Nepali Song

(My first attempt)


Hawa siri riri ur cha

Mero maya urai laijao

Pani simsim tim tim parcha

Bhagai laijao mero maya

Timro yada sadai aucha

Yada ma nai dubi ranchu

Dara pari timi bas chou

Laijao malai tara sangai

Raat pare chand her chu

Chand ma ni timi dekh chu

Mayalu mero bhuje deyou

Mutu mero timra nai ho

My God is Slowly Dying

It pains me to write anymore, it pains because I have so much to say.

I am jobless
I am homeless (well I live in as an au pair)
I am peniless
I am far away from home and in so many ways I am loveless.

I am sinking into depression by the passing day, it haunts me like a ghost and gags me by my throat, I let out muffled sobs and I no longer know why I cry. I am becoming sick, sick of being directionless. Everyday I try to wake up to a new beautiful dawn but well troubles never leave me alone.

I am trying to sort things out, I really am. Believe in me this one last time, I just need a little more time. I too want to begin the new year fresh, like a snake that shed its skin.

Don't push me too far, I might just jump over the edge.

I am only human, a 23 year old young girl trying to get her foothold in a distant lonely land. No streets are not made of gold here, yes they may be old but certainly not gold! It is not easy, it is not as glamorous as it sounds, infact it is difficult.

And what Santa comes on a sledge during Christmas? Really?

My God is slowly dying.

But I won't give up; God can die and so can the devil but till I live I will fight the battle.

The Fellowship

The fellowship has begun but where is my ring?

Stars of destiny shield not my light,

but change my night

forever.


I believe in dreams.

Let me sleep a little more.

And when I am awake

let it be a new day

fresh and crisp.

(Watching modern art in Spain on BBC iplayer. What a treat.)

On Love

And though our days of love be few
Yet let them be divine- T.S Eliot

Teacher

Oh teacher, dear teacher,
preacher my teacher,
give me just another chance and you won't,
show me the future and you won't,
tell me what not to do and you won't
undo the done and you won't
then what will you?

An orgasmic joy of the unknown,
a knot once tied forever shall be,
a deed once done can never be undone,
these are the joys of uncertainty,
go and live,
speak and freeze,
do and release,
but just once,
the heavenly dance.

I am your preacher, your teacher,
experiences they call me,
I am the river that flows,
the day that sets,
the night that rests,
solemnly almost silently
in your memories
of experiences.

I am spontaneous and cruel
unpredictable and gruel-some
romantically tire-some
desirable with loathsome attitudes.

Do not undo my knot,
you can't,
just enjoy me and you will discover,
just love me and you will love you
don't hold me and let me flow.

Just experience me..

LIFE

(Inspired by the BBC series)

Coy as a chameleon
changing hues and blues
She smells the winter air
and lets dead flowers blossom in her shoes
the heels stuck to her heart
the tip on her bosom
As she walks proud as a comodo
ready to pounce the wild buffalo.

There are no buffalo soldiers,
no singing choruses,
just hanging rhythm of leftover music
rattling in empty tin houses
and echoing on barren land.
Comodo and the dodo,
one gone, the other from the jurassic,
scales and fins,
flying fish in the ocean.

Thoughts pass out and in,
a bin inside,
messy trash
of thoughts bought and discarded.

Stars are out twinkling,
I hear a little song- the same old rhyme,
Twinkle Twinkle Little star
we all know the rhyme too well
why is it that I still wonder
why you are a diamond
in the sky.

The midnight muse
you are here again
give me your hand and
hold this pen
write me a song
and sing me a poem
tell me a tale
of gale and sail
you my sailor my captain command
get on the ship and whip the waves
lets go look for killer sharks!

