I'm just a HUMAN!

I laugh
when happiness embraces
my heart and my soul;
This I do
for I'm just a Human!

I cry
when people hurt
my heart and soul;
this I do
for I'm just a Human!

I dream
of things unreachable
of horizons undefined;
this I do
for I'm just a Human!

I believe in faith
I crave for love
I dare to dream
BUT I shudder to fight
for all these;
for I'm but a mere human!

Who is Right and who is wrong?who am I to judge???

This happened during one of our High School days. Our teacher conducted a class test but it was left to the two captains to ensure that the test was conducted fairly as he had to leave the classroom for some other agenda. I didn't like the fact that some of the friends were seen taking out their notebooks and copying(what was the use of the test if copying was allowed?). So being the girls captain I raised this issue and asked my friends to stop copying or "I'll report to our teacher". The boys captain, jumped on my back and told the class,"I am not like her(pointing towards me). You all can copy if you want to,I won't report. If sir comes to know about copying, you know who the source is!" I became a villain of 70% of the class mates who thought copying when sir was not present was not a crime. The remaining 30% who wanted the test to be conducted fairly kept quite, not taking any sides, for they didn't want to risk friendship in the name of "kepping things fair!" So I cried alone and felt alienated.

In our lifetime we come across people whom we judge according to their behavior towards us. If somebody is nice and amicable we immediately put them in our "right people" list and there are some people whose ideas differ from ours and we immediately discard them as "wrong people." So in the above mentioned incident 70% of my classmates felt I was wrong.

I Didn't form any judgement about the people who were copying but I immediately categorized the boy captain as a "wrong person" who supported wrong doings. But what I didn't realize at that time was that 70% of the class was voting for him as "Right". And belonging to the society where everything counts based on majority votes, I was the wrong one in this case.

Life is a series of cases. In my opinion I always try to do things that are right but what I am forgetting is that what is right for me may not be right for others. Today I stand on a similar pedestal but with my heart and brain balanced on the scale of life. In a single day,I come across a friend whose marriage is failing and being a human I can't help feeling that my friend's hubby is wrong in treating her this way. I Then I listen to my friends with their differences and again I have to take sides. I listen to the problems of my elders in the family and now that they think of me as a responsible adult member in the family,they discuss the issues with me.

If I am to make an appearance in a movie with all these cases I guess I would look like I had just come out of a shipwreck with all my belongings coming out of the broken suitcase, piled up haphazardly on my head. But then if it was actually a movie I would ask the director to shift the focus to my heart, which would be shown tired and weary with age yet beating its rhythm to a new tune. For I have realized there is no right or wrong at all, its all a trick of one's perception. I am not say I'm wise (that would sound too pompous) but indeed there is a difference in the way I have begun to accept things in life. Where there was a judgement before, I find reasoning! Where I found denial I find acceptance!

So who is right or who is wrong?Don't ask me! After all,who am I to judge????

I Feel better!

I never knew I had Gandhiji's presence in my soul until today. We learned about the satyagraha movement of Gandhiji and if I remember correctly, in the class, I half heartedly listened to the boring history lesson and I candidly confess that when our principal showed us this movie on gandhiji I slept through all kinds of movement, satyagraha or hinsa,whatever!

Leo by birth I sometimes wonder about the well of tears that is easily available in my eyes. I feel my chinese astrological sign suits me more than my zodiac sunsign. I am more of the rooster than a Leo. Being a chicken(rooster) comes more easier to me than a lion(leo). But of late, with many people out to deceive me and twisting the very root of my existence to uproot my soul, I lie quietly on my bed not even casting an angry glance to them(But the tears are obviously there). A thought jabbed me hard in my chest,"you are a coward!"

That made me think a lot,"am I a coward? Am I actually maintaining silence because I can't raise my voice like the other party?" I took myself into the depth and today I've emerged,totally bruised but not beaten, I have my answers,"I am not a coward! Its just that I hate violence!" So then with that new found knowledge I almost felt like I had attained enlightenment.

Then I prepared myself to confront my so called friends and clear all the misunderstanding, just then I came across a line of wisdom from Paulo Coelho,"Don't explain. Your friends do not need it, and your enemies will not believe you!" It made me feel a halo of knowledge around my ignorant heart. I almost jumped with joy!

So, now I am back under my covers but not sulking anymore, I am rigid like a lion that I have my conscience clean and that counts more than the prayers and blessings my enemies attend.

(written to make myself feel better under the circumstances)

My Daughter, I am proud of you!

Four days ago, I was skyping with my li'l girls and since my daughter had finished her annual examinations I kept on pestering her about her performance. As soon as she saw me,she said,"Mama, guess what?" I felt maybe another list of her online games is on the way but just to humor her I asked,"what?"

"Our madam said, one student in our class got 100 in maths, I think that's me!" She said it with such conviction, I stared at her for a second and I burst out into giggles,so much for her confidence! We then got into our normal conversation and it was only after she logged out of skype I started to wonder about the spark in her eyes as she said,"I think that's me!" I remembered a line from the song "give me some sunshine" from THREE IDIOTS,"..rishwat dena toh khud papa ni sekhaya, 99% marks lao gi toh ghari nahin toh chari..." Was I expecting too much from my six years old kid?

It felt bad to realize that I too was pushing my li'l ones into the pool of my expectation as a parent. Try as hard as I could to reason out that every parent wants their children to excel in life, a gigantic guilt penetrated in my heart that maybe I am one of the parents who put their child into miseries from such pressure right from early years of their life.

But today, all that guilt turned into bundles of laughter of happiness. I was skyping with her when her grandpa walked in with a big smile. He never comes to talk in between when I am talking with my kids, but the way he smiled and approached the camera I knew he had good news. "Angie's guess was right, she has scored 100 in maths!" I suddenly felt someone had lifted me on the highest peak of happiness and pride. As he read out her marks in all the subjects, I felt tears trickle down my cheeks, tears of happiness.

All these months my li'l one has been promising me,"mama, I'm going to work hard to make you happy!" This post is for her, just to let her know that she has kept her promise and indeed I am proud of her achievement.I am proud of you my Angie!

Another night with my uninvited guest.

Boom! or was it a Swish? Whatever the background music,he had arrived. As always. My uninvited guest. "whatcha doing?" he smirked at me.

"Are you blind?" I barked back,not hiding my displeasure at seeing him in my room.That too at such odd hour. I jumped off the couch and turned the lights off. He needed to know that he was not wanted in my room and it was just not the right time for him to get close to me.

"Are you crying again?" It sounded more like a mockery than concern,so I remained mute(if you would consider the muffled sobs silent!).

"You are just plainly miserable!"he added and that felt like a sharp tip of a knife opening the can of stifled emotions. I wailed. It didn't feel wrong to cry with this stranger who had barged in my room at the dead of the night.

"Get a life Girl!"

That is easier said than done!More so impossible now that he had decided to stick around.The more I felt his cold hand touch me, I felt like a recluse.Was I becoming one?

"What's eating you now?" He raised his voice as if I had become deaf.

"Buzz off!" I screamed and pulled my sheets over my head.

"So, no friends,huh?..."he paused,it was a dramatic pause, a deliberate one."...and no family here!tsk!tsk!" I thrust his ribs with my elbows and would have kicked him hard if only I was standing and not bundled up in my bed.

He stretched his arms to take me in his embrace. I snuggled in effortlessly. "Alright!You win!" And I slipped more into the embrace of this uninvited guest who called himself LONELINESS!

Way back home.

The mound of sand flew
each dust carrying
her story of pain
of loneliness.

The dripping rain fell
each drop carrying
her story of tears
of solitude.

The bellowing wind blew
each puff blowing
her story of grief
of forlornness.

And then
there was bright sunshine
of happiness abound
as she walked back home!

Deception malady

For the past many days now I've been fighting myself to remain afloat in the sea of deception. I have tried immersing myself in the character of ALI and NINO but Kurbaan Said's powerful words failed to leave its mark in my otherwise 'hungry for more heart'.
Then I tried drowning in the pool of songs and music. But the songs I listened to reminded me of more deception than the one I was actually fighting hard to forget.

Trying to be funny in facebook; reading the heart warming felicitations to the Royal couple poured in every blogs I follow; nothing helped me to hide the emptiness carved in my heart.
How can some people manage to betray other's heart. Don't they know that in the chest of the other person too beats the same rhythmic heart as theirs? Don't they hear the rustle of the endless tossing and turning the whole night of the person who is trying to ward off the pain with their fluttering eyes staring at the dark ceiling?

I have always maintained the principle that other people's ugly heart shouldn't cloud one's heart. But of late I can't help feeling that 'if only my heart could change today!NOW!' I want to try and stand on the other side of the shore in life and watch with a smirk on my face how the other one winces in pain inflicted by me.

Way too gross of a feeling I know!Yech! No! I deny access to such crap thoughts in my system. But how do one fight this malady called deception? I'm sure many would have faced one in their lifetime.

Betrayal in love would serve as a drink of inspiration to a poet. May be he would write,"sweet betrayal, you come in a cup
so tempting; to not drink
would be a sin
even bigger than drinking!"

But how would a poet describe deception by a person you call a friend? Would he say,"Sweet Friend(the word sweet keeps the bitter thoughts calmed I guess????)
I trust all your lies
to scratch and dig sores in my heart;
believe all your filthy kicks
to guard me from peaceful sleep."

More I think of the people who crippled my faith and trust in the beautiful things in a relationship I find myself turning into an empty creature for each deception hollows out a part of my heart.

