalls.

But things were different now... maybe we change. Maybe I have changed. 

I realized I would never come back again.... not with a planned trip. 

I love the popular leisure spot 'Chow Rasta' (Cross roads), the book stalls and coffee shops there... I love sitting there alone, sipping a steaming cup of coffee... all alone... it makes me feel 'whole'.... or maybe myself. 

Things were different then. Maybe I was a student, studying nearby. Today I have two jobs waiting for me back home... concerns about work and bosses bothered me... It wasn't a holiday... it as a contemplation-day and I wondered if I was happy with my life, my career and myself.

As I blended amid the crowded noisy traffic, and amid the shadows of the structures around...I felt an urgent need to go back home. I felt lost in the strange town.
The town has not changed. Perhaps, I have changed.

'Good Hair Day'

2011-11-22T07:52:00.000-08:00

Thimphu

2011-11-20T23:35:00.000-08:00

*Picture taken from Buddha Point, 2011

A Garden Song

2011-08-05T22:31:00.000-07:00

Amid hurrying crowd and rushing hours

Between stiff buildings and passages

A garden, I have, of flowers and dandelions

Where green leaves rear the budding blossom

Where giant willow trees dance amongst the breeze

Where homeless birds sing early morning song

I wake up every morn to gasp the garden air

To enjoy the air I breadth and the garden I see

To feel the hush, to heal the rush

Flowers of pink, purple and blue

Apples, peaches and others

Blessed is the garden and who owns you

Every day as I peek from my window

I relish the sight of my neighbour’s garden

And weave a line or two of a garden song

In love again...

2011-06-15T22:30:00.000-07:00

I fell in Love...

In love again...

With the green of the meadows...

With the blue of the sky....

With everything around me... everything that connects me to the green meadows... to the blue sky... to the nature... and to myself.

~location: Bumthang

The paradoxical anomaly of happiness

2011-02-13T21:26:00.000-08:00

There’s good news and there’s bad news. The good news is that the bulk of the Bhutanese population is relatively happy. The bad news is that the poor are miserable.

Although there are no accurate indicators in place to measure and gauge the psychological wellbeing, a recent research conducted by the Centre for Bhutan Studies (CBS) shows that 5% of the population, comprising of farmers and housewives, are reportedly the most stressed out group.

The term psychological wellbeing generally refers to how people evaluate their lives and, according to the CBS findings, psychological wellbeing has been defined in terms of the internal experience of the respondent and the perception of their own lives, focusing on momentary moods and long-term states of their mental wellbeing.

Psychological wellbeing by gender

Surveys conducted in many countries have consistently revealed that men and women have similar levels of happiness and ‘overall life satisfaction’ contrary to the study on life quality and happiness, which showed that women in the country have a lower ‘life quality’ and a lower level of happiness.

Analyses of almost all the satisfaction levels regarding specific domains reveal that men are more satisfied than women.

The general health questionnaire which was used to measure psychological distress was also observed to be higher in females.

The time pressure and stress probably increased for women due to the dual responsibilities of looking after the hearth and at the workplace, the report says.

The overall findings indicate that females in Bhutan have a lower wellbeing than males.

Psychological wellbeing by employment status

When happiness level was analyzed with employment status, the unemployed were the ‘least happy’ followed by housewives. The same category fared poorly in terms of life quality. The results also indicate that the unemployed were prone to high levels of stress.

Unemployment is a major issue of concern in Bhutan. This has simply occurred because the working age population has grown faster than the number of jobs.

The study reveals that happiness peaks around the age group of 16 to 30.

Psychological wellbeing indicators: Sources of Happiness

The psychological wellbeing interview started with an open-ended question, asking respondents the sources of their wellbeing and happiness. The main objective of the question was to gather information on the perception of happiness and to obtain conditions that would favor happiness. The respondents were given an option of listing at least seven factors that were important for them to lead a happy and contented life.

Financial security

A majority of 51% reported financial security to be the number one factor in leading a happy and content life. Within this category, respondents were mainly concerned with the presence of an adequate income to provide for a decent standard of living. Some respondents also mentioned the need of money for future security.

Access to roads

32% of the respondents identified access to roads as a key source of happiness. The majority of the respondents who listed this were people from rural areas, mainly from the eastern region.

Education & good health

Education received a high priority with 26% of respondents equating education with happiness along with good health, such as possession of a healthy body and absence of disability.

Family relationships

26% of the respondents stated good family relationships to be a potential source of happiness, mentioning the importance of understanding amongst family members, having ample family time and a successful marriage.

The research also shows that 90% of the respondents were satisfied in relationships with their immediate family members. In order to capture some of these aspects of social support, the respondents were asked whether assistance was available during sickness and at times of financial or emotional needs – the findings were that 53% of the respondents reported that help was forthcoming during sickness. Only 2% reported receiving no help.

Agricultural productivity

Agricultural productivity was also regarded to be vital with 21.5% saying that increase in crop productivity would certainly increase their happiness level. The respondents referred to the availability of agricultural equipment and proper irrigation channels. Respondents also pointed out that possessing more agriculture land would enable them to grow more crops and thereby increase their wellbeing.

Faith and spiritual practices

About 9% of the respondents said that practicing dharma, receiving blessings from renowned lamas and being able to visit various religious sites would enhance their happiness.

Stress level in Bhutanese society

Analyses show that 12% of the respondents are highly stressed. They are mostly farmers and housewives. Virtually all of the farmers who were interviewed said that stress was a major problem in their lives.

Farmers traditionally work long hours, often in bad weather. Moreover, due to the steep terrain, most of the farmers have to put in extra labor. The study confirmed that of all the occupational groups, farmers are prone to and suffer considerable stress.

About 35% reported financial insecurity. This was followed by death and illness. Next were social relationships, with factors such as misunderstandings, divorces, enmity in the community and the like.

Labor pressure is another determinant of stress. Respondents mostly referred to labor shortage and woola. Farm labor shortage is one of the pressing concerns faced by Bhutanese farmers, resulting in low agriculture productivity. 11% reported agricultural constraints with problems of wildlife and lack of proper irrigation channels. Educational concerns cited were academic competencies and problems affecting students in boarding schools, such as the lack of proper hostel facilities.

The survey shows that a strong relationship exists between subjective health satisfaction measures and happiness. Current data reveals that 58% of the respondents were satisfied with their health conditions whereas only 8% reported dissatisfaction.

Correlation analysis reveals that job satisfaction is positively related to life quality and happiness. 63% were satisfied in their major occupations while 31% were fairly satisfied. Not surprisingly, respondents were dissatisfied with their finances. Only 29% reported financial satisfaction.

Happiness level among the dzongkhags

The study reveals Thimphu as the happiest valley in the kingdom, followed by Haa. The saddest dzongkhag was Pemagatshel. The capital’s residents also enjoyed the highest ‘life quality’ with Pemagatshel scoring the ‘lowest life quality’. But it’s not all sunshine in the capital. Thimphu has the highest occurrence of negative emotions. Gasa was the most positive. And again, Thimphu scored the lowest in terms of spirituality. Besides, Thimphu ranked at the bottom of the spiritual path. Honoring the gods is a passé façade in the capital but then again, Thimphu took the most ‘urban town’ with the highest number of infrastructure.

The study shows that urbanization does not necessarily gel with happiness and wellbeing. The establishment of infrastructure such as hospitals or schools is important but also as comparable are the non-material aspects of life such as social and communal harmony.

The last few Snowflakes

2011-01-20T00:23:00.000-08:00

*Last few weeks…
Like a little girl I made my wish
Awaiting the snowfall

*Last few days…
Like an impatient bird I sat on my veranda
Counting the snowflakes

*Last few hours…
Like a cranky granny I sipped a masala chai
Cursing the cold sky

*Last few minutes…
Like an enlightened soul I forfeited my wish
Realizing the worthless wait

*O’ the last few snowflakes…
Like the fireflies, please, dance my nights away
Soothing this dismayed heart

~ dedicated to all my friends who restlessly waited for the snowfall last few days.

The last of the letters and the postmen

2010-12-28T21:23:00.000-08:00

There was once a time when a magical romance existed between a blank page and a pen as the writer wrote down his or her feelings to his or her beloved who would be expectantly waiting for the postman every day.

Such special letters are now replaced by easier, faster, and cheaper e-mails and SMS’s which even though convenient, do not bring the same pleasure to the recipient.
E-mail is obviously much faster than ‘snail mail’. This means that information can be exchanged much more quickly and the writing has become a lot more informal as a result.
The joy of expressing one's thoughts on paper, posting it and waiting for the response or the joy one felt when the postman handed over a letter with a teasing smile, or the disappointment when the postman didn’t turn up or came empty-handed. Those striking moments were all worth it.
Some one told me that in order to improve his vocabulary and spelling ability, he would learn new words and use them each time he wrote a letter, in order to impress the recipients of his letters. He would even go as far as writing to his relatives and cousins who would rarely bother to send a reply.