You are a Liar and so am I

I lay snuggled in my thoughts
You deep in your lies
We traded places
We were jaded with our roles
Lies and liars
Tires the soul

A hole is dug
Deeper and deeper
Lies sink and liars rise
Players we become
Each with a facade
A mask of hypocrisy
The phantom sings and the opera claps
The chorus melts and silence sells

Oh! You are a liar and you lie for me
I am no truth seeker nor no soothsayer
I am your demon driving you to hell
You are my knell the ringing bell
You sing my elegy and I yours
We battle to death
Seeking silence till hell

Oh my handsome liar
You set me on fire
Liar dear liar
You fuel my desire
I will sing with the lyre
You playing the liar
Both our eyes
Lies and liars
Cheaters oh cheaters
Your soul is sore and mine dark
Coffee shall we?
Black did you say?
Milk the coffee
And cover the lies
Liars we remain
Smiling demons

Nothing in Particular

Warms rays of the sun filters into my room illuminating my den with happiness, why is it that when the sun shines it brings a warm smile on my face? Not that I don't like the rain, I do and it is fascinating how the tiny drizzles feel when they drop onto your cheeks and flow into the drains washing, cleaning and cleansing.It is a soothing feeling. I also quite like the feel of my slightly wet hair as I shake my head and the tiny droplets dance, how fascinating is water, the magic of life. I have always thought and often questioned when I pick up a bottle of water and shake it, it makes that sound of water rushing and gushing and colliding, if someone did that to me shouldn't I be be making the same sound after all even I am made up of water (mostly), red water.

Back to the sun, it is on a run and in England at a pace that you can only catch glimpses into its warmth and that is exactly what makes it so special, its absence makes its presence felt. Even the skies are blue today, reminds me of the Himalayan November blues when autumn sets and winter is just around the corner waiting for its turn to take the stage of seasons, for all its beautiful reasons.

Oh! the sun is back, I am smiling again and what I love best is to just stare right into its heart and close my eyes, its what I call the "sun hug" and its better than any bear hug in the world, nothing to make you feel more loved and the heat, oh boy, that is hot! Even when I close my eyes, it is just so bright, lights exploding into brightness amplified, colours mixing into hues unknown to description and I sit closing, blinking and opening my eyes just to type that feel. I do badly, infact terribly.

Of late I have been reading Kerouac again, sometimes I feel like I am dating him and his prose is poetic and the roses of words I get from him make me feel like he is there to teach and I must close my eyes, open my heart and let the words run right out. It is magic, like I have this special wand that scribbles and describes all that is invisibly visible, like I am conjuring a reality unknown to many, seen by all and felt by most but seldom described with words. Well, I believe that is the argument of any writer who says my ideas are fresh and they have never been written before. Truth is it has been and we are all the same, well atleast the species that uses blogs and the Internet, now an ant storing food in Africa wouldn't know what I am talking about!

Often I get asked why I am into conservation, I usually jumble mumble a few lines, garnish with my favourite smiles and shrug the topic like I just pretentiously dusted it off. Truth is, I am in love with life, for myself and for all the beings that live around, struggle to survive everyday and die eventually and their off springs carry forth the gene. I admire Darwin, he I beleive even raised his kids keeping in mind that we are animals just like the chimps our closest relatives, he displaced the Bible and suddenly evolution became the new one. But leaving theories aside, it does become quite difficult to let go of the idea of divine human creation, the thought that I am a child of an atom, of evolution and I am evolving every day, so will my lineage down the line be born with Internet addictness gene? No idea, could be possible, couldn't it?

I am just talking gibberish, if you even lasted till this paragraph to read it, this is a poem for you and me

A cry and we born
A sigh and we are gone
Funny isn't it?
Laugh if you agree but do not weep if you don't
think I am crazy but you are even too lazy to think!
Next time you see a spider do not run
you could just be high on cider
do not kill
just watch it walk and weave its web
when you see a cockroach (girls) do not scream!
would you like if a cockroach was screaming at you?
That would be demeaning!
But oh! do smile at the sun,
its a sign of being healthy and happy! :)

Wrapped in Silence

She is completely wrapped
in silence
It braces her in a tight hug
almost throwing her off the rug
She can see silence
like it has a tape on its mouth
She tries to run but she is wrapped
and trapped
So she befriends silence
Charming as a gentleman
he leads her to the floor
silently whispers in her ears
dances till the door
and says, would you care to be with me some more?
She is trapped she knows
perfectly wrapped she feels
but willingly
So she dances till June
under the moon
She shuns the world
and kills her voice
till she is one
with him
In silence
they hold hands
and they both glance
a last glance
to leave
and live
on the moon
silently.