The new empty me can only pray that one day I will lose my heart and one that day I shall deceive the people who deceived me!

My Life, my story! (A ray of Hope)

The wise saying ,"Give someone a fish and you feed him for a day.Teach him to fish and you feed him for life" indeed came true in my case. Am Chime had prepared me for my entire lifetime by teaching me the art of weaving.

It did feel weird to go looking for a job after having lived life in my own terms for two years.But definitely not out of place for deep within my heart I always knew that I was born to struggle in life. Being born in a country where everybody wore their national dress in their day to day life was a blessing for people like me who didn't have the blessing of formal eucation to push our snout forward in life. I took shelter in a weaving centre which not only promised me a better knowledge of the weaving art but provided me with a life I never thought existed for me.


I made lot of friends for the first time in my life. Meeting many women who had faced the worst storms of life made my pain seem less painful.

It was a total new world. Yet! Every night I felt cold sweat of fearful anticipation of the same path of pain and struggle awaiting with its harness to hook me. I knew my fate had not yet changed it's course, it was just waiting to allow me to sink into the system of joyousness so that I could feel the pain of sorrows more.
But during the day,sitting in rows of our looms I forgot all about the tugging reminder of more pain waiting for me somewhere in the niche of fate's cruel hand,waiting to pounce on me.


One year ended happily with my fellow weavers. I had even forgotten that I was married once and had a husband who kicked me out of his house simply because his sisters told him so. The winter sun in the azure sky was telling me about the tales I had forgotten and in my reverie I didn't see the figure of my dreams drawing near me.

"Zangmo!" I kept on staring at the sky knowing that sound was from my memory world. But the sound from your dreams doesn't tug the sleeves of your tego. It was Dorji. In his flesh and blood,staring at me like a big reminder of a lifetime from the previous generation. Seeing him after a year was nothing like seeing him in my dreams. He looked more handsome and mature.


I opened my mouth to talk but fell short of words; what to tell him?what to ask? There were thousand and one things I wanted to shoot from my heart but my lips couldn't get in sync with my heart .

"How are you?" he asked. I was being silly,that's what I should have asked him; isn't that always the first question one asks upon meeting with anybody.I gave him the response that everyone gives,"I am good." Although I wanted to tell him that I missed him and missed the warm security of having one's own home no matter whatsoever differences we might have with one' s spouse. But being a woman ties up one's tongue when in such situation of emotions.

"I want you back," he pulled my hands as if doing so would harness positive response from me. I pulled my hands back. All the horror of that unfateful day returned and I wept;wept for the shame with which I was thrown out of his house simply because his sisters felt that he should drive a car not a scooter ;should be a father but not a husband. I wanted to spit at all four of them and make my life in the weaving centre my world. But something in me reminded me that if my mom had been alive she would have supported my miserable married life with my husband rather than being a successful spinster in a weaving centre.
So, I listened to my inner voice like I had always done and once again I packed my bags...to return and make a HOME for myself.

(to be continued...)

My Life, my story! (YET more twist)

A seed once sown has to become a plant and nothing but a plant.I was destined to become an uneducated woman struggling to keep afloat in her own pool of miseries. But a plant too can have their own set of branches and there is no rule of the nature that a particular kind of plant should have a particular set of leaves like all; likewise I chose to finally end my constant struggle with grief in the name of responsibility.

Moreover my burden of responsibility ended with my li'l one's demise. So, I ran away from my brother's house.my neighbor had visitors from Thimphu and they asked if I would go to work for them,there was no need for me to deliberate or ask anybody.I simply took the decision. That hardcore decision of leaving my own people was as easy as finding one's eyes even in pitch darkness. Maybe that strength came from the four animals. I sought truth of their words from my dream and took flight,never to return.

Five years with Aku wangchuk's family gave me what my family could never fathom. I became a individual with her own bank account. They paid me nu. 200 per month but that was more than I could have ever earned in a lifetime bundled up with my tears in my brother's house.

Aum chime taught me the trade that would feed me for a lifetime, the art of weaving. A young weaver,listening to BBS radio I picked many Dzongkha words. Staying in Thimphu itself is a source of education. I found myself using occasional English words too apart from being able to converse in Nepali and Dzongkha.

A young woman's most important agenda too was fulfilled. Meeting my husband was not a looking for a needle in a haystack task.I knew my fate was sealed with him as he sat beside my loom telling me tales from his school and students. So then began my life of happily ever after.

Aum lhamo'a daughter sonam told me many fairytales from the books she brought home from school. All these stories ended just after the princes and the princesses got married. She never told me what happened after that and I could never ask her as she would religiously close her book as if that was a gruesome task in itself. But my story doesn't end at this point, my story actually begins from ".....and they lived happily ever after.".

Not only was I born with a cursed fate but even my body seemed to have been sent with defective parts. Somehow I couldn't seem to give my husband the joy of fulfilled parenthood. Well, come to think of it, the husband's role is never questioned when it comes to infertility. Too swept by the grief of having failed as a wife I had stopped weaving a year after our marriage. In the initial months of the first year my husband consoled me with his hopes soaring high each month. But I guess his hopes stopped bothering his dreams in the second year for neither did he comfort me nor did he talk to me about it anymore.

One day,sitting on the couch I was staring at the tear-jerker soap opera ,lost in my own thoughts. "mathang!" I heard my husband's youngest of the three sisters yell. I jerked into reality and saw three angrily glaring women . "oh!"was all I could mutter while my three sisters -in-law stormed in the different direction of my house.

The eldest of the three was already in my bedroom throwing my clothes out of my closet while the younger duo took their position infront of me. I guess this is what it must be like in a war front when you are besieged all alone by the enemy team. They threw the worst of their tantrums. All I can remember is staring at the door,expecting my husband to barge in and save me.

"You are nothing but a burden on our brother. You aren't weaving to add the income in the household. My brother doesn't even have a car. He goes to school riding that old scooter while all other teachers,even the women, drive cars now." I nodded with tears clouding my eyes.

"and you can"t even be called a complete woman!" this was the worst and the worst of all accusation. Was it my fault that I couldn't mother a child.

"Get out of our brother's house...."they gnarled at me in unison.

I would have stayed if only my husband had stopped me but even he was one of the conspirators. "I am helpless,I guess my sisters care for me and I can't break their heart,"he stammered.


I picked up my clothes from the floor and walked out of the door of the sanctuary I had learnt to call my home for two years.


(to be continued.................)

My Life, my story!(The Sign)

My brother's marraige to my stepmom's niece was a well-orchestrated move made by her. She had her place as the Head of the family even after my father's demise. It was like a play being staged: my mathang makes her entry and a month after that my father makes his exit.

Although not moved by his expected departure,I feel the last thread of my strength ebbing. But with the need to be grateful to my brother's initiative of trying to unite the whole family, I slog under two conspiring blobs of inhumane women.
Moreover, there is a toddler whose need for a proper home is much important than my well- being. But my li'l brother too makes a hasty exit from our play. I've heard people say that some women's curse does work miracles and I get to see it live.My stepmom and her niece start their day with,"shelay manawa waktsa niktsing!" I don't know anything about the sciences of diseases so my only diagnosis of my li'l one's death is the venomous curse of the two women in our family.

In the darkness, I keep staring at the calender hanging on the wall. I can't read what's in there but I do understand that it gets replaced with another such hanging when the year changes.
When we first stepped in this house, on a similar kind of hanging was a picture of Guru Rinpoche. Every night I would stare at his eyes and question him the reasons of my existence. Each time I raise my query, my li'l brother stirred beside me.I accepted that was Guru Rinpoche's answer-that I need to live for the tiny toddler breathing next to me. And heavy with the sense of responsibility I would drop asleep.

It had been few months since Guru Rinpoche was replaced by a picture of four animals placed atop one another.I remembered seeing a similar picture in the lhakhang of our village and in one of the innner walls of Aum Lhamo's house.
I never felt I could ask the same question about my existence to these four animals so I silently gazed at them night after night as if by doing so I would somehow get an answer from them.

It was one dark night, the four animals came alive and talked to me.

"We are called Thuenpa Puenzhi," they spoke with such kindness that it melted my heart and drops of it ensued form my eyes.

"Don't cry li'l one," the mighty elephant patted me with its trunk. "Go, I give you my mighty strength to shoulder any kind of tasks."
Amid snifling sobs I felt a naughty tickle under my armpit. It was the monkey."Here li'l one, I give you my swiftness to be able to jump from any obstacle you might have to face."
I wiped my tears. The rabbit came hopping and in its most tender voice blessed me with the strength of love while the bird gave me the strength to fly and cross nine mountains and oceans.

I opened my eyes and met the gaze of my the four animals on the wall. It was just a dream!
But I wondered, what kind of tasks waited for me? What more obstacles did I have to overcome?Why would I need the strength of love? Where would I go crossing nine mountains and oceans????