According to an English teacher in Thimphu, one of the reasons for the decline in the standard of English in recent years could be because nowadays everyone is using abbreviated words while writing emails or texting SMS.
Most people feel it is cool to use “v” for “we” or “c u” for “see you” and so on while texting messages. As a result, most students are weak in spelling these days.In the past people were very careful about their spellings while writing letters.
Recently a friend told me that she had many pen-pals from abroad as well as from within the country to whom she used to write dozens of letters. And this used to make her feel special.
“But today, it is sad,” she said. “Although we still correspond by email, on Facebook and Twitter, and chat on Skype, it doesn’t bring the same thrill and excitement that receiving a letter used to bring.”

Perhaps, it is because of the convenient and perfunctory nature of emails and SMS’s that they do not make the recipient feel special, as do handwritten letters, she said. There is an undeniable sense that those who write a letter have thought their comments through, thereby making it a much more sincere mode of communication.
However, letter writing is time consuming and thus the need for a quicker means of communication for this busy world in which we live today.
A majority of youths interviewed said that e-mail and SMS are much more convenient than handwritten letters since they are quick, cheap and fast. Letters can sometimes take weeks to reach their destination, or go even missing in the post.
Therefore, who wants to wait for letters for days and waste time when so much is now possible with the internet and the mobile phone?

Besides, e-mail and SMS reduce the consumption of paper, they said, adding that internet and mobile has more advanced facilities like photos and videos which are more upbeat and happening.
According to a spokesperson of Bhutan Telecom, every month about 4.3 million SMS’s are sent by the B-mobile users. This comes to about 51.8 million SMS’s in a year.

Today on average, about 8,000 e-mails are sent and received every day by the 13,767 registered subscribers of Druknet. Thus, in a month about over 413,000 e-mails, and in a year more than 5 million e-mails are sent and received by the Druknet subscribers.
An e-mail is an ideal format for quick messages and reminders. However, for real communication, there is no substitute for a handwritten letter.
Even though Facebook and Skype have the advantage of being able to show photos, videos and games, yet nothing can replace the joy of receiving and opening a nicely packed and carefully written letter from the people that you care about the most.

Bhutan Post’s records show that within the last decade the number of ordinary mails has come down drastically from 1.2 million letters in 2000, to just 0.16 million in 2010.
However, in spite of the dramatic reduction in the volume of postal traffic, Bhutan Post still maintains 75 offices today - four general post offices; 40 post offices and 31 community mail offices.

Of lights, shades and colours

2010-11-10T08:11:00.000-08:00

"Sometimes it is all about lights

...shades...

... and colours....

... that make a big difference....

... in life...
... or photography~

Women and Progress

2010-11-02T23:19:00.000-07:00

It is said that we can tell the condition of a nation by looking at the status of the women in the country-- if that is true, then, there is a general confusion when we look at the status of our Bhutanese women.

We say that Bhutanese women are more privileged as compared to the women in other regions. Well then, why are Bhutanese women under-represented in most sectors?

Therefore, it is important we compare the status of Bhutanese women to the status of Bhutanese men, which will, perhaps, fetch us more precise explanations.
In 1980s women played a significant role in the agricultural work force in Bhutan, where they outnumbered men, since most of these men were leaving for the service sectors and other urban industrial and commercial activities.

This was an evident outcome of parents sending their boys to schools and keeping their girls confined to the farms.
Those days, about 95 percent of all Bhutanese women from the ages of fifteen to sixty-four years were involved in agricultural work, compared to only about 78 percent of men in the same age range.
Conversely, women in Bhutan have also enjoyed the rights to financial autonomy. Matrilineal inheritance systems usually grant Bhutanese women access to land, as well as its ownership.
Records have it that about 60 percent of rural women have land registered in their names as a majority of Bhutanese women work in the agricultural sector.
Fortunately, both men and women have the same legal rights and access to property other than land, or else, it would have been futile for those women toiling in the fields.
With only ten women in Bhutanese Parliament today, Bhutanese politics is seen as a male-dominated sphere where the woman politicians are said to be struggling with gender disparities.
However, the existing female members of the parliament and the local government have claimed in the local media that they are doing rather well since they consider themselves more straightforward and with stronger conviction compared to their male counterparts.
Contrarily, we cannot overlook the issues of domestic violence in our society where most women suffer silently.

The current surveys conducted among the civil servants and the households in Thimphu reveal that about 77% of the women interviewed suffered physical abuse, 54% emotional torment and 23% forced sex.
It is found out that most women in Bhutan limit themselves to the cultural belief in the ‘fate’ or ‘karma’ of being born as a female and thus, consider themselves deserving the sufferings.
On the positive note, the recent drafting of the Domestic Violence Bill would perhaps, change the scenario.
It is certain that the low social and economic status of women can be both the origin and the consequence of such aggression against the weaker sex.
Therefore, it is crucial that we encourage more women participation in both economic and social sectors, which will not only provide women with financial returns but also enrich their social status.
Amusingly, in the poverty estimation report released earlier this year by the National Statistics Bureau of Bhutan and the World Bank, it is observed that where there is less female labor participation, there is more poverty in the region.
While in the dzongkhags like Zhemgang, Lhuntse and Samdrup Jongkhar where there are extreme poverty, there are less female labor participations, and in the dzongkhags like Punakha and Wangdue where women labor participation is high, there is less poverty.
Therefore, empowering women economically and socially will definitely boost the country’s economy.
Then, perhaps, we would be able to judge the condition of our country by looking at the status of our women.

My Dragonfly Secrets

2010-08-20T23:12:00.000-07:00

Do you know a secret about dragonflies?

When I was a little girl, I would sometimes run away from my math classes and go to the river banks near my school for some very serious reasons.

Reason one, I hated numbers and mathematics and I always thought I was too good to become a scientist or an astronaut.

Reason two, I always liked sitting near river banks, in silence, watching the tiny tadpoles which I strictly believed were fishes until I started studying biology.

Third and the most important reason was that I knew a little secret about the dragonflies that flew near the river banks.

I don’t remember who let out the secret to me, but I had learned from sources unknown that the dragonflies were mystical creatures that had direct contact with God.

I had already made my plans to send a letter to God.

I had a list of complaints and wishes.

Complaint one: there was a boy in my class who bullied me and robbed things from my geometry box. I wanted God to punish him by making him fail his exams.

Complaint two: maths again-- I hated my maths teacher, let him suffer from diarrhoea for a week because I wasn’t prepared for a Saturday maths test, and I needed time.

Complaint three: why did God create only one Sunday? I wanted god to create more Sundays so that I could watch ‘Shaktiman’ on TV more often, and also have ample time to play hide-and-seek with my friends.

Since I thought I was a very smart girl, I skillfully tied a long sheet of paper where I beautifully jotted down my complaints, and tied it on a dragonfly’s tail with the Bajaj thread from my mother sewing machine.

Since the Bajaj threads were very strong and long-lasting, I thought, my letter would remain tagged to the dragonfly’s tail until the dragonfly decides to cut off its tail out of sheer madness.

I raised the dragonfly as high as possible and jolted it up, towards the sky, where I imagined I could see God desperately waiting for my complaint list.

But the dragonfly dropped down... on the ground.

“Fly you lazy butt!” I shouted, and it flew… flew few yards and it fell down again.

I rushed near and saw it die slowly, staring at me sorrowfully-- and perhaps, saying it had failed me.

I was sorry and I wanted to cry.

Then I decided never to write a complaint letter in my life. Never again!

Few days later, when the gloom in my head was over, I decided to give it a second try.

I decided to catch a healthier dragonfly, and write my wish list and send it to heaven.

After catching a red healthy-looking dragonfly which somehow resembled ‘He-man’ from the comics, I felt it had all the power of the universe to take my wish-list to the heaven.

I fed it with some milk powder which I always stole from mother’s kitchen shelf.

Then I tied my wish-list on the little He-man’s tail with Bajaj thread for obvious reasons.

I lifted it high and said, “Fly, my little messenger to heaven.”

And it flew right away. Vigorously!

Few days later, almost all my wishes came true.

I rather not talk about the entire wish list here as some were too personal and silly.

However, one of the most special wish took few years to come true.

That very wish was to grow up into a woman.

As a little girl, I thought I would never grow up. I wanted to grow up and experience the grace, the intellect and the attitude of adulthood... simply enjoy the beauty of being a grown-up.

Conversely, now, as an adult, I wish if I could still catch dragonflies, make a wish list and send it to heaven to relive those blissful childhood yet again.