London eYe

A mad night of sitting next to the Thames, watching it swiftly and quite silently flow in a direction none of us could figure out but nor did it matter. The bright red light of the eye casting blood shot rays on the dark night, black clouds with stars guarding them from behind, yellow hues from the street lights fading into the blink of my drunken eyes, dawn was yawning in the corner and all I can remember is murmurs from conversations, laughter echoing with gulps of whisky and vodka. Celebrations galore and why not, not everyday eight Bhutanese gather by the Thames,we are just about a score in the whole of UK! It was the night of the Bhutan Society dinner, black tie, wining and dining, lords and ladies, friends of Bhutan toasting to the Kingdom we all love. HRH Dasho Jigyel in his black brocade gho shining princely indeed graced the annual dinner. The travellers club the venue, very posh and very British.

After the formal event, the informal gathering was the Bhutanese night out. As we entered a buzzing pool pub to drink few pints of lager what better music to greet us than the same ones they play in Space 34! Everything closes at 12 and we hit a club to grab some more cider and my body took the toll of mixing drinks and everything after that is quite a blur, but even with blurred images and slurred speeches, my memory can decently fish out these details.

It is the bond, the bond we share coming from a common land that even strangers becomes friends in just few minutes or hours. It is a bond the mountains have ingrained in us to love, laugh, enjoy and be happy. It is the common talk, tit bits of home and news, old nostalgic school day stories, funny anecdotes and what we struggle with everyday to live in this ridiculously expensive country. Some one takes a swing and downs the vodka, I am not drinking, I was already quite there but I was multitasking, listening to conservations, watching the moment slip and pass as dawn was yawning like I said and soon it was all of us. These are moments, cherishable ones, special ones, fostering the Bhutanese bond away in distant lands. I will be candid, there are times that I love the anonymity living in a foreign land that hardly is true back home but there are times where a gentle pat on your shoulder from someone from homes makes all the difference, to lift you out from your depressing day and make your spirits soar, to give you that little push when you had almost stopped.

I mention not your names but we all know that we were there with the eYe, and why we were there that we need to ask Mr. S., he was hell bent on getting us there and am glad he did. I write this before it becomes another blur and fades into the dark red night, where the eYe stood still soaked in blood and drunk with happiness, where a bunch squattering on a cold stone bench lay twittering like birds till early morn and all that the passerby would have heard were fits of laughter, if only they knew the story.

Oh! and there was this little birthday girl who celebrated hers with people from home but who she had never met. I can only imagine how that must feel like, I bet it was wonderful.

We need to do this again!

The next day, all facebook statuses complained, as quite expected, "hungover!"

Thank you all for the lovely time, I really hope we do this again.

LIFE

Heart Beats.

Sounds of life within

Water chugging and churning

Producing you

A piece of art

Nerves spreading like waves of experiences in a

Sea

Exploding with ripples

Countless

Endless?

Birth

The origin of life

Growth

The fruit to relish

Family

Forever to cherish

Friends

Makes merry

Joys

The gift of life

Sorrow

Passes with the wheel of time

Love

Can only be experienced

Storms

Tests the sailor

Faith

Burning like the sun

Hope

Never let it die

Death

The truth of life

The beginning of another life

Mandala

The wheel of life

Keeps rotating

Nothing dies

Nothing is born

Pigeon

I watched a pigeon die in my palms
death slapped on my face early morning
its eyes pleading for life
lungs longing for breath
as it lay down its broken neck
I stroked its feather
helpless utterly helpless
I stood there crying wishing I could help
It lay there battling with death
I understood its life in those few minutes
and when it looked at me I felt it knew me
it gave me a look almost saying I am scared I don't want to die alone
it looked thankful that I was around
I could see it
dying in my palms it left me shattered
but it was the one wounded
dying a painful death
its eyes I will never forget
like it was scared to die
the fear of death
may its soul rest in peace
and as I walked away the song playing on my player said
"life taught me to die"
such coincidence. bizzare