(to be continued)

My Life, my story! (Ugly turns waiting in my path)

He came running after me. I slumped in the dark cowshed, sobbing! I don't know why I cried...was it tears of joy? tears of relief? or simply tears of ominous ugly twist waiting for me?
"I know you suffered a lot," his voice shivered. I didn't recognize the voice for I had never heard him talk to me. We parted ways when I was a toddler, for my maternal uncle had decided to take him with him to give him education.
My mom would tell me about my elder brothers whom I had never remembered. She would tell me that her boys would become 'dashos' after their studies and take me with them and give me a life in the town. I never tried imagining a life in town for I didn't know what a town even looked like. For me, home meant being in our shanty bamboo hut which leaked during monsoons and sent cold winds right into our blood during winters.
"Ata, are you a 'dasho' now?" I asked drawing close to him now that I knew my life was going to change. He laughed. "I am not a dasho but I earn enough to have my family with me," he assured me.
Riding in the rickety old truck with 'my family' which consisted of my father( I don't know if I even felt like addressing him with that after he played dead in my life after my mom's demise), his new partner(whose stern eyes pierced holes in my whole body merely by sitting near me); my lil brother who was a toddler now and my eldest brother who drove that truck.
He turned some weird looking knobs in his truck and soothing music lulled me to sleep. I heard my mom singing to me. Just when mom was about to pat my head with her gentle fingers,suddenly I was awakened by an uncomfortable rumble in my tummy that forced my lunch out of my body. I shook as the last of the tasty morsel left me with its bitter taste in my mouth.

First the tears and now soaked in my own bitter saliva,Was I gearing up for something more torturous? Only time had the answer and in the meanwhile I had to fight another urge of sour vomit pushing its way out!Eew!

One month in my brother's house(it was no better than our village hut.Well! what can you expect from a truck driver's income!sigh!) and I knew my sins were still grinding itself in the laundry machine. With my stepmom as the incharge in the house, the chores at Am Lhamo's house seemed like a child's play.

She was a typical stepmom of the fairytale period(I guess the readers would have understood how she treated me and my li'l brother).My father's role had not changed much, he went missing from the time he opened his eyes and came home dead drunk to notice any thing in the house except his shambles of a bed that took his foul stinking body in it.

What about my elder brother? He was out for most part of the day in the name of his work and when he wasn't working I guess he simply went out of the house so that his family could have the space to themselves in his house.That was his moral responsibility.

Each day my stepmom taunted me with her ugly tantrums and unholy thrashings. I never cried when she did that to me but there were times she pulled my li'l one away from me while in the process of beating me and started hitting him. Maybe she didn't have a heart or maybe she wasn't even a woman underneath that mathra kira, for no woman with her heart would do that to a lil one who did nothing but ask for his food.

But the worst came to the worst,my heart shrieked as I heard them talk...my father was acting sober for the first time and sitting beside him, my stepmom had a huge plaster of smile on her face. My brother sat across them as if caught unguarded and I heard him say," apa and azim would never mean any harm to me so it's a YES from me."

Sitting in the 40watt lighted kitchen, I repeated the YES!YES!YES! of my brother as if I knew that meant YES to another calamity in my life.

(.....to be continued)

My Life, my story!(The Beginning )

NEW YORK! Dream place of many- the land of dollars! Well, I am here but neither did I ever dream of this place nor did the green notes lure me here. I believe its my destiny that drove me from the frying pan into the fire.
How I ever landed in this place so faraway even for my uneducated mind to fathom is a story that is born from the unknown swerving life's ride took. Before I tell you my life here, I need to tell you how I got here in the first place and even before that I ought to tell you where the tussle with this absurd fate began from.
Third born and the only daughter in a family of a drunkard could have been a livable situation if only my mom had not chosen the wrong timing to make her exit out of our lives. My two elder brothers were away in the land where our Dzong was while I witnessed the final closing breath of our petite(yet!who had weathered the worst with my drunkard father) mother. My frail one year old brother wailed in my tiny arms as if he knew he had to make that loud wailing sound like the time he made his entry into the world. He took a second birth on that day with that same loud wailing, only this time I was to be the mother and not his Seven years old sister.
It never bothered my father that the woman who kept the embers of his home burning was gone forever. He continued drinking as if his whole existence depended on the daily dose of booze. It was on the seventh day of my mother's death ritual, some of our neighbors came with more bottles for my father to gulp down.
Am Lhamo, the rich lady who lived in the gigantic two story house about two acres of maize away from us looked at me with pity filled eyes. That look gave me the courage to touch her feet and I literally begged her for some kind of work in her household.She glanced at the tiny life bundled up on my back and I knew what she was thinking. "Am Lhamo, I need no money for the work,just give us food and shelter," I begged holding my li'l brother knowing he was my responsibility.
With my li'l one I left my mother's soul (if she was in that house at all) and went to live with Am Lhamo. But the kind-eyed Am Lhamo too seemed to have left her soul with my mother's death ritual. She gave me the dark corner of her kitchen to make a tiny nest for the two of us. However I was thankful to the maize flour that she provided the two of us for our meals. The coarse maize flour eroded the tiny esophagus of my li'l one but atleast he had something going into his tiny tummy.
I raced with the cockerel to get up in the morning and went to bed when the last of the owl hooted. My ever hungry for some other meal than maize flour brother didn't ease my condition. Strapped on my back from dawn till dusk, I knew he longed to be set free on the ground sometimes but that would only mean more hours of chores for me so I thought it best to keep him strapped.
The tendons in my neck wanted to stretch from being curved and bent over the chores in the house ranging from winnowing the cereals;milking the cows; sweeping the dusts from all the rooms in the big house and not to forget the tiny life adding weight on my spine.
How a little girl like me could perform all these tasks does sound kind of a hard to believe tale. But add a dead mother plus a drunkard father who forgets you even exist and a dilapidated shanty bamboo mat of a house. This addition equals to the miraculous strength that one can muster to work for a lady who means business when it comes to feeding two extra mouth in her household.
Two strenuous labor-filled years later, I was summoned to the front courtyard of Am Lhamo's house. At first I thought it was a dream. My father had never looked this sober and nor did he look this youthful. Upon staring at the figure who stood tall infront of my eyes, I realised it was my eldest brother. "Ausa, I've come to get the two of you."
I darted to the cowshed. Was it a hallucination?Was I being liberated?Were all my past life's sins washed in two years of hard labor? Had my ill-fated destiny taken a ride away from me?

(to be continued....)

ALL I want to be

I want to be
the song you hum
when mirth stretches
your pursed lips!

I want to be
the tiny flutter in your tummy
when cupid shoots
his first arrows in your heart.

I want to be
the heart drawn on the sand
before the waves
washes it back.

But I know
I shall be forgotten
like that song you hummed;
the flutter of first signs of love
and the heart drawn on the sand.

Yet! I want to be
only these and nothing else
for even if momentary
I know it would make you merry!

If Marriage was a two years contract!

One lazy summer lunch break hour, the five of us,sitting in the dark staffroom shifted our talk from students and funny instances in the class to a serious issue-marriage! Tshewang quipped,"If only marriage was like a few years contract!" Without a seconds delay Namgay added,"say, it was two years contract and we could renew the marriage or just get another contract with another woman!"
My immediate answer was on a defensive side(being a woman and not to forget being happily married!,"Men will always find an alibi to get access to several women!" and I dragged the doma packet and started to talk about the changing rate of doma,just to steer the topic to a much cleaner one.

Today, sitting all alone during lunch I remembered the lunch hours I spent with my friends and as I sat thinking about those good old days, I remembered this particular incident. Seriously delving into it,if as wished by my male colleagues, if marriage was a two years old contract, what would the scenario be like?

No man would ever think of renewing their expired contract(I say this with full conviction of truth that dwells in our society) and they would not stay without another full term contract. So that means after every two years if a man marries new woman, given the size of our country and the total population,there is a possibility that the whole country might land up being one big extended family(this assumed based on the assumption that the man will have a child with every marriage,which is biologically possible). Just come to think of it!

A big smile spread on my forlorn face. Many a times I can have such silly thoughts stomping in my mind and I would enjoy it as if that was some major discovery. I threw the remains of my lunch in the trash can but the absurd thought of whole country being one big family couldn't be erased from my mind that easily. So this silly woman kept on smiling throughout the day instead of weeping for having missed another THRUE time with my family.

Sad but we ought to face it.

"Mama, can you put off skype now?" she pleaded. My heart tweaked a bit with a surging pain,yet I had to ask,"why?" "I want to play some online games now,"replied my daughter nonchalantly. Felt like a quiver full of arrows struck my heart at the same time. But I saw an intense need of games more than their mom who missed them like a lunatic. So I obliged, more out of understanding her need than my sadness.

After I logged out of skype I realised I have not been any different from my daughter. I never missed my own mom more than my friends and I never felt anything wrong with it.After meeting my husband and having two daughters, my parents were shoved far back in the corners of my life's priority.

Today I put my daughters above all else, eeven above my own life but sadly for now her online games counts more than my presence in skype. This is momentary, she will ask for me when she needs a new dress for her doll or maybe new games. But as she grows up her friends will occupy the place in her heart while I will be called into that space only if there is any serious adult intervention needed.

Then like any grown up girl, my li'l girl will meet the man of her dreams and I'll find no vacant corner to put up my bundled heart in her heart. With gray hair and wrinkled dreams, I shall sing of the olden days when I was young and feel all the love I felt for my li'l ones while they will snuggle in the warmth of their lives set in a different setting from mine.

Alas!that's the sad tale every mother lives.