Ten things from my closet

2010-08-20T22:36:00.000-07:00

About the things I have lost and the things I just found…

Old diary, love letters, Archie’s greeting cards, junk jewelries, old photographs, Erich Segal’s The Love Story, ‘The Beatles', sketch books, torn untailored jeans, and then, I found something I had long forgotten and lost:
Me.
I have lost myself over the years… the vigorous little girl I used to be.
I found back my closet after almost ten years, when my mother sent me my childhood belongings from home recently.
I lied to my boss and took a day’s break from office and spent the entire day rediscovering my childhood, my adolescent and myself.
My old diary was full of silly love poems I had written for a boy during my school days and whose face I have forgotten by now.
Today, all I am left with is few vague memories of first love and old faded love letters.
How immature were my perception about love and life then; and how I would create endless poetic rainbows over my sky!
Yet still, every silly poem I would weave then, I would fall in love with them.
I was blissful; I was innocent; and I was a diehard poet then.
I still had few Archie’s greeting cards my friends had send me a decade back.
I re-read the whole collection and calculated how many friends I have lost over the years; and how few of them still occupy a very special place in my heart.
I was prized; I was loved; and I was their darling then.
It amused me when I found my junk collections included few weird accessories, antique jewelries and different buttons.
I wanted to use them again but I found myself too old, plain and unfit for them anymore.
I was young; I was vivid; and I felt beautiful then.
My photo album had more than hundred photographs and each photograph holds a thousand of beautiful memories.
I stared at myself in each photo and rejoiced how I have lived each moment abundantly and how I have changed over the years.
I was passionate; I was enthusiastic; and I lived my life to the fullest then.
When I read ‘The Love Story’ again, it made no sense at all; so, I wondered why I liked it before.
I was tender; I was quixotic; and I belonged to a world far-far-away.
Listening to ‘yellow submarine’, I examined my sketch book and untailored jeans; and laughed at them, reminiscing how I wanted to become an artist and a fashion designer.
I was motivated; I was driven; and I believed in myself then.
~Well, after I examined my belongings: my old diary, love letters, Archie’s greeting cards, junk jewelries, old photographs, ‘The Love Story’, CDs, sketch book, torn untailored jeans; I rediscovered myself.

Today, I am drained; I am empty; and I have lost my true self.
That's why, now I despise how we change as we grow up, dumping every beautiful aspect of ourselves shelved in some closet- closed, buried and forgotten forever.

p.s. I wrote this note just for myself-- cherishing my past and rediscovering myself.

The chillip who wanted a Bhutanese candy

2010-08-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

“Which one is Bhutanese candy? I want a Bhutanese candy!”
I saw a chillip (tourist) asking an airhostess during my recent return trip from Bangkok to Paro.
Definitely, he was visiting Bhutan for the first time.
Perplexed, the airhostess looked down at the tray brimming with made-in-Thailand candies and said, “Sir, since we took off from Bangkok, we won’t be unable to provide you Bhutanese candies.”
Smart answer. I liked the way she contented the chillip’s eagerness.
I felt her answer saved a general embarrassment as every Bhutanese passenger onboard knew there is no such thing as a Bhutanese candy.
I even felt she saved the national pride… in some ways I cannot explain here.
But the chillip wouldn’t give up.
Later while the lunch was being served, he started all over again.
“I want to try a Bhutanese menu,” he said.
This time, the amused airhostess, smiled and said, “I am sorry sir; we do not serve Bhutanese meal onboard.”
Another attack on national pride!
I suppressed my embarrassment by swallowing a chunk of chicken from the Thai curry I was served; and I almost chocked and died like a reclusive patriot.
“Why aren’t Bhutanese dat-si(s) served on flight. Are Bhutanese dishes too taste-oriented? Too hot or too cheesy?” I pondered over these questions for a while until I gave up too soon.
Leaving behind all such superfluous questions and concealed humiliations, I stole a glance at the chillip’s tray.
I felt sad for him as I saw him munching upon a sad-looking bread roll, and staring sorrowfully at the Thai curry that almost killed me earlier.
After the heavy lunch I had fallen asleep but to wake up to another round of awkwardness.
He hadn’t given up-- I heard him asking Bhutanese mango juice which I think he was served finally.
All mango juice taste same after all.
I kept ogling at him through my fingers that spread over my face like a curtain, while I was pretending to be asleep.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. He amazed me as to how much an outsider can be enthusiastic about Bhutan and everything Bhutanese.
I wanted to pickle him in my head with all his crankiness and keenness as preservatives. Bottled in my memory.
And he would definitely serve as a perfect specimen for my study about the worthiness of my own country.
Suddenly, he jumped off his seat with excitement at the very first sight of Paro.
The mountain terrains, the clear blue sky, the green woods, the flapping prayer flags, the traditional houses and the blessed paddy fields; as if all of them danced in merriment to welcome him.
“Oh my god!” he almost cried, “It is so beautiful.”
And the very moment I cried like a ghost.
Silently behind my curtains.
Not out of any shame or discomfort but my chest was brimming with an inexpressible emotion of pride and happiness.
This specimen (chillip) made me realized how much we overlook the bounties and the beauties we are blessed with; and how much the outsiders succeed to appreciate them wholeheartedly.

Well then, who wants a Bhutanese candy when we have so much to offer...

Somewhere over the rainbow

2010-08-03T02:10:00.000-07:00

The view of rainbow that blessed the Thimphu city yesterday afternoon...

It looked like a magical glass canopy over head... magical and enchanting!

A promise I made to the JOY LANE

2010-07-19T10:16:00.000-07:00

This picture was taken during my first visit to Singapore...the "JOY LANE' (within the orchid street) fascinated me, since visitors or tourists have signed their names on the giant JOY monument...and what was more exciting was the fact that one was suppose to smile or express joy while clicking picture there.
I took few pictures but my pictures looked rather joyless ( even though I was really happy that moment) I had then promised myself to visit the lane again just to click a joyful photo.
Recently, I visited Singapore again; thought my wish would come true this time... but the very day I decided to go there... it was over-flooded with rain water... and then, I realised that some moments just cannot be captured/ photographed some times... we just have to capture it in our head and cheerish it.
And so, I took back my promise.

Now I tell myself I still look happy in the picture above.

Note:
If you want to see the most happening people and place in Singapore, go to Orchid street/road.
Sinagpore's Orchard street is a trendy hi-fi lane where line up ritzy malls, swanky eateries and luxury hotels from end to end.
Shopping centres like Ngee Ann City , Tangs Department Store , Wisma Atria , The Heeren and Centrepoint are heaven if one's pocket is full. If you have just enough cash... dont go for international brands, orchid lane has some small Japanese designer stalls which sell trendy collections at reasonable rate.

Chasing pirates in my head

2010-07-17T05:52:00.000-07:00

Yet another saturday night. And here i am, glued to my desktop, warming my office chair, boxed in my cubicle... writing what is latest and new!

Being a journalist, working 24*7, worrying what's happening everywhere else (it seems) I have sidelined and cornered myself.

Time and again, I run after time while time chases me; and everytime it wins, I lose everything: myself, my weekends, my time and my life.

Amid the busy hours of daliy work, I make promises to myself to balance things, to change my schedules, to grab free time to regain everything I am losing...

But nope! It is not possible; time took away everything like pirates, leaving me in void and doubts... keeps me wondering if I even know (or should know) where I am heading.
I dont even know what I want from life.

While lapses of all kind and colours dances in my head... I tease myself if I am growing wiser or becoming a loser.
I keep chasing those pirates in my head...

And here I am again... glued to my desktop, warming my office chair, boxed in my cubicle, writing this blog ...and feeling so right and complete.

...and still chasing pirates in my head.

A Perfect Run-away Retreat

2010-07-07T23:23:00.001-07:00

Have you ever suddenly disappeared somewhere, without bothering about your boss or friends, to a remote pocket, just to re-discover yourself? Well, I did and then, I realized that I had lost myself over the years.
Silence, stillness, peace, serenity or tranquility… call whatever names- it was a perfect escape from all the hustle and bustle of city life when I ran away to a village far far away.
My priority was to forget everything for a while; in other words, to exchange all the worldly apprehensions for a piece of paradise.
To cut off all communication and connections that would distract my contemplation, I switched off my cell phone. With the grace of my lucky stars, I found myself in a place where there was no PCOs or telephone booths.
Right away, I realized that, over the years, I had forgotten the color of the sky; I thought it was blue but it is not. It is more than just blue. So, I devoted a couple of hours exploring the mysterious blueness of the sky, bathing in the azure hues that weren’t just blue.
Like most of us, I had also forgotten to pay attention to the special sounds of nature- distracted by the honks of motor car, ring tones of mobile phones and the imported music players playing from everywhere. There is one melody I had always longed for- the soothing music of silence and the sweet songs of chirping birds along with the rustling of the leaves when wild wind blows against a giant tree. This takes me away to a special musical world where every notes interconnects to each other.
Another moment I realized that I had never really felt the varying aroma of matchstick- it actually smells different every instant: when it first strikes, and when it burns and when it dies; the smell weakens every occasions. I liked the smell when it first strikes…it is strong and kind of nostalgic. It reminds me of something I had long forgotten but I had always missed.
It rained… and I had only liked the Sunday morning rains because other days it has been more like a curse for all the inconvenience and gloom it creates during the office-days.
My image of a perfect rainy day had been locking myself indoor, sipping a cup of hot coffee, and peeping outside from a clean glass window. I never really thought going outside, getting wet and feeling each water drop splash over my face would be such a beautiful sensation. A hot cup of tea, at that moment, tastes more aromatic and enticing!
Days passed by, enveloped in the mystic charisma of sky, divine songs and smells of nature, the undervalued downpours and the breathtaking landscape of this momentary paradise.
…but then, this had to stop…the whole fantastic journey, for I did not belong in this paradise; I fitted right only in the world where life is full of stresses; where the mobiles beep, cars honk, bosses yell and where I am a realist.
This retreat brought me back to reality and I stopped running away from the practicality and hardships of life since life is dull and hollow without difficulty and discomfort.
Even so, I associate this episode of my life to William Wordsworth’s kindred-spirit temperament; and like him, I had wondered in the woods, awakened by the spirits of the nature; escaping the present, forgetting the past and clueless about future.