Excerpts

(transcriptions from my MSc dissertation. This has been edited and re-edited for the purpose of the thesis, but the original translation had amounted to such descriptions. I met some wonderful people and heard some beautiful stories.Having said that life in a village is difficult but it is simplistic and this simplicity is what sounds so complex to us)


In 2006, in a village called Womanang a few hours walk from Betsamang, a child was shot by a poisoned arrow. The child was returning from school in the evening and a cow didn’t let the way so he walked into the field and got shot. Earlier, people used to plant poisoned arrows in the field to keep away the predators. Usually the bow is installed late in the evening and removed in the morning but that day the man forgot to remove it and was busy elsewhere in his farm. The man was sentenced to three years of prison but he had seven children at home and some were blind and disabled. The government provided monetary grant to take care of the children and he was later released with royal decree but the man ended up paying Nu 20,000- 30,000 (Gup, pers comm.). It is very unclear if villagers still use such methods of managing wildlife but the incident has instilled fear in a lot of villages in and around the district that it is now cited as an example.People assess the incident as misfortune and justify it as his ‘karma.’

We work very hard every day throughout the year says the Tshogpa (spokesperson) of Betsamang. There is no difference between men and women here, everyone has to work equally. We get up early around 5 AM and work till eight then take a break to eat breakfast and we disperse again to work in the fields. We are usually not back till lunch time. Sometimes we have to lock our houses and go since everyone is at work but if there are grandparents around they look after the children else the house is mostly locked. Usually in the evenings, the day ends with sun set. We also have community labour system; we work in groups on a rotational basis helping each other. Usually the person we work for provides food and drinks, there is no money involved. He then silences his child from his third wife who is sitting on his lap, simultaneously chases the flies away and resumes his talk. We have to work hard else we do not get good harvest he says.

By the fourth month we have to finish ploughing the fields, the fifth month we plant millet, then we plant potatoes, rice, chillies and maize one after the other but throughout the year all the crops get eaten either by wild pigs, sambars, porcupine, barking deer or deers. Every animal eats something or the other. The deers love chillies and the porcupine eats potatoes like a human being, it is quite impressive, he peels the cover and eats the insides. If its maize he first gets the plants down by by nibbling the bottom and eats the fruit, very clever (Khandu, pers comm.).

Last year and the years before because of wildlife zai (my!) the pigs, sometimes at night there were five or six of them in the fields, you could see them from your house since most of our fields are far from our houses, but they wouldn’t budge even if you screamed at them, if the dogs went near them they would kill the dogs. For few years we had a lot of problem. Then we requested the forest department and they sent two foreigners, we even formed a pig committee and after we informed them where pigs turn up the most they fenced a farm with wire mesh which is still there but we were not allowed to kill them under any circumstance. We even put some potatoes in the farm to lure the pig but the pigs wouldn’t get in, instead some deers got in (he laughs) but they did cull some pigs. There was one pig that would walk into the fields in broad daylight, after he was killed his bones were sent for examination to a nearby town, it turned out that the mother of that pig was from the wild and the father was from our village that is why he would never leave the village! Not only him (the pig), these pigs are like humans, they come in groups sometimes there are eight or nine of them and they would empty the entire field. It is as good as we are raising these pigs. There is now a rule that you can kill if the pigs are within 200m inside the farm but by the time we bang utensils and shout, they are already out of the fields, these pigs are very intelligent (Tshogpa, pers comm.).