Atlantic Ocean...My first time

"Are you serious? You never seen an ocean in your life?" she stared at me wide eyed,her false lashes curving higher up,almost touching her brows. I would have drawn the whole geographical setting of our country alongwith the political and social history if only my ears had not turned red with embarrassment.It's absurd how we humans look down on somebody merely based on what they have seen or done in life and I represented another set of the same race who baked red in embarrassment over the opportunities one has missed in life.
However, she was kind enough to take me to the beach. ATLANTIC OCEAN! I remembered the lessons in geography classes, the map with a wide span of blue and the black letters spelling Atlantic, but I found myself staring right at it.It took my breath away. I had tried my first swimming lesson in the Methidrang in my home town and have crossed many other rivers(oh!shouldn't forget the Brahmaputra experience in Guahati).But the Atlantic was a new and never imagined experience.
I stared deep and inhaled the salty breeze. "Go, take a walk." She taunted me with her slender sunscreen-smeared hands."All alone!" she added as if I would ask her to accompany me.
I took few unsure steps,"what if the waves lashed hard on me in took me in its embrace?"raced through my nervous brain. My Methidrang had not given me enough swimming lessons to keep me afloat in this huge mass of water.
However, few seconds into the wet sand and I fell into the role of all the leading ladies in Nicholas Sparks' novels. Just as in NS novels, as I walked all alone, lost in the sand and the salty air, a dog(wish I knew what brand that was,lol...but certainly was a big one) appeared from my back and licked my finger(maybe I was waving it in my sheer nervousness???).It frightened me and my surprised shriek double-frightened him. Just then a man, nah! a boy in his early twenties came running and apologized for his dog's behavior. Well! if only it had been NS' book, I would have fallen in love with that dog(or maybe the owner?blush!blush!). But this was no NS tale, so I(an old lady) smiled at the boy and he scooted away before I could finish saying,"that's ok."
The dog's episode made me stop my legs from taking any further steps. So I shifted my position and faced the ocean. As I stood looking at it,sadness enveloped me. I thought of thousands of Africans who were brought here by the waves of this same ocean burying their freedom in the sun parched homeland enslaved to work on foreign shores. I pictured thousands bodies floating in this same water, the bodies of those slaves who breathed their last in the ships which was no less than hell sailing on Earth. I felt a shudder down my spine. A big wave knocked me back to my real world as it washed away the sand I was standing on. I jumped away further and sat down. In the sitting position I thought of countless women sitting on this same shore waiting for their beloved to return from some agenda on the other side of this vast ocean.I could reckon the poets singing of lovers placing hopes in the vast ocean to bring back their love.Countless tales of sorrows floated with the empty shells on the shore I sat, with my gaze fixed on the dark green water.
"Why tears?" the same sound knocked. As she pulled me to my feet, I saw many kids giggle with buckets and shovels(perhaps with a sand castle in mind); young boys with their surfing boards and countless ladies attired in fashionable bikinis. I smiled a weak smile and the stories I silently had been listening to in my heart submerged with my first big spoon of chocolate ice cream.

Can't hold your hand

Dear, I'm sorry
I can't hold you hands
no more;
Can't walk beside you
brushing our shoulders
no more.

Now I've a tiny hand to hold
and you too the same;
but Dear, I love you
more than ever;
for this tiny bridge
walking in between us.

A Second of a lifetime.

A second
is all it takes to dream
a thousand dreams
colored in thousand shades.

And just another second
is all life offers
for these thousand dreams to shatter
and fall into thousand salty drops.

Yet another second
is all that's needed
to gather the shreds
to thread through
another thousand dreams
draped in another thousand shades.

I want to sing...

I want to sing
(pardon me if you don't like my voice)
but I gotta sing
and sing is what I'm going to do
for I want to sing.

I want to sing
of lovely friends
who kept me alive
even when I died.

I want to sing
of beautiful memories
which gave me smiles
even when drowning in tears.

I want to sing
of the modest blessing
of life,
although sluggishly struggling
living it.

I want to sing
a merry song of happiness
to dispel shreds of sadness.
So,let me sing
and sing with full might.

For My Dear Friend

Back in the primary school days when asked to write an essay,I was very calculative as to how to frame my essay paragraphs. I remember writing an essay about my BEST FRIEND back then. Lying flat on the wooden floor,chewing the tip of the pencil, I planned my essay: first paragraph will write about the size of her family and their names;second paragraph will write about her physical description; third paragraph will write about the things we do together that makes us best friends.

Back in those days, friends were more of playmates. Our immediate neighbors became our best friends albeit the differences in age. As age burdened one with more school work, the classmates became best friends. Finally creeping into adolescence, the need to maintain secrets of heart and its business we then start befriending someone who shares our interest and can maintain the locked secrets well in one's heart.

When I sit down to write about my friend, I suppress a wicked chuckle that lies buried at the base of my vocal chord; we are so different yet we are the best of friends and have been since our teenage days.

She is skinny and I'm fat(hey! maybe we can qualify for a female Laurel and Hardy duo). She is petite rat while I'm a gigantic dinosaur. She is highly learned I'm semi qualified. She has the brains while I have the heart. She is brave while I'm a chicken. She is like the altar in her house while I think I qualify for the doormat role. She is looked up by everyone around her while I'm never looked at(sigh!).She is a world different from what I'm and we both know it but whenever things happen around us, good or bad, we know the first person we think of is each other to share it with. We both know that we shall never judge each other no matter how sinfully evil we become. It amazes me how two people so different can understand each other so well.

Dear friend, on this special day( though we need no reminding) let me tell you I know I can be me with no tinge of embarrassment with you. When I die, I shall live all my blessings and my curse in your soul for we may be different but we have our fate entwined like one soul. I would never have been able to see the dawn of many of my dreadful times had you not been there with me, supporting me with just a assurance that you know what I mean. I would have exploded unable to contain my happiness in my heart had I not got your heart to share it with.

My joys have doubled and my grief lessened only because I had you as my friend. I'm lucky YOU are my friend.HAPPY FRIENDSHIP DAY!

You lose your friend....

You lose a friend when he becomes your lover and you lose your lover when he becomes your husband. This statement might be purely true based on my hazy reasoning and bears no scientific proof or valid statistics to support it. Like they say many great ideas are born in the bathroom and hence I claim that this great idea occurred to me when I was taking a shower and thinking about the coming Sunday...Friendship Day!

Listen to my justification: When we initially start our journey together we embark as friends(well,I ain't saying anything about those people who see each other on the night of their marriage;have heard of such cases too). We trust that person and he becomes our close confidante. The relation clicks and before we realize it has changed the route and reached the station called LOVE.I don't want to argue that some people believe there can never be a clean friendship between a man and a woman and I don't mean the same here, I'm just taking this path to drive home my point of reference.

Being lovers is a different journey and trust me the friendship that we thought has deepened with that new relationship actually has stomped hard on the previous relationship. Jealousy creeps in. The urge to possess creeps in. The platonic relationship calls in sick. Gone are the days of being there for each other for it changes to wanting each other.

Soon, the speed with which the wind drives the other relationship propels the duo to the next station-marriage! With this station it is as if one has reached the final destination. Complacency sits flat on the heart. Where previously concern for small details prevailed; now 'it's no big deal' feeling settles.

So, don't you think you lose the friend in him ultimately?

Whether you lose a friend when SHE becomes your lover or do you lose the lover when SHE becomes your wife, that's a new food for thought and I need to jump in the shower to get my answers to that.

Love, ever a reality?

LOVE! I know I'm too old to even think of this topic but everytime I read or watch a movie where love is portrayed in the fashion I always dream of, I just cannot help but think of LOVE as if I just turned sweet sixteen yesterday.

With nothing better to do, I flipped through the movies available online and happened to come across a movie called DHOBIGHAT. checking the casts, I saw Aamir Khan's name and was surprised, how come I had not heard the name of a movie which had such a big star in it. Anyway, knowing that Aamir Khan's movies are almost like a gem, since he does only one movie in a year(I hope this information is true).

The movie did have Aamir Khan but it didn't have anything interesting to cling on.Other than the hero himself I didn't recognize any of the other actors in that movie.I would have clicked out the movie if only I had any other stuff to do, so I continued staring at the plot which had me sneering at one of the most highly rated actor in Bollywood. The movie ended before I could feel "that was some movie!".

I looked out of my window and the sun rays were still dancing in all its glory. The day seems to stretch like the most elastic rubber ever produced when you are bored to death. Trying to tramp on the bad taste left in my heart by that dhobighat, I clicked on another movie. (This better be good!The cast looked promising, there was Hrithik Roshan and Ashwarya Rai Bachhan).

This movie wrung my heart with its scenic beauty and I loved the entire feel of the movie. Ethan(played by Hrithik) is a quadriplegic who pleads for his death after battling with his vegetable life for twelve years. Euthanasia! (I wished I could show this movie to my students who have to deal with this topic while studying their novel GIVER). The movie touched the deepest pockets of my soul when at the end the court denies him his death but Sophiya(played by Ash), his nurse for twelve years accepts to grant him this wish.

What left a big lump in my throat was the proposal of marriage made by Ethan to Sophiya just after her acceptance of granting him his only wish-death! Watch this movie Guzarish and tell me if this beautiful scene doesn't squeeze out some tears(well, this could happen only if you understand love!).

The movie ended and this time when I looked out of my window, the sun was an orange ball mildly bouncing in the far end of the ocean. As the waves lashed its ripples I felt it was the sun crying my tears. It broke my heart to know that maybe!maybe there is such kind of love some where in the niche of this huge wide world.