Bhutanese-Thai Journalism; a Love Story

2010-07-07T22:59:00.003-07:00

After living in Bangkok amid the colorful political turmoil, getting feed with Thai news, watching the romance between journalists and politicians, I fell in love with Thai Journalism; and I asked myself, as a Bhutanese journalist:

Why is Thai Journalism worth falling in love with?

I felt clueless at first, without a concrete explanation. No, it wasn’t a love at first sight - the inconsistency, complexity and endurance of Thai journalism is simply irresistible.

Bhutan’s first national newspaper, Kuensel, began as an official gazette and only in 1986 the information division of Bhutanese government converted it into a serious weekly newspaper in Dzongkha, English and Nepali. It was like a government mouth-piece then.

Whereas, Thailand enjoyed the golden age of journalism under the monarchy of King Rama V; there were already 59 newspapers and magazines, published in Thai, English, and Chinese. It was a boom of Thai journalism and it enjoyed absolute freedom of the press until it took a different twist under a constitutional monarchy.

While in Bhutan, with the recent democratic shift more private newspapers have come into the frontline. Today we have 5 newspapers competing with each other, yet working together along with other electronic media, enjoying equal liberty.

In Thailand modernization played a crucial role in shaping the idea of press freedom where the politicians and social elites manipulated some newspapers to become propaganda puppets for their causes. At that time, the press was, in fact, operating under fear. This age was called ‘Dark Age of Thai Journalism’.

In case of Bhutan, with the recent political transaction, if we ask how free the Bhutanese media is, we can confirm that we have always enjoyed relative press freedom since absolute freedom is hard to classify. In a general sense we consider ourselves as free media.

Once again Thai press became free in real sense after the media act was improved after the Press Association of Thailand appealed the government in 1991. Thus, the period from 1992 till the present day, marks the struggle for the Freedom of the Press and the people’s right for information in Thailand. It is argued that the Thai journalists have had more freedom to report, criticize and give comments. During the recent continuous political uproars, the Thai media has displayed the power to topple down the governments.

Thai people believed in the newspapers as a watchdog of the people and the Journalists have more freedom to report, criticize and give comments. Thai journalists are usually well trained and experienced since they can be easily terminated in case of misinformation.

On the other hand, it is argued that the Bhutanese reporters are make factual errors, are poorly trained, biased and prone to defame institutions and individuals. Bhutan is seen as the only peaceful country without any impunity and harassment on journalists, other countries had experienced increasing number of journalists coming under attack.

Unlike Bhutanese media which is still new and growing, journalism in Thailand has been fluctuating with regard to press freedom with time along with the political changes. Yet still, amidst this anarchy, journalism in Thailand has endured all obstacles like a brave knight and saved the most precious jewel of journalism called ‘the freedom of the press’.

For that reason, there are many things we can learn and implement from Thai journalism. Bhutanese media is just blooming at the early spring of democracy. Our journalism is bursting with new vigor, innovation and opportunities under the safe canopy of new democratic system.

Meanwhile, I asked myself yet again:
Why is Bhutanese Journalism worth commitment? I got my answers; for it is like the first love…at its purest form brimming with innocence.

Long way to go my fellow journalists!

The Losar Nostalgia

2010-07-07T22:59:00.001-07:00

Sitting at the edge of a sofa, Lamu hums like a bee whose buzz disappears into the thin air as the heavy songs of Lady Gaga fills the room and the ears of her grandchildren, busy getting dressed to go party.
“Has Losar become just another reason to get drunk?” she asks herself in disbelief, confused whether to curse the children or Lady Gaga herself.
She feels like a rotting corpse as she realizes that today is yet another Losar of her lingering existence. The reminiscence of past dances inside her head as she pulls a warm blanket and prepares to sleep convinced of being left home-alone again.
She recollects herself as a mischievous child loved by everyone in her village. Blessed with ample love then, losar was yet another day for Lamu to gather more affection and attention.
Unlike any other days, on Loser she would wake up early to the churning noise from the kitchen as her mother prepares hot thup on mud oven. Along with her siblings she would wash and change into new attires their father had bought the other day.
What a blissful moment it was when the whole family members would sit around the kitchen fire and sip the hot thup served from one big black bowl full of love.
In her youth, Abi Lamu always counted herself among those beautiful damsels who would cheer and distract the young village men who would exhibit their vigor through Khuru and other games played during Losar.
Losar was yet another reason to flaunt her beauty, celebrate her youth and fall in love.
It was in this beautiful chapter of her life, she met the man who gave her house and children. Once she became the mother of his children, every losar was just another reason to cook for her family, buy dresses for children and share love.
Abi Lamu was hauled back to reality as the noisy Lady Gaga song stopped playing before her grandchildren vanished into the darkness of losar parties in the town.
Perhaps, it’s just the way of life; everything changes and dies. The losar once she celebrated was just a reason to celebrate the glorious past that now lies buried in the sands of time; changing and dying!
Ultimately, she blames the time that is changing and the tradition that is dying.
She falls asleep and wakes up the next day to find that the losar had effortlessly passed away this time too.
“It’s just like any other day now…” she sighs.

About a Positive Man with HIV

2010-07-07T22:58:00.003-07:00

I have a story to tell… about a positive man with HIV who nudged my memory about a miserable woman I had met before; and this, forever changed my perception about people living with HIV virus.
“Hi! I am John Rock and I am HIV positive.” Those were the first striking words he said when I first met this Australian tourist.
It weighed more like a joke then, but I hesitated to shake hands.
“I must say I am thrilled by what you have just spoken…I never thought anyone would ever be so bold to introduce himself as HIV positive to a complete stranger,” I said, flushing with disbelief and confusion.
He offered me his card. It read he was working for some association of HIV infected people in his country. On inquiring about this club, I found out that the victims abroad were lot more fortunate and happier compared to the HIV victims in our society. They had their own identity and they were respected in their society.
He told me about his dying wish, one of which was to visit Bhutan. Though our acquaintance was a short while, yet I could say that he was the happiest person I had ever met.
That day after I went home I thought about this positive man with HIV positive, and wondered how he got his VISA approved; it rattled facts but I just wanted to believe that he was the happiest person living with HIV. It didn’t bother me if he was still alive or not, because he was the boss of his own fate and he was not afraid to die.
This very encounter had reminded me about a miserable woman I had written about long time back. She was the first and last HIV patient I had interviewed. Like any other reporters, I also contacted her, showed some sympathy and wrote her distressing story for people to read and the paper to sell.
Next day people read the story, appreciated the work and forgot. I gained some praises and I moved on because I couldn’t do anything more after failing to help her. I had called local organizations and women associations several times but there was not feedback.
I gave up so easily; thus, it pains me more to recollect how miserable she had been, a discarded wife, living with three HIV infected children, forsaken by society, alone and miserable. It’s been years now and I have no idea if she is still alive.
Sometimes in life, we cease doing good things just because we are lazy or reluctant to carry on; we give up too soon and only when it’s too late we realize what we have lost forever.
However, one thought sets me free from this void… that If only she belonged to John Rock’s society, she would be had been lot more happier and luckier.

A reminiscence of a miracle

2010-07-07T22:58:00.001-07:00

The hospital, the ICU cabin and the eight year old bald boy-- it still stuns me as I recollect how a little boy has transformed me into a better person from a timid miserable lot I used to be.
That is perhaps, what they call ‘miracles’.

I was a born-pessimist; hopeless and moody until I met this fading angel whose life was even more miserable.

I met him during my unforgettable 29 days’ stay in a hospital where my dad was in coma, and since then life had become an abyss of anguish for all of us.

I hated God. I hated life. All because I hated death. I questioned God every night, Why must we die?

I even started hating the doctors who seemed very futile as every day I saw the hospital beds being emptied and the deceased’s family mourning like aliens.

“It’s not going to happen to us- not to me!” I cried every night with a forced hope and a suppressed fear.

Even a slight thunder would wake me up at night and I would tremble worrying about my dad. I wanted to die every time I thought about death.

Amid all those anguish and confusion, I learned to be stronger after I meet the dying boy.

One day as I was rushing towards the ground floor pharmacy to buy some medicines, I met a girl who befriended me. She guided me as I was a foreigner there. Then we became friends.

I was introduced to her brother who was admitted in the seventh floor cabin. He looked healthy and cheerful all the time. Except that he was bald.

“Omam, why is your little brother bald?”

Omam told me that he would undergo his second operation in few days and he was a brain tumor patient.

It shocked me and I hated God even more. “Why is God so unfair? Why should an eight year old child struggle with tumor?”

But my questions remained unanswered.

One evening, Omam told me about a secret place in the hospital. After I insisted, she took me along with her brother there.

We secretly sneaked into the lift and rushed to the hospital attic. There was a big sigh board near the door, saying ‘Keep Away’.

We disobeyed and tiptoed in to see a beautiful garden I had ever imagined would exist within the building.

It reminded me of J. M. Barrie’s ‘Neverland’. And that very moment the tumor patient was my ‘Peter Pan’.

We sat on a bench in the garden and counted the stars.

“Is it true that when we die we become one of those stars?” asked the little boy.

Yes, we nodded in puzzlement.

However, the question made me wonder what I would be after I die: one of those stars or just an ash.

A week later my Peter Pan was rushed to the operation theatre after a sudden tumor attack.

I felt more miserable. Besides, the ventilator machine beside my dad’s bed showed no progress.

Same day an entire Indian family who suffered a car crash were being rushed to the emergency room. Two children and a parent had died and the wife who was a doctor was in critical condition.

“Death doesn’t even spare doctors!” I told myself after I heard that she died an hour later.

Next day, Omam told me that her brother had escaped life.

“It was, perhaps, the best thing for him,” she was calm; “We were ready to face this moment since he had prepared himself to die. He was a brave boy.”

Three days later I lost my dad too, and the very moment I realized that the death of the cancer child has prepared me to face this moment, otherwise, it would have been terrible for me to accept this misfortune.

I realized that I was a different person three days after the child’s death. There was a vast conversion in my perception of death thereafter.

Now as I sit and recollect the past, I realize that God has always been answering my questions in silent whispers and some answers were hidden in my own questions.

I hate ‘Death’ no more as I know it is not as cruel as we always deem it to be. If no one dies, we would never know how precious life is.

I still don’t know what happens after we die, but I am certain that one of those stars above is sure that little child since he was an angel even before he died.

Perhaps, all things lost on earth are really treasured in heaven!

He and His Bajaj Scooter

2010-07-07T22:57:00.003-07:00

I sat on his Bajaj scooter, tightened my grip, grasped my breath and we rode; broom broom! Much to the envy of the local damsels I was with their heartthrob.
And he was a young village gup in East Bhutan.
As a bureau journalist I travelled the remotest villages in Eastern Bhutan, and circumstances always brought new characters and new comedies in my professional life.
Now, if you are still wondering about that gup and his scooter, it was one of the most adventurous trips of my life; not because he was young.
Find out why…
In search of some feature stories, destiny dragged me to the places I had never been before; few hours’ walk, wild leeches and sunburns; then I was there.
Unlike most gups, he loved to be interviewed and loved media. He wanted me to cover various stories in his village. He wanted to guide me around on his two-wheeler.
I quickly grabbed the opportunity of riding a scooter in a remote village. It reminded me of ‘Roman Holiday’ and I felt like the princess in some forested city.
We rode to every nook and corner of the village, via corn fields, cowsheds and pig sty, passing by the beautiful damsels collecting fodders and singing.
Ah- ha! Their envious eyes and his showy face! They were jealous. He was showing off. I was having fun inspecting the both sides.
The smell of fresh cut-grass, tilled soil and churned milk captivated my senses, right through my nostril, suffusing into my body and feeding my soul. I felt, “I just died and went to heaven”.
I heard a ‘bang’ and I was brought back to earth, on the ground, into a cowshed. I had lost my grip. Stained with cow-dung, I looked like a cow.
The cattle moaned, the girls giggled and the gup’s pride was gone.
By evening, I return home in my dung-stained jeans, with fractured arm and lots of stories… and a funny memory that still makes me laugh.
That’s the beauty and magic of memories in life.

A Million Reasons

2010-07-07T22:57:00.001-07:00

If I loved you and you didn’t
If you did and I didn’t love you
I would have a million reasons
Reasons to not fall in love

If I trust you and you hurt me
If you trust me and I hurt you
I would have a million reasons
Reasons to give up on faith

If I was perfect and you were not
If you were and I was not perfect
I would have a million reasons
Reasons to worry about our flaws

If I was bold and you were not
If you were and I was weak
I would have a million reasons
Reasons to eschew this struggle

If I was divine and you were not
If you were and I was human
I would have a million reasons
Reasons to forsake you

If we decline divinity, boldness or perfection
If love is all you need and trust, all I seek
We wouldn’t have a million reasons
But a reason to love and be loved

To Let a Stranger sneak in one’s Heart

2010-07-07T22:56:00.002-07:00

Did you ever trust a stranger more than you should? Did you ever ignore your mother’s warning: ‘Stay away from strangers’? Did you ever let a stranger sneak in your heart and change your life forever?
I DID!
Then, the very moment I realized that Life is still BEAUTIFUL.

It was the autumn season (the season of degradation and loneliness) which tuned my mood to the gloomy song my heart was singing. I was dumped by the man I had loved all my life.

“You deserve someone better than me”; those were the last thing he said before he walked out of my life. After that I made up my mind never to look back.

I told myself that I need a change; a whole new transformation!

I bought new books to keep myself busy; I buried my diary which cherished all my broken dreams, and I went out with friends to watch the movie ‘Down with Love’.

For a month I thought I was out of the gloom; but then came autumn, and once again I found myself alone.

“Life seems hollow, like an abyss of solitude.” That was the first line I wrote on my new diary. “Dear diary, I guess I am out of my wits- waiting for a miracle!”

I wondered if I could ever get rid of past and ever mend the wounds of heartbreak. I was not lovelorn but I wanted someone to confide to; to let loose all my thoughts. Perhaps, that’s what they call “a Soul-Mate”.

As usual I was chatting on Druknet. I typed my nick: mYdMoS

“Mind chatting?” a stranger popped in.
“Hi” I continued.

We chatted for an hour. Next day we realized that we have many things in common: same wild love for safari; same stupid craze for Bob Marley and his dreadlocks; same appetite for sea foods and same taste in music.

“Wow! That is impossible. Why on earth were both of us dumped by our lovers?” he said.

We had a hearty laugh after realizing that we were both losers after all.

“Did you read the book ‘How to forget your Ex’?” I asked.

He said, “No. Why? Did it help you forget your Ex?”

I told him that I read the book.

“But you still didn’t forget him mosh?” he added.

Again we had a hearty laugh.

I had never been so happy before; I realized that the very stranger can make me laugh over the silly things I cried over before. I realized that I can confide in him without a least fear of being revealed. I realized that he was the miracle I was waiting for- to enter my life and sweep me off the floor; and make me fly, leaving the past behind.

I realized that he was the ultimate soul mate I was looking for!

“I have never been so silly and happy in my entire life; but I am cocksure that I met the person I have been waiting for- I have trusted a stranger and entitled him as my soul mate. This has changed my life and me,” I jotted down in my diary.

“O yah! Warn you, it’s neither any puppy love, nor any infatuation. I just met a wonderful friend who could be a prince, a writer, a robber or even a terrorist. But I just don’t care, for we may never meet or see each other. The mystery may never be unveiled and the beauty of it will never fade.”

The last lines in my diary till the end of January, 2007!

A True Story of Suicide

2010-07-07T22:56:00.000-07:00

How would you feel if you wake up one day to hear that one of your friends had committed suicide?

It is beyond prediction, affectation and beyond perception. Let’s not talk about this; but I really want to share how one of my peers had burned herself to death, all for an illusive affair few years back.

Now, will you ever kill yourself just for the man you have never seen?

I don’t want to name her but she was a pretty sight: she was attractive, witty, and intelligent. We were completely taken by her baseless blunder, and it left us wondering, why are we so irrational at times?

The day she died, we had no classes. It was all sobs and gossips that took over the hush we were actually instructed to maintain, and after a long chat we finally knew why she had to die.

She met this nameless faceless guy on net; and flattered by his charming words she had fallen in love with him.

After few months of flirtation, she finally became serious about the affair; and of all she became desperate to meet this charmer.

After breaking several promises, the charmer promised her again that they would meet. Meanwhile, she had been expecting him the whole proposed week, but he never turned up.

Then on Monday night, she burned herself to death; perhaps, out of baseless love, stupidity or frustration; she left us with no answers.

Mean while we concluded that she was stupid in spite of her brilliant academic performance and that she was baselessly in love with a stranger, and also that her frustration was the outcome of her stupidity which ended her life.

That was it, the end of a tragic story!

However, recently I realized that we had in fact been more stupid; how could we judge her without knowing what she was exactly going through; and how could we blame a victim of suicide when we had ourselves never been on a verge of killing oneself?

That should, perhaps, be the beginning of the story!

Abi Churpoo’s Mystical Love Story

2010-07-07T22:55:00.001-07:00

They say that there are some mysteries in this world which will evermore remain unsolved; some questions never answered and some sentiments never expressed.
So is the mystical love story of Abi Churpoo, whose affection lingered, staggered and remained suppressed until the man who saved her life ruined her heart.

My grandma narrated me this story long time ago; I just have a dim reminiscence of it. I am not certain about some facts and names. However, what was most catchy about the story was that Abi Churpoo was a mysterious woman, deemed to practice black magic in the darkest of night, who fell in love with a monk.