Tears still peeping through the window of my soul, I then thought of the previous movie and was almost about to say that was a 'howry' movie, I jolted with complete different understanding of the movie that I had failed to see before. Dhobighat too deals with the theme of love but I didn't feel that 'cause unlike Guzaarish, the love in Dhobighat is more found in real life. There is a boy who is a dhobi who falls in love with an elite NRI who in her westernized attitude forgets that for somebody like Munna the only possible relationship between man and woman is LOVE.Then there is Mr Aamir Khan himself who plays a secluded in oneself kind of painter. His solitary life is not just the fact that he is an artists but owing to the fact that his wife has left him. Although the beautiful NRI girl is charmed by their casual 'mistake' after meeting in a party, he doesn't reciprocate in the same manner. However, this painter derives his share of love when he moves to an apartment where he finds some assortment of video tapes and other items left behind by the previous tenants. The lady in that tape records each moment of her life so that she can send it to her brother. Unknown to himself, these tapes inspires him to produce more paintings and the glow of love radiates on his face. But the movie ends with none of the character getting the love of their life. The Dhobi guy gives the new address of the painter guy to the NRI girl sacrificing his love for her. While the girl knows the painter will never love her back, the painter himself gets submerged in the agony of the the truth that the lady in the tape has committed suicide.

Such is the twists of love,it strikes at the most unlikely being at the most unlikely hour. So is love ever a reality?Or just mere plot woven to capture the heart of the audience by the writers?

My IT teacher-my daughter

She means serious business whenever she gets a chance to fiddle her favorite toy. Taking a chance of her uncle's laptop before she got her own.

I simply love the way that tiny fingers tap on the keyboard.

The girl with the blue hairband,my IT teacher, intently peering at her own laptop.

MY li'l one needs a chance on her sister's laptop, but the big sister is in no mood to share her priced possession, so I come up with a solution......

She has to make do with her barbie laptop till her next Bday(the day she turns three).

Lesson from my Daughter

"Oww ani mama dhi,"she says frustrated that her mother is a very bad learner. People might think I'm fibbing when I say this that I've learnt a lot of new things about computer usage from my six years old daughter.But its the truth and nothing but the truth.

My daughter has been fiddling with laptop since she turned three. Most of us, the parents, we don't allow our kids to touch costly appliances in the house, out of fear that they will break it. Cost of the appliances is more realistic and prominent than the knowledge our kids could get from fiddling with it. But me and my husband have always put everything aside for the happiness of our kids. So when she started fiddling with the only laptop we owned back then when she was barely three, we allowed her to, although it would pull our money-minded heart sometimes for she was not 'stay on one page kid'. She would ask the password and before she started going to school to learn her alphabets she started typing password and opening our laptop to play games on it.

I've never been keen on any electronic devices, it could be attributed to the fact that we never had any fancy electronics during our childhood days or maybe the only much used electronic device was the home-made water-heater that killed people in my town. So the fear of electrocution has always kept me away from electronics.

But my daughter has a different eye, she is too much into such devices, be it cell phones, video games or computer; she has mastered it before me. Two years ago she taught me how to insert our picture from MY DOCUMENTS and put it in the WORD page and then type after it. She didn't have words to type but she would type in her own jumble of words in that page. That was the first lesson I received from her. After that came so many features in online games.

Recently she has taught me so many things in skype. But what she taught me today has left me totally baffled. We were skyping and as usual she wanted to start the chat as well. She always writes my name instead of calling me 'mama' when we chat. But she made a slight error while typing my name, well, that happens with everybody, even with us the grown ups. I mean I re-read my posts and I always find some typing errors on it, so I haven't given much importance to it. But she says,"oh! a mistake!" and she does something and I see that she has correctly typed my name but the previous mis-spelt name is no longer on the page. Mystified I ask her how she did it.

"Oww, ani mama dhi," She laughs. She always says this line when she actually wants to say,"you are so stupid"(well, I'm her mama, how can she call me stupid). So then she instructs me, "type a word", I give her my solemn look and prepare to type a word I have in mind. Before my fingers reach the key board she warns me, don't write the correct spelling. I write a word just randomly and click on the enter. "OK, now this word is not correctly spelt, so now press on the shift button, then enter button, then click on the upward arrow," my little teacher instructs me. Whoa, she is too fast for me, I do it but the out come is I land up entering the correctly spelt word while my previous mis-spelt word is still there too.

Ten minutes later,I'm still trying to do it but it doesn't work while she does it and it works. She is agitated with the fact that I can't pick up what she, a six years old discovered on her own. I plead,"Baby, please click on the share button and show me how to do it." She scolds me,"This grandpa's desktop is too old and the share button is shaky, it's not working."

She gets an idea.She calls her eight year old cousin and makes her hold the web-cam so that I can see how she is doing it. Its another ten minutes. Her cousin complain of strain in her hands but my stupid brain still can't get it right.

"Oww ani mama dhi," she repeats exasperated. Finally after another volley of instructions later, I master that. She claps and says," Good, now don't forget that!"

(Can you guys believe it? This is no fiction, this happened this morning, really, truly. I'm writing this cos' I'm proud of her mastery. Nobody can stop a proud mother from flaunting about her daughter's skill, I guess).

Muse WANTED

I seem to be getting into action every time I open the Blogyul-Blogging Bhutan page. Today I read a very interesting post by Rachna(I guess she is a writer too,sorry that's 'cos I don't know anybody there personally).Seriously put into thought by Rachna's latest post about MUSE ON SALE, I was awestruck by the humor bathed with wit in her post. To add to it, there are others following her in putting up their own advertisement for selling their muse,I laughed at the hilarity of some of the weird ways people have chosen to advertise their muse.

But after the laughter ended, I felt sad. I suddenly realized that forget about putting it up for a sale, I don't even have a muse to fall back on. Hmmmmmm, seriously thinking! I guess that's why I could never write a thing worth posting till date. So what I want is a muse.

How does one get a muse? Do we purchase from somebody when they get tired with theirs?(I'm just in the mood to play along with that post I mentioned earlier,no offense meant!). Whatever, let me put up an ad for a muse and lets see if I get a good offer that would turn me into a delightful writer(Keeping my fingers crossed).

Let me make a proper ad, so that I get the best of the muse.
MUSE WANTED.
WORKING CONDITION: Should be able to work in the most muddled brain of a highly pessimist woman. The heart does most of the talking though, so the brain can be forgotten part while dealing with this lady( Now I know why I'm stupid, I never use my brain,arrrgghhh! got to learn how to use my brain).

GENDER: no bar, hey! wait a second! If I choose a female muse, won't I be branded...you know what? and if I choose a male, I'm a decent married woman, so won't it be wrong to ask for another male....this is getting difficult now. Whatever, let me just say, gender no bar.

JOB POSITION:Will be a full time employee so don't you dare think of taking a break. Sometimes might have to work even in odd hours, well you never know when the rusted brain might start functioning again.

PAYMENT: Hmmmmm, to think I thought choosing the gender was a difficult job. Need to ask people who already own a muse whether they pay in cash or kind. So, this will be discussed later.

Serious MUSE wanting to take up the job mentioned above, kindly contact me at this blog.

(This is a work of somebody who is plainly out of mind so please don't take it literally,lol).

Looking out for you.

"Mama," she said sobbing,
"my eyes are wet
and I'm looking out of the window
for you to return home."
She sobs some more.

I stifle my sobs
tears cascading ceaselessly.
"Baby,I'll come home,
I'll come home soon,"
is all I say
for sorrow has drowned my words.

A year has gone by.
My little girl has grown
she smiles and laughs
and plays without me.

But when I close my eyes
I see her eyes are wet
and she is looking out of the window
for me to return home.
I sob ceaselessly.

Language barrier?.....no problem!

A motherly looking lady walked in while I sat gazing at the choo-choo train in the children's park. Many days I've sat in the train and imagined going chaga-chaga-choo-choo all the way back home. I would have tried climbing in the airplane see-saw too but that's too small for my motherly butt, so I spared that poor airplane.

"Hi" she said with a smile that warned me "I don't speak any English!"I replied with a mighty smile that told her "I want to have a conversation with anybody, even a stranger who speaks no English." She understood I guess. She asked something in her language, ignoring what she was talking about, I asked," Spanish?" "Si," she replied with a lovely smile. "I don't (I shook my head vigorously to drive home the point) speak Spanish, only ENGLISH( I said English louder than the rest). She made a pout to tell me there was no chance for any conversation between us.

I didn't want to give up so easily. Loneliness can be so intriguing at times that it could bring the stranger in you alive; I've never been much of a conversationalist but how long can one survive, talking with oneself? I needed company. I needed somebody to talk to. Anybody would do, even this stranger who didn't share a common language with me.I wasn't going to give up so easily.

"You've baby?" I asked, thinking the word 'kids' or children would be too difficult for her to comprehend. "Bha-be?" she asked back. Hhatever! I knew she understood. "Si! uno,"she smiled. A person smiles a lot when in a tight situation like the two of us were in. She pointed to me,she was asking the same to me my instinct told me. "dos" I replied with my two fingers up in case my pronunciation failed the counting in Spanish I had picked from listening to Ricky Martin's song. The song played in my head.

She took out her cell phone and showed me her daughter's picture and I did the same. It is an amazing discovery that we spent two hours together in the park and shared details about each other despite the language barrier.

I learnt she is from El Salvador, mother of one and her daughter was left with her parents. She knew I'm from Bhutan and that I miss my daughters a lot. Other than that we even managed to talk about the weather, how hot and humid it was and where we lived in the neighborhood and landed up with the promise that we would meet again the next day too.

As we waved 'bye's, I walked back with the realization that maybe she too needed somebody to talk to about her daughter just like me. How amazing it is that mothers need no language to talk about their kids even with strangers who do not speak your language.

Pet names and Nick names

"Mam...ma....," I like the long dragging 'aaaaaa' sound that my daughter puts in whenever she calls out for me. I guess even she knows this unique style she has adopted. Two of us were in our kitchen garden, weeding and marveling at the tiny saplings sprouting in our small patch of land. She called out to me, wanting to show something that had caught her eye but she suddenly realized her unique way of addressing me and said," Dema calls out 'mam...ma'( abruptly ending at the last 'a') while I say 'mam...maaaaa'" She giggled at her own absurd way of addressing me. But I see a powerful adoration in that elongated 'aaaaaaaaaaa' at the end.
Growing up in a household filled with my dad's pretty sisters robbed me of any loving pet names my mom could have thought of. My ugliness earned me the pet name 'bagarmo'(I guess that means 'ugly'). My mom and all my family members( not my dad, he never used that on me although he believed that my mom was beautiful while I was not) called me by that name. I started my journey of hating myself since my childhood, for I longed to have not just a pretty face but a pretty pet name too.

After I joined school, I met many people with different nicknames. I figured out that only those who were popular had nicknames. I longed for a nickname silently(but I didn't want people in school to call me 'bagarmo' no, no).

My wish was finally fulfilled when I reached class five. My science teacher ( maybe he was tired of teaching and wanted a break??) instead of our bones and flesh lesson, started talking about nicknames. "You see( he used this phrase frequently, actually he used that even when there was nothing for us to see), people remember you if you have an interesting nickname," I totally agreed with him and I nodded my head hoping that he would notice my enthusiasm and give me a nickname. "So, let's give nicknames to everybody in the class( we knew that everybody in the class didn't include him, he was called 'psycho' behind his back; so why would anybody give him any other nicknames?).Actually in those days none of the teachers were spared of nicknames. Students would find something or the other to make fun of the teachers.

My smile broadened more than my mouth allowed, I changed my seat with my friend who was sitting in front of me, so that I could get my nickname fast. It didn't go unnoticed,"this girl is always hopping around the class, she should be called grasshopper," our sir called out.Lo! I had my first official nickname. But I hated that name. When I wished for a nick name I was thinking of something pretty not 'grasshopper'(GROSS!).

It took me two fights in the class to stop people from calling me by that name. So in a week's time I lost my much wished for opportunity. Maybe, my friends thought I had something against nicknames(after those fights..nobody fought with that big boy I picked a fight with. Well, getting enrolled in Tae Kwon Do classes boosted my ego I guess) they never dared to give me another nickname.

I finished my primary school days and joined another school for High School. I still have not been able to figure out why I chose to sing on the stage during the freshers' nite. My voice sounds so pathetic even when I'm having a normal conversation,and I had the guts to sing in front of the whole school! Well, thanks to that gut instinct I got my second nickname, the title of the song I sang,'yuck!'would you call that a nickname. Well, my friends never called me by that name. It was only used by people to tease me( maybe, now when I look back, they were making fun of my voice quality and not the song). I never responded well to that nickname, so I lost that too in a year's time.

I changed my school after completing my ICSE. In my new school, by then I guess I was grown up and didn't want any nicknames. But there was another girl in my class who was my namesake. Unfortunately I was shorter so whenever people asked for us, they would use the gesture of tall? or short?. It pained me to see people asking for me leveling their hands to their armpit while there would be hands raised above their head, some even extended themselves on their toes to drive home the point that they were looking for the other one. Ultimately, somebody gave us the suffix 'lambu' and 'chotu'. It was kind of cute, people calling me chotu. It wasn't pretty but I found it laughably cute. So even during my NIE days, whenever I sent letters to my classmates, I would sign my name with 'chotu' attached to it.

After formally becoming a teacher and a mother of two, I lost the 'chotu' tag. But now my ordeal of hunting for a nickname or pet name has ended. I'm too old for my family to think of a pet name for me but I know I stand dangerously in the area where people would not escape nicknames. Every school I work in, I dread getting a nasty nickname from my students(Luckily I haven't earned any till date,hope so!).

However, my daughter's calling out 'mam....maaaaaa' is the sweetest sound my ears perk up to.My long wished for a pet name lovingly called is fulfilled I guess.

Another Sad Happy B'day Day for me.

Dear Angie,
Can't believe you are six years old today,am I this old to mother a six year old?(kidding). Can't believe, six years have gone by since the first exulted feeling of fulfilled motherhood. Can't believe six years have gone by in complete love with my life no matter how difficult the journey has been. Can't believe six years has flashed by and it always feels like it was just yesterday, trying to drown my awkward first time mother-to-be scream in the almost life-snatching labor pains.
Sorry I sound like a conceited self-centered person with all these 'can't believes',so before I pour out any one of my 'can't believes', let me talk about you my dear. You will not miss any moments of your time when you were inside me for I've a record of every ante-natal visits to hospital and have a monthly record of our times together in a diary. But since you actually came in our world, I have been so mesmerized by your presence that I have forgotten to continue with the record keeping thing.
Dear, in every picture, in every moments you'll look back at, you will always remember me with all my love for you I know. And why wouldn't I shower you with such love, you are so adorable. Maybe I'll use today's note to tell you about how you are now at this moment.
You are in grade one now but you talk and do things as if you are in High school already. I mean you already have your own laptop (lucky you for you have good mother like me who bought that for you,haha). You chat with me whenever we are skyping, learning maths was never fun than doing it over chat, right dear? You don't like any veggies. You eat french fries for every meal and every friday you don't take lunch like other days, for you prefer eating momo in your school canteen over food packed from home. You don't like meat at all. But I wouldn't call you a vegetarian for you devour dried-fish 'like  a seal' ( your dad uses this expression to describe us, dried-fish eaters). You are a big Hello- Kitty fan. Lemme see, you have  Hello-Kitty clothing, Hello- Kitty bags,Hello- Kitty stationery;Hello- Kitty camera....did I forget anything??? Well, anyway I've made my point with this...you are a BIG Hello-Kitty fan.
Not to forget, your 'sharchokp- never been to school' grandma finds it difficult to get into conversation with you for you talk only in Dzongkha and English. I don't know who put this silly idea in your head that one must talk in these two languages only. I wish you would get back to your sharchokp speaking spree like the year ago. But its amazing how one and a half year in school has drastically improved your Dzongkha and English( thanks to your teachers).
Everybody adores you. You are so easy with tears. You never hit others, not even when others hit you. Your li'l sister bullies you and you allow her to bully you. You are so soft Angie. It pains me to see you getting beaten by others. There is no friend of your who may not have bullied you. I fear for you dear. I want you to be able to defend yourself. I want you to learn to fight back.
And you are getting better with your lies. How can I forget the time your li'l sister was hospitalized and you made me believe that she is sleeping in the other room while she was actually sleeping in the hospital bed. Shed this role, right now! I don't want anymore liars although you are just a liar-in-making.
You are a creative magician. Every skyping hour I can't get away without seeing one of your magic tricks. Actually you are very good at it (if you wouldn't show me the trick I wouldn't know that there is a trick behind your magic). Go on, charm me as always li'l magician.
Who can get you away from the online games. I wonder how you can play those games before I can even figure out what it is. (Hey! I'm planning to get a DS or Wii for you,that was supposed to a secret,hehe). But more than your skills at these games I love it the best when you read out aloud to me. I've listened to THREE LITTLE PIGS and TOWN MOUSE AND COUNTRY MOUSE and now I'm waiting for you to read me your other books as well.
Dear, now that your birthday is done, we all know its my turn to play the birthday girl role. So I am waiting for the gift you promised to send me, your handwritten letter with a drawing of our castle and the four of us sitting in the garden outside with clouds floating near the yellow sun.
Happy Birthday dear.Mama loves you!a ton!

Yet another reason why I love being a teacher.

"Madam congratulations," I typed while eating my noodles at the same time."??????" came the reply. I knew those question tags would be dancing in her head for first of all we were chatting for the first time after having departed for more than a decade and the first thing I said, actually even before a decent hi, was 'congratulations'. Well, I've that kind of nerve, I surely belong to the Ranchi clan(I mean the well-known treatment place for a special group of people there and not the place in itself) as my friends tells me.
But I didn't have to jump high to pull down her question tags,"Heard you are a Vice Principal now," I typed my explanation. "Waiiiiiii," I almost heard her say that as I sat staring at that lone response from my colleague. She had this peculiar style of saying this word, whether she was amazed, astounded, provoked or simply amused. I knew she was amused this time.
Further deep into the conversation I learnt she no longer was what I had heard she was. As she was given the opportunity for further studies in her subject she had to forego that position. Before I could hold back my outrageous comments, I typed,"I would prefer teaching over administration." I bit my tongue, I can be so unrealistically opinionated at times.
But I breathed with relief as she too shared my sentiments. While reasoning out why going in the class and dealing with students is far more better deal than sitting over a chair dealing with teachers, I received a 'Hi madam, h r u?' from a student of mine who is now in college in Bhubaneswer in India. She told me about an international festival they had in her college and they wanted a title for the entire program. She suggested 'Khetshen' which means 'striving for excellence'; her suggested name was chosen over the ones suggested by her seniors. She narrated how students from Korea, Nepal, Bangladesh,Canada, Nigeria, etc where awarded with certificates bearing the name 'Khetshen'.  Later, she was asked to explain what the name meant. She began by telling them..."once upon a time( I felt like I had aged beyond all the fairy tales as she used this to refer to the time I was her teacher) I had a teacher......and she chose this name for our book which we published in our club." Her  reasoning was well applauded she told me. Although I was reading it as a normal chat I could hear the claps and felt so good that she remembered me in such hour and in such manner. She went on,"I didn't win anything, they got all the trophies and certificates but I got  pride for the name I suggested was there on every certificate and trophies they took with them."
I shared her pride as she went on telling me about how she thought of me and the kind of mentor I've been for her. I didn't doubt that at all. I remembered that book she was telling me about was the first newsletter we published in our school only after she left saying she had to go. (Only I know how much I had to put my fingers and poke my aged brain to remember what she had so admiringly remembered...I agreed to her using 'Once upon a time' to talk about her high school days, I'm getting old, I mean I am old....look at my memory system).
I didn't share this with the teacher-friend I was chatting with at the same time but yes! I knew with full heart that I wasn't fibbing when I was saying I love being a teacher. Like my student said," I got the pride." Like I always say, this is why I love being a teacher, you never know how you have touched somebody in some point of your life.