(What can be more ironic than this; falling for the person who was never meant for you and let yourself be the victim of one’s own emotion?)

Grandma said that she was the most beautiful maiden in the village, and most of the men were the victims of her charm and beauty. Most women in the village envied her and spread the rumor that she was a witch and practiced magical spells on most men.

She became unpopular and her life, a misery!

Then, came a day that brightened up her life for a moment, just to lead her towards darkness for the rest of her life. She fell in love with a monk!

Monk Dodo came to her rescue. He changed her life and rebuilt her image in the society. He declared her to be ordinary and harmless.

Abi Churpoo could never confess her feelings, for their union would set the whole village to anarchy; it would batter the monk’s fate and his kindness would be ill-returned.

So she suppressed her love; let it stagger and let it linger within the corners of her heart- never to be revealed and never meant to be returned. Years passed by and winkles hid the melancholy that surpassed her happiness.

Then grandma told me that she just disappeared one night. The last time the villagers saw her, she was seen near a river, mourning over herself. That very evening there occurred storm. The rumors prevailed that she was washed away by the storm. However, some still believed that she magically disappeared on her own wish as the storm was less destructive.

• The hardest fact of life is that when we try to conceal our passion, it furthermore sets fire to it. Then, we burn with it...we burn, burn and burn until our heart turns to ashes…some say that even death can’t relieve an unexpressed love. An unreturned love lingers even after death, the cold heart longs for the warmth and the death lover waits to be loved.

My Grandma warned me not to loiter around riversides at the dusk as they believed that such spirits would wander these spots when the sun sets.

Perhaps, that’s why I feel a chill rushing down my nerves as I see the sun set by the river side. I can see the gloom of those wandering souls in the twilight, and feel the coldness of their lonely heart in the evening breeze.

The very moment I think of Abi Chupoo and her mysterious story!!

A Dust in the Wind

2010-07-07T22:54:00.001-07:00

I felt the chill of the wind
Sluggish, it touched me
Like a shy lover’s embrace
Made me linger for more

I sensed the aroma hanging in the wind
Sweet it was, pure and soothing
Like a little baby’s breathe
Made me gasp in delight

I heard the song of the wind
Musical, it tinkled my favorite tune
Like the Olympians’ gospels
Boosted my spirit and soul

I saw the dust in the wind
Insurgence, it never rested
Like a brave warrior’s vigor
Mesmerized me to steel myself

I smiled in an instant apprehension
That my hero, baby, musician and warrior
Forever remains mysterious and concealed
Making me desirous to be a dust in the wind

What Do Women Really Want

2010-07-07T22:53:00.003-07:00

Remember how a baby cries when it craves for its mother? The cry is heard by everyone but remains ambiguous! Only its mother sense the pain the child toils through.

Remember how a man never fails to betray his woman? No matter how humble he may be, he will always land up being a traitor either on his wish or against his will, and his woman will always sense it in his unspoken words and unintended gestures.

Remember how a woman sense every beat of her infant’s move when it still lulls inside her; how she sense the hidden affection in the heart of her admirer; how she sense what her parents dream about her future?

To love and own a woman is every man’s desire but to explore and understand the hidden beauty is no man’s aspiration. Perhaps, that’s why they say a woman is nothing but a desert of limitless questions.

The questions that never had any solution; never explored and never solved!!

What do women really want? What it takes to make her smile? What makes her cry? What can buy her happiness and what can ensure her reliability?

(What is our fate when we can only be aware of others’ feelings, needs and desires but never let go one’s own?)

The mysteries of life look multifaceted and hazy until we really intend to solve it. It is in fact the simplest thing on earth.

So are the complexities of us!!

It takes just a raindrop to make a woman smile; it takes just a little heartbreak to make her cry; it takes just a moment of your life to buy her happiness and it takes just a moment of happiness to make her life blissful and reliable forever.

Remember how impossible it always seems to be the hero who never fails his princess?

The Golden Sunset

2010-07-07T22:53:00.001-07:00

The true masterpiece of nature
A glamorous view to a curious eye;
And a deepest joy for all creature
Up there! There, proudly thou do lie

Charmed am I by your golden wing
That suffuses the light of inspiration;
The song of courage that they sing
Convinces me, all woe is but an illusion

When dusk, thee must leave
Cowards, then, will mourn for the day will be gone;
But the Braves will smile
For soon a new day will be born

A World without Woman

2010-07-07T22:52:00.003-07:00

When God first created this world, He decided that His new creation should be the perfect abode of BLISS and BEAUTY. So he showered all the colours of rainbow on earth, He added flowers, trees, waterfall, animals and a man to complete the beauty of His creation.

The sun shone, the birds sang, the rivers murmured, the flowers bloomed and the butterflies danced in the breeze, and there was a perfect peace and serenity in the air; but still there was a sense of incompleteness- God sensed it in the heat of the sun, in the song of the bird and in the lonely HEART of the man.

The divine power, then realized that it was WOMAN he had forgotten to add.

The presence of woman added warmth in the sun, made the bird’s song sweeter and filled the lonely heart with LOVE.

ALAS!! God smiled and admired His own creation, and wondered:

“How would a world survive without a Woman?”

I love the rust, toothpick and the croaking frogs

2010-07-07T22:52:00.001-07:00

I love the rust on idle knife
Unused- we are wasted, it warns

I love the rustling of dried leaves
End is certain but melodic, it consoles

I love the toothpick mid of hamburger
Every thing has a destined role to play, it says

I love the half melted sugar at the cup base
Life has still more sweetness to show, it cheers

I love the frogs croaking at the nightfall
Every heart has a story to tell, it sings

I love the rust, toothpick and the croaking frogs
And I love myself for loving them

The Black Sheep Who Fascinated Me

2010-07-07T22:51:00.001-07:00

“Just a puff of it makes you forget that you are living! Who wants to live? I don’t! To live, you must die. When you are trapped in its power you never know when Death embraces you. It is a Wonderful world!!”

Those were the first lines that touched my heart and I believed in whatever he wrote thereafter.

I won’t mention his name but secretly I used to call him “Zack”.

Jack was my favorite from the then high school poem and I was often fascinated by the character; he was everyone’s darling, and the village becomes lifeless after he disappears forever.

Zack, however, was nothing like Jack; he was a complete loser, arrogant and rude.

But there was something about him that always captivated me even more to keep an eye on whatever he did.

Perhaps, it was his strangeness, gloominess or maybe it was my empathy for him. It was not infatuation certainly as I was happily dating the school heartthrob.

My friends hated Zack and warned me that he was a spoiled brat, a recluse and a drug addict; a dangerous black sheep altogether.

I found him rather exclusive than dangerous. Each day I grew more inquisitive to explore his thoughts and his strangeness.

I anonymously sent him flowers and cards just to make him smile with the illusion that he was being admired. It never worked- he remained the same lost gloomy lot.

It was one strange evening I spotted this loner; I was extremely fascinated when I realized that he was secretly crying in a dark corner.

Like a hidden spy I secretly observed him, and after he left I was thrilled, yet tempted as I saw his diary lying on the ground.

My inquisitiveness forced me to seize away the diary, and thereafter I was so guilty that I could never return his diary back to him.

A week later, just like the Jack in the poem, he was gone forever, taking away all the strangeness and the colors with him- the school was a bore after he was gone.

I secretly missed him at times.

After his disappearance I kept wondering where he had gone, and at times I recollect his notes in his diary.

“I can’t live without it and I can’t live with it either!”

“It is too late now and I have no way out of it!! It is an abyss of mysterious joy that kills me every time it makes me smile!!” Those were the last words in his journal.

I learned that he was totally into drugs and he was very miserable.

At times I just sat back and reflected how miserable he was; how terrible it was to be into drugs and how difficult it is to get out of it.

On my graduation last year, I met an old friend who told me that Zack has died of drug over-doze few years back.

That very evening I couldn’t sleep, I re-read his diary and cried the whole night.

# Some things in life just can’t be explained; they are eccentrically beautiful, despite of all its ugliness.

Silence and Ignorance, Bliss Evermore!

2010-07-07T22:50:00.001-07:00

"Hush! Did you just say 'Demo... and Me...'?" said Lolo.
"Yes! I did! What’s the big deal here?" I asked.
Lolo's reply was, "Don't you know that they are the big twin monsters here in country?"
Oh yes, he was right. I did hear of it!
All of us did; but we have shut our doors to prepare ourselves to welcome them.

"Who is scared of them? Not me!" shouted lot of us.

"We better stay aloof from them," said few of us.

"My boss warned me not to talk with them," said one or two.

On being asked "what does 'Demo... and Me...' stand for?"

All of us smiled and said, "Democracy and Media, what else?"

But an unexpected silence prevailed the moment we were asked to speak out our minds (just truth and the whole truth!!) about these giants.

(The silence of wisdom or perhaps, the silence of ignorance!)

My little baby niece stood up, sucking a chocolate candy, shouted, "They are handsome monsters from some fairy land; they will eat up all the chocolates if we fail our exams; and they will buy us dozens of chocolates if we study well. That is what my aunty said!"
(Empty vessel makes more noise!)