Ghosts with dirty linen?

It was broad daylight outside but in the basement where I had put up, it was as dark as night could be. On Mondays all my roomates leave for work while I bury myself in either chatting in FB or reading a book. As usual, nobody was online in FB so I logged out and buried my nose in the world of Henry VIII and his numerous wives.
"Swish, swish,swish...." Was I dreaming? No, I wasn't even sleeping why would this be a dream? But what was the sound coming from the bathroom? It sounded like somebody was washing their clothes. Phew! I sighed with relief and immediately jolted back to the same fear,'nobody washes their clothes in the bathroom HERE!' My heart jumped out of my chest and it thud-thuded so loud, I couldn't  hear the usual ears blasting sirens of cars plying on the highway right under my window.
I closed my eyes and tried to close my ears too but my ears couldn't be closed. The scratching sound of a brush on a fabric echoed loud enough for my heart to thud with my ears and I thought I heard the water being poured out.
I remembered my days in boarding school where the ghosts doing their laundry was a common phenomenon. Many girls claimed to have heard the sound of somebody walking towards the toilets( which were located at the end of the long line of beds) and then the usual pouring of water and scrubbing sound of a brush.
I wonder why do these ghosts was their clothes all the time? I mean do they have no other means of scaring people than washing their dirty linen?hehehe, the thought made me laugh,'dirty linen!' Ghosts have dirty linen? Maybe they tread in the darkness of the night so much that the night sheds its darkness on their clothes,huh?
Whatever, I was too scared to even try to look towards the bathroom forget about going there to check. But the thought of the darkness of the night soiling their clothes had me amused. I found myself smiling meekly at my own little joke.

Ting tong, the doorbell alarmed me and I jumped out of my skins, well, not really, but I could have done that with the sensation I felt at that sound. Had the ghost finished his work in the bathroom and wanted to ask me where to dry his clothes? Half-witted I dragged myself to the door at the second ting tong.
It was the painter my landlord had called to paint our apartment. Whew! another deep breath of relief.
"I finished my work in the bathroom and now would like to......" Before he could conclude, I laughed. Couldn't help it! I had found my ghost! I just couldn't, I mean didn't want to conceal my laughter of relief, a big relief!

Why do I keep this blog?

For few hours now I've been clicking on the BLOGYUL_BLOGGING BHUTAN page in facebook, reading every comment after Mr. Basnet's plea to stop sending him notifications from this group. When I read the first comment I was wide eyed with no sense of proper reasoning, "I almost blurted out, why is he complaining? What harm can a notification do? I mean its not necessary we have to read everything that we are notified about." (This is solely my justification and not intended to preach to any person living or dying. Or dead?)But then people started making the response I wanted to shout.
 I was added by one of my friend who is an ardent blogging fan( Thank you B, you know who I'm talking about if you are reading this) and have been truly inspired by the things I read there. Although I ensure not to leave traces of my being there for I fear to make my hoarse noise among well versed members there, I can't help clicking on the 'like' button whenever I'm totally dragged into fully inspired mood by some of the post there. I don't know Sogyel and Leoparsica, but have been reading everything posted by them both in FB and their blogs and I've become their fan with the kind of work they are finding time for despite their busy schedule(a standing ovation to both of you).
But the comments have taken a diversion from Mr. Basnet's plea to the blogger's posts.
And I diverted my thoughts too, I began asking myself, 'why do I write?' Do I write, hahahahahah, that's supposed to be a laughter right in my own face. My blog in mostly a diary as somebody mentioned in that same page in FB. Now I'm rolling in laughter, trying to raise myself on my toes to rub shoulders with other people who blog? Nah, can never dare.
But of recent times I've found myself entering my blog page and trying to fill it up...again the same question, why? I go back to 2009 December. After joining Nopkin.com I felt this extraordinary urge to try my hand in writing. Then on impulse owing to reasons my heart knows, I striped my posts from Nopkin.com ( hope ata Nopkin has forgiven me for that blunder) and I had nowhere to go. The itch to write still lingered and then this idea of creating my own space was seeded. Only three people from my Nopkin days followed me ( I know other people from the same followed me privately for reasons known to them,never mind, I don't have a mind to mind) and I found a solace in typing my feelings here. Whenever I needed a sanctuary from the tedious life, I buried my tears here and it helped.
So I decided to call my blog,feelings and emotions, and whenever any kind of feelings or emotions handcuffed me, it felt good to release it here. I was like in a prison cell here but I loved being in this little world where I can shed myself without any ears to listen to. I read somewhere that women need to shed their  problems and emotions, and devoid of true ears I feel this space here is the best way to cleanse my heart.
I don't write for people to read. I don't write for people to feel. Rather I write what I feel to shed the heaviness of my heart and its solitary stormy voyage.
I write about my family for they are the only people I can think of; I write about visits to places 'cos for a person like me who knows nothing about the wider world and has no interest in the political world, one can't have much say on the other issues; and yeah! I write about my childhood-hoping to relive its joyous moments; I write about my life for I don't know about other's life and last but most of the time I write about love- for I feel love is the most important feeling of all.
Phew! I hope I defended myself well. Need to join a Law school to learn the tactics of defence or maybe joining Armed force is not a bad idea. Hey! but before anything I need to join a class on literature to learn the skill of writing, BUT but but, why go anywhere when I can read various forms of literature right under the umbrella of BLOGYUL BLOGGING BHUTAN. So, here I find myself back in the same page I started with.

(P.S. Sorry Mr, Basnet, no offence meant, but seriously after those comments springing from your comment I started to seriously think of some of the issues here. But anyway, thank you for making a non-thinker like me think too).

A Doll house for my daughter

My daughter is truly an angel. Many kids of her age is seen nagging their parents for toys: toys in the stores, toys in their friend's place, toys found in others clutches but I'm amazed, my daughter has never done that. When I tell my friends about it, they scoff at me that I buy things for her before she can even fathom there could be such kind of toy in the market.
Well, I won't say they are wrong. Look at the world around us now, its flooded with toys every li'l boy and girl can dream of. Back in my childhood days, my parents, both being uneducated thought toys were mere luxury affordable by wealthy parents only. May be it is this fact that I missed the opportunity of playing with such toys that I find myself eying every new toy in the town for my daughters.
 But our time kids weren't dull, we would use our idea to create toys. The empty khainee tins would be used for cooking utensils; a block of wood, if short, could serve as a car and  if long would serve as a gun. But we mostly jumped over the rubber bands and used stones to play hop-scotch and 'seven stones'. Our time games were mostly laborious ones while the kids now can just be sitting on the couch and do things with their tiny fingers.
Coming back to my daughter, as she looked at me with that ' I miss you mama' look, I casually asked her what she would want for her Birthday. "Dora kitchen." She surprised me, when did she learn to ask for stuff like that? Amused, I asked her where she had seen a Dora Kitchen. "Cartoon Network," she smiled meekly. I could sniff embarrassment in her tone.
I know it was more than empathy for the tone she used,I found myself saying, "I'll send one."She had asked me for something for the first time, how could I not fulfill it, "soon" I added.
The next day itself I set out on the quest to buy her Dora kitchen, I didn't want to wait for another month for her Birthday to come, I wanted to send it as soon as possible. Finally I caught hold of a huge doll house, it was not a Dora kitchen, it was a full house, with all rooms and furniture and even the tenants and their cars. It was way past 9pm when I boarded the train with that Doll house. Saturday night trains are noisier than other days with people going out, celebrating the weekend. I saw every eye cast at me as I stepped in with the house too big for my both hands stretched as wide as possible, while the bag containing the furniture,cars and the tenants dangled from my left arms and my handbag on the right arm. I felt hot with embarrassment. To worsen the matter, after getting off from the first train I found that my second train was out of service due to construction. Of all the times, I had to choose a different route than my usual one!
My normal two hours journey was stretched to four hours and I finally reached home, close to midnight, my arms sore from carrying all the stuff. I almost cursed myself for choosing a wrong timing for bringing that doll house home but how was I to know that the trains were going to be problematic.
However, I skyped with my daughter today and she was too busy to even notice I am on skype during our normal schedule. She was busy playing with her new doll house. Tears filled my eyes as I saw the happiness radiating in the way she handled the furniture, placing them in the right rooms of the house. I didn't mind that she wouldn't talk to me....there was a pure happiness in just watching her play.
The train, people's looks, my embarrassment, long journey, tired limbs.....everything faded seeing her so happily engrossed in her new toy.

Am I Religious?