# Of course, Silence is harmless and Ignorance is bliss in all forms!

In Love with Love

2010-07-07T22:49:00.001-07:00

I ignore those dark amiable eyes,
I strive hard to resist your beauty
I lie, I cry and I hide my tears
But heart in heart, I die each day for you

I loathe your imperfection
I tell myself I deserve better
I pretend, I try and I thrust you
Beneath my skin, I always long for you

I seek one reason to forget you
I stress upon your lowest flaws
I raze, I burn and bury the memories
And I find million reasons to be with you

I vanish from your searching gaze
I sneak away to eschew your presence
I hide, I ran and I retreat from you
Yet I desire to melt in your embrace

I stumble in this labyrinth of love
I warn myself I am not in love
I concur, I vary and I confuse myself
Perhaps, I am just in love with Love

Seven Years’ Hitch

2010-07-07T22:48:00.000-07:00

Brat Pitt might have lived for seven years in Tibet; the Seven Stars might have been the most beautiful princesses; Lucky Seven might have been one of reader’s favorite kid-movies; however, those seven years were the bitchiest episode of my life that landed me to a hitch.

A married woman and a mother of two; what more than a total FULLSTOP to all the amusements of world would one expect?

Certainly, it was THE END of my freedom; and the start of the boredom down-pouring upon me.

Seven years back I met a dashing HERO who swiped me off the floor and I landed up in his BED. We got married, which made me the mother of TWO.

Last year when my eldest son turned seven, I thought it was a heaven to have a wonderful family.

But my heaven crashed down when my hubby brought home a seventeen years old girl, claiming to be his FAIR LADY.

The same old story of most faithful wives! But I took a different turn…

One WINTER evening, when it has just started to snow, I made up my mind that I would no more lock myself in my room. I took out my favorite outfit; pink and blue- the teen beauty hues!!

I decided to shop like hell. I checked out all the malls, and as my wallet became light I started craving for a hot chocolate.

I enter a CAFE. Empty. People really seem to lock themselves up!

At the far end, table number seven, I saw a hot hunk, hotter than the chocolate I wanted to order.

“Excuse me, young lady!” the hot guy broke the ice, “Can I buy you a drink?”

I smiled and nodded, “Yes, Vodka Please!”
Vodka was just an excuse to join the table numbered seven.

We chatted for a while until I was fully drunk and started crying, probably narrating my life story.

It was 11 pm by the time I regained myself.

“Gosh! I am a mother of two!” I told him and dashed off.

He gave me his mobile number before I disappeared from the scene.

Two days later, I met him again. We became friends; more than ‘just friends’ as he knew what I was going through.

He called me everyday and we chatted like hell; nonstop, over something at times and nothing other times.

I started to feel younger and prettier. I had no time for my kids and no time to argue over my spouse’s affairs.

I felt the heaven was restored back to my life. I was too happy with my kids and myself. Of course, the new-found-friend needs no mention!!

Then, came back the SATAN, my husband! He heard that I hooked a new guy. He was rude at the start. But gradually, he became as mild and sober as a saint.

It shocked me. I looked at mirror for 10 times a day, wondering if I was really glowing. I checked my cosmetics, same old cold creams; same old things and same old me.

I decided to move back to the track I once belonged to: My kids, my husband and the faithful me!

Besides, I was not having an affair after all. My husband was back and I was ever ready to start off all over again.

But then, I realized that I would lose again; if not today, tomorrow!

So I decided not to waste another seven years of my life.
I managed a divorce and got rid of the prison my life was confined to. I changed my mobile number and got rid of the hot guy and all his temptations.

That was the story of my aunty who had the seven years’ hitch. She is better settled now. Today I am dating the hot hunk she met one winter evening. We met in the same bar but I asked for a hot coffee as I had no story to narrate!

Big yellow Taxi

2010-07-07T22:41:00.001-07:00

A tragic story of a snobbish YELLOW taxi:

Once a big taxi that was yellow
Prided that it can run mellow
Ran fierce, via high and shallow
Deeming self to be so hallow

Turned topsy-turvy after a wallow
Fell right down with a bellow
Alarmed, I threw my pillow
“Hello! What’s wrong with yellow?”

It was the dream of no fellow
But of a taxi that was yellow
Sad, I sighed with a billow
Pooh! I never felt so sallow

“Our pride is so hollow;
Makes us forget we are callow
And drags us to the gallow”
Said an angel with a halo

A Chocolate Story

2010-07-07T22:39:00.004-07:00

Soaked in sweat, jaded and lost! It was that weird day my encounter with an angel stunned me to realize how a small act of kindness may at times make a big difference in someone’s life whom we may come across in our walk of life.

I met this wonderful man that very awful day and since then I never forgot to mention him in my prayers.

Three years back, my first college summer break, I had missed my bus and all my friends. I took a cab expecting to catch up the gang but my trip failed all my plans.

The taxi ceased to move on due to some mechanical problem; and the worst thing was that we were in the middle of nowhere- trapped in such a deserted place where there was no possibility of catching another taxi.

Another worst thing was that I had with me a huge set of luggage. Honestly, I never knew the beauty of traveling light till that very overloaded day.

Three hours later we got hold of a truck, lugging some hens. We grabbed the chance! Who would mind traveling with animals at that nick of time?

Dust, heat and sweat, all the worst combination of the things I hated the most in the whole world, was traveling with me.

Hunger was my worst fear and it struck me the whole terrible day. I thought it was the end of my history. I panicked I would die before I reached my destination.

Luckily, I saw a Bhutanese car in the middle of the Indian bazaar where the truck and the hens left us.

The man in the car said he would drop me as our destination was one. It was heaven to sit in a car after the trip on thundering lorry and cracking birds.

We reached the hotel where my friends were putting up for the night. The moment I and my luggage were in, I was lost explaining to my friends about my awful trip; and the man who did me a great favor just disappeared without a trace.

As I closed my eyes to sleep that night, I crossed my hands and prayed that he realize how grateful I was to him and how guilty I was for not thanking him, especially for the jumbo chocolate bar he sacrificed for my hunger which was meant to be his daughter’s birthday present that very night.

In our walk of life we are favored many a times and there are some occasions where a small gesture may matter a lot. We don’t have to make big promises; even a little careless sacrifice brightens someone’s life.

True Story of Three Dynamic Women IV ; the Final Incompleteness!

2010-07-07T22:39:00.000-07:00

Now I switch your attention to the last remaining heroine of my story: Moss, who has overlooked the most evident miracle of her life, disillusioned by a silly mistake she lived with.

Flashback: Moss was a complex mixture of both: grew up in a small town but adventured many cities; likes all kind of music from punk to classic rock; has an appetite for all kind of literature ranging from Erich Segal to Milton; little lazy at times and too proactive the other hour; loved one and lost, but confused if he was even worthwhile.

Moss afresh started her new single life but only to realize that she was living in some delusion for ages. Her life was shaped by various fantasies either from books or from movies. She was a confused creature.

It was that one night when all her fantasies shattered and all her confusion melted like a haze. That very moment she knew what she has always wanted and has almost lost.

Jojo (name withheld), her ex-boyfriend was the perfect man of her dreams at one time but he was not the kind of guy who would promise to pluck down stars for her. He was rather too practical; thus, Moss felt more like an alien with him.

The moment they broke up, she wanted to celebrate her freedom; and with this celebration she finally met an amazing guy who promised to take her even to the stars, forget about just plucking them.

Moss thought she finally met her Mr. Right she has met only in books and movies. Jazzy (that amazing guy) would do everything to make her smile. Moss was too happy for few months but soon she found him like an alien.

Soon she realized that Jazzy was just a mere entertainer in her heart. There was still a hollowness that could never be filled by either of the men in her life.

Oh again, I forgot to introduce this guy, Jude (name withheld) who is Moss’s childhood friend. Once upon a time Kate had a puppy crush on him but the day he proposed Moss she never looked back at him. (Girls’ little secrets you know!)

Moss told me that she neither discarded nor accepted his proposal as she was not sure what she actually felt for him.

Then one starry night there was a twist in the tale. As Jude was officially transferred to some village in Eastern Bhutan; he had to leave his hometown and Moss behind.

During their last dinner together, everyone was drunk. It was in that aura Jude once again proposed her, and there after I don’t know what happened as Moss said she don’t exactly remember what she said.

But next morning when she realized that she had never felt like an alien in his company; never saw a cold entertainer in him, and had never imagined her life without him; it was perhaps too late, and he had left the town for good.

We really don’t realize what we have got until the day we lose it for good! We always take our loved ones for granted, and the day we want to return their affection they are gone like wind.

However, this isn’t “The End” of Moss’s story. I mean she has jumbo plans to get him back. Mean while she is trying to email him since we don’t know the exact location of his work station. Besides, the worst fear is that there is perhaps no internet facility where Jude has gone.

Therefore, Moss has a humble request for all the readers that if you happen to meet Jude, tell him to contact her before it’s too late.

Now it’s only our prayers and aid that would ultimately help my final story to end without leaving the single heroine in loneliness.