Sunday morning dawns faster han any other mornings for it's the only day I get to feel like human. I mean it's my day off and only on this day I meet my roommate, the only companion I've in this place so far away from home. I darted out of the train and reached our closet- sized room just in time to see my roommate nearing the end of her morning prayer. She smiled at me muttering the prayers to JETSUN DROELMA.Sheepishly I entered the room. I could never memorize any prayer in my life no matter how motivated I felt.
The only solace I can seek is the BAZA GURU chanting which drops out of my lips whenever I am scared of the invisible ghosts or whenever I hear of some terrible mishaps. When people ask me about my religion, I say," I'm a Buddhist!"
Few weeks ago, there was a WANG which I attended with my room mate. As is the custom, there was a wang lung before the actual wang,I sat religiously positioned, my eyes looking solemn. As the Rinpoche delivered the luung in English for the benefit of all gathered, a man sitting beside me began with a friendly smile. He was a Pakistani who knew so very little about Buddhism but was all keen to make me his teacher, bombarding me with question after every pause Rinpoche took. I narrated whatever little I knew of Guru Rinpoche from my history class and beamed proudly at myself for being able to answer the queries of this muslim man sitting beside me.
But embarrasment took a first step as Rinpoche delved deeper into the crux of the luung.I fumbled,"you see, we don't really learn this deep in our school." The man understood that my knowledge about my religion had reached the dead end so he ended the conversation with the same smile he had given to me at the beginning of our conversation.
"I went to a synagogue," I announced as soon as my room mate was done with her prayer. "When?" I saw disdain in her lone query. "On friday, I went with my hosts for their Sabbath." I told her about the people who were there and the pizza,coke and lots of stuff for kids that were on display. She looked at me as if accusing me of being led to that place with the aroma of pepperoni pizza and not my interest of actually being in a synagogue.
I changed the topic lest she start her lecture on being a true Buddhist. Just few weeks ago I had suggested going into the church near our room just to see what it looks like and she rained words that made me feel like a failed Buddhist. I had to silently slip away on my own to embark on my quest for this other religion's place. The cross didn't warn me of crucifying me for being a Buddhist but entering their church. Infact, back in 2007, in Kyoto, When I bowed my head in silence and clapped thrice before coming out from a SHINTO temple, I didn't feel I had betrayed Guru Rinpoche in any way.Rather, although away from home, saying that silent prayer even if it wasn't a Buddhist temple gave me a peace I required at that time.
But having to face my room mate's interrogation whenever I pick the topic of other religion has me disturbed. Do I become a less of a faithful Buddhist merely because my zest to explore the other side of the fence is stronger than my room mate's. Am I less religious than she is just because I can't chant prayers like she does? It sometimes make me feel less of a good human when confronted with my knowledge of prayers and different kinds of rimdros.
But all the while, I try to keep my heart freed from all malice and make generous contribution for any religious activities. I may not chant prayers but I maintain a good heart( at least I would like to think so) and I feel I justify my being a Buddhist simply by being less of a sinner than more of a saint. However, I know this will be another round for a debate if I broach this in front of my room mate, who is snoring in oblivion of what I am typing (against her?) just now.

Books and me

The rains are here again. The slushy mud and the ladies scampering around always reminds me of Esther Rosa from Bashevis' Needle. Actually, I like playing Esther Rosa and imagine myself doing that most lady-like hop in the smallest puddles. But most of the time, when I am sane I stay tugged in with a book and a coffee (there is no better combination in the world,I guess). I proudly look at the shelf filled with books, books gifted to me by people close to me; books bought saving meager sum from my salary; books borrowed from friends and forgotten to return( these books actually poke me from the shelf filling me with guilty conscience).
There was time, the tear-jerker soaps filled  my time and those were the most impossible days of my life. Television times are always filled with tussle for the channel and the remote. So I lost the long battle for the ownership of the remote when I got married. But I think my foray into the world of books got deeper after that.
My interest in books started as early as the time before I started school. My aunt owned a book shop, I spent most of my days in their shop. When I went back home she would fill my bags with comics. I never slept without my comics. I would flip through the pages just to get into the flashy pictures. Then as I started identifying letters and words, I started actually reading them. Tinkle comics were the earliest. Followed by Casper the friendly ghost and Wendy the witch's comics. When I reached class five, the letter I had written to uncle Pai(Anant Pai but better known as uncle pai) of Tinkle comics and Amar Chitha Kathas, featured in one of the issues in the Reader's write column. I guess when I showed that to my entry to my parents they knew my interest in books was real. So after that they never denied whenever I wanted to go to my Aunt's place for vacation.
Archie's world followed. I liked playing Betty Cooper with her head and heart character. Slowly I crept into Photo Romance and Blue Jeans. I guess I was aging normally. However, the thick books frightened me with their size. So I tried a thick book only when I reached class six. I read my first Sidney Sheldon. BLOODLINE. It was difficult yet I managed to finish it.
 After that I took the thicker ones away for good and entered Nancy Drew's mystery stories. It had me ensnared so much so that one day, engrossed in following Nancy Drew with her mystery I had gorged on two kilograms of mango (Yech! I hate mangoes now) when I finished the book by the end of the day.
Somehow Mills&Boons never got into my system. During high school, I found many of my friends totally into it but it failed to leave its mark on my shelf. Then started Danielle Steel and Sidney Sheldon days.
Today I am a big Nicholas Sparks' fan. I feel proud to announce that I read all his books and I'm waiting for his THE BEST OF ME to come out in October this year.
My book shelf is a filled with an assortment of Dan Brown( although I didn't like his last book THE LOST SYMBOL as much as DA VINCI CODE, ANGELS AND DEMONS and DECEPTION POINT), Vikas Swaroop( people who loved his slumdog millionaire will simply find his other book SIX SUSPECTS far more captivating if you are into Bollywood and its happenings), Paulo Coelho(smitten by THE ALCHEMIST I bought all his books), Cheten Bhagat( all four are worth having in your shelf) and not to forget my much loved Nicholas sparks' books.
Someday I dare to dream.......If I own a house, it would definitely have a big room on the east side wing of the house for me and my books( THIS IS A SILLY DREAM). But till then I've to continue being tugged in the warm embrace of my rented apartment, for home is where my books are to me now.

Divorce

I logged into facebook, the only bridge that closes the deep gorge of lonely life I'm leading currently. No friends were online, actually many of my friends don't appear online these days, I blame it on the time difference and never let the ugly thought that they have forgotten me creep in me. When I've no one to chat with I browse through all kinds of psychics and here is what Anita had to say,"Darling, the experiences you've had in life can help to inspire others who need your help. It'll be in the way you express your words to get through to them. You'll create good changes."I stopped, cancelled the page, again clicked on it and re-read the page and was left wondering what experience do I talk about to inspire others. What could a bitter lonely soul teach others? Hey, then I realized, 'I wasn't bitter like this all the time.'
My childhood days were the best days of my life, I'm sure everybody would say,'what's the big deal, everybody's childhood days are the best.' But my weeping heart knows the transformation my life has taken and the different soul that took birth in my living soul, replacing the smart bubbly girl to a repulsive pessimist grown up.
The words of my neighbors still echoes deep in the recesses of my memory world,"This girl will do well in life." I knew it just like my neighbors knew that I was born to achieve the zenith of success with ease. I loved the powerful adoration in my dad's eyes when he showed my progress report to anybody who visited our place. Which parent wouldn't feel proud f a daughter who brought the letter 'I' written in bold letter in the space where position is to be filled for all three terms( back in those days we used to have first term, second term and finals). 
Not only was my academic performance excellent I had my dad's sense of humor too. I liked narrating 'humjaiga' stories and had my friends sitting in circles with there funny bones all ticklish with the jokes I told them. 
On losar and other occasions, I would be the first one to stand and dance to entertain people. I remember earning a huge sum of money from my relatives and neighbors during losars. 
But real life is no fairytale and my fairytale life ended with the bond between my dad and mom. They seperated and all my above mentioned traits vanished. It was like a boon granted to me so long as my parents lived together.
My academic performance dwindled. Studies didn't interest me anymore. 'Humjaiga' tales were buried so deep that even if I wanted to I would have been able to retrieve it. Dances became few and songs stopped touching my soul.
My parents unaware of the fact that a soul was drowning in the pool of their divorce were entangled in re-building their own lives. As they got immersed in their new lives, they lost the daughter they had in me. Craving for their attention, unknowingly seeking for love that my parents could never shower on me, I realized I had become like a hungry ghoul searching for love and drowning deeper into the cocoon of negativity whenever I failed to get one.
Today, I view anybody who talks of love with repulsion. I think they are another BIG LIAR waiting to pounce on some innocent souls. I've become a bitter and the biggest pessimist. Divorce killed the good human that I would have grown into.
But I know better than to blame my parents. Now that I am a parent myself I understand the decisions they have taken in life in a new way but that doesn't bring back to life what they killed in me long time ago.
So, with this story I don't want people to sympathize my ugly life but I want each of us to think of the souls we would be killing in pursuit of our selfish happiness. Many a times I wonder about MARRIAGE and DIVORCE. One day we feel that if the person who has captured our heart does not become a part of us, we would never be complete and how after few years of togetherness that same person seems like the cancer growing in our body. Why does marriage block the faucet of love from flowing? If we have dared to marry this person why can't we choose to commit ourselves to this person come what may? Whatever! Maybe, I can think of the ordeal of marriage and remaining married for some other time to ponder upon.