--------------The end-----------

True Story of Three Dynamic Women III

2010-07-07T22:38:00.001-07:00

I haven’t met Kate for a while she is too busy dating that Pumpkin, so I just went to Betty’s place for a tea. Then I got another shock as Betty narrated to me how she finally met the man with whom she wants to spend the rest of her life.

Flashback: Betty is just the opposite: spent her childhood with her grandma in a village; reading Mills and Boons, and listening to Tracy Champlin and John Mayer; during office hours she will be web-locked in Kuzuzangpo, at the end of the day, her works are somehow done; never had a single boyfriend but secretly crave for one perfect man.

“I am getting married soon!” she said, the girl who never was in love.

“Arranged marriage?” I asked.

Her reply thrilled me; “No, it’s a love marriage!”

Then she instantly laughed and narrated:

“Lately I thought I would die a spinster; I am 27 and after three years I turn thirty and a 30 years old Bhutanese woman (who never had a single boyfriend) has a very rare chance of meeting her prince charming at this stage. After being frequently warned by my married friends, I decided I am no more going to sit home, watching movies and warming my sofa, waiting for the man of my dreams to enter my life.”

She was right! How long will a sane woman lock herself in a room and wait for the prince charming to break the locked doors and wake her from the sleep? It’s just a fairy tale cliché. In reality, we need to go out, mingle with people and find out who deserves our attention and affection.

“So I went out hunting for him before I turned 30!” she continued, “First place I checked out was the night clubs and bars. I was disappointed as most men I met were flirty ugly drunkards. Then next weekend, I joined my friends in a get-together, hoping to accomplish my mission. But my anticipation remained a mere imagination. The final place was the marriage party where all the uncles advised me to get married soon, and made me more miserable.”

Then Betty stood up to fetch me another cup of tea.

“Now don’t tell me that you are marrying one of those uncles!” I shrieked.

She handed me my cup and continued, “Zai, don’t conclude my life story like that! Since you know I hardly give up, I went to a book exhibition looking for a book that would help me find him, and by chance or mere luck I met the man of my dreams who was also looking for the same book.”

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, Betty ran open it and I saw a dashing handsome man smiling at us.

My eyes were stunned still and my mouth wide open in amazement. I thought I was dreaming.

“Sonam, this is the man I was talking about!” Betty told me.

In confusion I asked, “Which book exhibition?”

The handsome man replied in a husky tone, “It was in February, second week, right sweetie?”

“I had heard about it but I didn’t go” I said with suppressed regret.

Later in the evening, after I reached home, I looked up in the dark starry sky and said, “O God! I should have been there instead of Betty!”

I instantly learned that with determination and endurance, nothing is impossible. Betty never gave up her hunt and she was finally rewarded with the most dashing hunk.

Whatever, Betty deserved that perfect man who is also a Kuzu writer and Moss’s cousin. (Not Nawangpenstar, to be specific!)

Well now, I have to meet Moss and tell her what Betty and her cousin is up to.

# Sorry Readers, I have to go right now and meet Moss. I promise to tell you tomorrow how Moss finally realizes that, being blinded by various insights, she has failed to spot the most visible godsend waiting for her right at her door from the very start.

True Story of Three Dynamic Women II

2010-07-07T22:37:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, I was narrating what happened to Kate that very night which unveiled her why she never felt loved.

Flashback: Kate was brought up in city; outgoing, jazzy and full of life 24*7; a great party freak and always seen in Space 34, Buzz, and all the honkytonks in the town, dancing on some hot hip-hop number; despite of all the freaks, she strictly does her office works; had several lovers but never felt loved.

Kate almost forgot how many boyfriends she had but she realized that none of them made her feel loved.

“They were all a bunch of attractive monkeys who either liked my appearance or just wanted to be seen with me, but no one ever searched the real me,” she told me.

I forgot to tell you that there is a funny guy in her office who looks like a pumpkin but he can make you smile each second you are with him. I knew him via Kate; she always tells me how stupid he is, yet sensitive and sensible.

So that very night Kate was asked out by this pumpkin for the tenth time and as she didn’t want to be seen with him alone- she dragged me in. Whoops! I left them alone the moment I realized that they needed me no more and that I needed better dancing company than those lazy bones.

Next day Kate called me and made me promise to keep a secret. (Sorry Kate, I had to break the promise and let out the secret to the Kuzu readers! Please forgive me!)

Before she revealed her secret I was thrilled with suspicions and after her confession I was bewildered all the more.

“I think I am in love for the first time!” it shocked me and I wanted to die the moment she said that the lucky guy was none other than that fat pumpkin.

“Wai! Are you nuts? He is the ugliest guy on earth!” I yelled at her.

She smiled and explained me how beautiful it feels when you are really in love for the first time.

“Firstly, stop calling him Pumpkin!” she said, “Now listen! I was never so relaxed and happy in all the hundred dates of my life. Yesterday night I realized that I always wanted to be myself, and till now I have been pretending to be a sophisticated beauty piece and not the real me.”

“I have been trying to impress those hot hunks I dated, not out of love but for my stupid desire to attract their attention. However, last night I wasn’t pretending at all- he is the only man who actually brings out the real me outside. He makes me feel happy for whatever I am.”

I was rather confused and ran home before her words turned me nuts. After sipping a hot cup of coffee, I did realized what she really meant.

# It is not always necessary that a prince charming should be dashing handsome young man (like Betty has been waiting for: tall, dark and handsome!); love is such a miracle that even the ugliest frog (Pumpkin, to be specific!) may turn out to be the most wonderful knight who will steal you away just in a night’s stand.

# Well, Kate has her third date with that Pumpkin this Saturday and hopefully I won’t be dragged in as I have decided to date some of my horrible admirers, who knows, I may as well find the hidden knight in one of them!!

Mean while Betty is still waiting for the Perfect man; and I will tell you tomorrow how she finally finds him out of the blue.

TO BE CONTINUED….)

True Story of Three Dynamic Women

2010-07-07T22:36:00.001-07:00

True Story of Three Dynamic Women

Based on 100 true stories told by three dynamic women I met in Thimphu recently. (Highly recommended for all the ‘Single’ readers, especially my woman readers as you will find yourself living in one of these characters in the story in one way or other.)

It is the narrative of three vivacious women, living alone in a big city: ‘Single’ and Independent, but enveloped in certain incompleteness:
Kate, Betty and Moss (names changed on their requests).

Kate was brought up in city; outgoing, jazzy and full of life 24*7; a great party freak and always seen in Space 34, Buzz, and all the honkytonks in the town, dancing on some hot hip-hop number; despite of all the freaks, she strictly does her office works; had several lovers but never felt loved.

Betty is just the opposite: spent her childhood with her grandma in a village; reading Mills and Boons, and listening to Tracy Champlin and John Mayer; during office hours she will be web-locked in Kuzuzangpo.com, at the end of the day, her works are somehow done; never had a single boyfriend but secretly crave for one perfect man.

Moss was a complex mixture of both: grew up in a small town but adventured many cities; likes all kind of music from punk to classic rock; has an appetite for all kind of literature ranging from Erich Segal to Milton; little lazy at times and too proactive the other hour; loved one and lost, but confused if he was even worthwhile.

They are utterly different people: so many contrasts in their taste, thought and attitude; yet all three of them are connected by one emotion that lingered in them, all through and everyday.

It is LONELINESS that loitered in their searching eyes, their yearning hearts and empty flats.

Even in the middle of crowd, Kate felt lonely; Betty realized that reading Kuzuzangpo and fancying Nawangpenstar won’t replace the hollowness in her heart; and Moss gave up the hope that there even exists a special person called Mr. Right.

But it was all just a night’s stand that changed their thoughts, and ultimately, their lives forever.

Basically we are blinded by scores of things around us, and we are prone to overlook what seems most perceptible, (someone recently reminded me that we do not see our eye lashes as they are too close).

# Dear Readers,
Sorry for interruption! But I got an urgent work, and I won’t be able to narrate all three astounding episodes of their lives today. I promise to continue tomorrow.

# Did anyone of you find yourself in one of them, at least in the lonely fraction? If so, you must find out what happens to you hereafter.

(TO BE CONTINUED….)

Burning Love

2010-07-07T22:35:00.000-07:00

My lustrous lips
Thirst! I am burning in thirst
My searching glances
Crave! I am combating this crave

Your mysterious lure
Appease! I am smiling and appease
Your sweet surrender
Pleasure! I am dancing with pleasure

My burning love
Love! I am living for your Love
Your burning love
Love! I am drinking in your Love

Being a Bhutanese journalist

2010-07-02T07:32:00.000-07:00

Being a journalist in a small country like Bhutan is amusing at times.
Every story we write, one or the other person involved in the story is always ( and somehow) related to us.
Sometimes the hero of the story is one's cousin; sometimes the villian...sometimes one's uncle is the thief in the story and sometimes the joker of the story is one's best friend.
In short, its a small society where every family is related no mater which dzongkhag one belongs to.
Therefore, at times writing about others (or anything) always makes us feel like we are (perhaps) writing about ourselves.

It's amusing to be a Bhutanese journalist.