Meloncholia

Give me your hand and feel my heart
it runs in my veins my soul in my eyes
my blank stare silently sings a thousand verses
I am blank, my mind is with you
you are blind and I am not too kind
you hide your love in a smirk and I bury mine in my eyes
dare to stare in my blank eyes
an abyss of love you will find
but you take your hand away and I my heart

I now hear sounds of fading footsteps
the creaking door of memories
I see the remains of your footsteps
carried by the foams of the sea
it now roams on another land I know
for me you are a washed memory

I sit and count the grains of sand.
I find rotten shells and dust of pearls

?

I am a slow moon,
I only shine in June
and by noon I am long gone.

I am a quick sun,
I run and run,
turn and run again.

I am still earth,
I was given birth
by the wrath of the big bang
so I sang and still sing
do you hear the ring?

I am all wrong
neither am I a slow moon
nor the running sun
or the still earth
the world is not turning
its just me
I go round and round
on the ground of space
the sun is meditating
it is enlightened
I see its halo
The moon is looking for warewolves
like a coy mistress
pretty moon
come soon
full moon
Jupiter has 13 moons
why am I on earth?

Anger

I have loved and I have sinned
If you ask me to sin again,
I shall break your teeth!

I have cried and a sea of tears I have shed
If you want another sea,
I shall poke your eyes out!

My heart has been broken and stitched,
trampled and crumpled,
If you want to tread on it again,
I shall take your heart out and eat it with spices!

Now, leave me alone, there are 6Billion people in the world,
go make yourself useful- to someone else,
leave me alone!

The Water in Us

We are but water in a bag of leather,
there is a sea inside like the sea you see,
drops of water in this vast canvas,
gel of water dancing as waves,
together but seperate,
a drop inseperable from the rest.

The blue sea flirts with the shiny shores,
frothy beer and bubbles so alive,
errupt and erase,
exist and cease,
the creases of the sea,
lines of beauty wrapped by the sky.

The ball in space
still says
I am turning.
There is light there,
it is night here,
but I can still sight the sun.

Now run and walk the sand on your feet,
feel the ground beneath the sheath,
dip your feet,
and let the water meet the water in you!

Mysteries.

Enjoy the beach for it is so out of my reach.

Zangtopelri

Secrets hidden in eyes,

Shyness on the lips,

and the look could melt a thousand hearts.

She had nothing in her house,
and I knew she had everything that she needed nothing.
But in a corner in a colourful altar were the Buddhas.





Mountains dear Mountains Oh Mountains Lovely Mountains
How beautiful you are
Somewhere above
beautiful cats purr
elegantly in snow it walks and drifts with the clouds
A long tail swinging in the cold breeze
As it walks the majestic rugged ridges
once considered a myth
the snow leopards still lives
and these are where the Bhutanese leopards live
on the edge in Bhutan's hinterland

Road

The road is my home, my home the road, I love your curves, your smooth rides, your meandering coasts, the passing bubbles of air, my hair splashes on my face and I smell you, thousands of miles I can see and ten thousand more I envision, vision and season, seasons of visions, colours of darkness, darkness of light, green clouds and pink sky, purple rain and blue trees, red water and fluorescent humans, no I ain't imagining, it is the passing colours that changes its shades, dreams are real and reality a dream, life a screen and I the drama queen! a dharma bum some hum and hymns you hear merging with sounds of the the passing passerby, as I pack my rucksack again, it is time to move on!

Climbing the Himalayas

For ages you have stood like sages
A curve up and a bend down
A point to the sky and drop down the valley
slowly and swiftly you rise
high high you are high
higher you shall rise today
clouds shroud you in a warm floating blanket
rivers adorn your ankles
shhhhhhhhhhh it flows and wooooshhhhhhh sings its rapids
the sun is invisible and its light high and bright
sight sight oh beautiful sight
mountains dear mountains
shine bright in early morning light
for eternities you shall stand like sages
my lovely Himalayas........

Rebirth

Sitting at the banks of Kholong Chhu
earthly brown the river flows
mother monsoon's breasts have swollen with milk
ferocious and gushing
rushing without pausing
glancing and dancing
white currents laughing
smiling and smirking
ferociously flowing
crickets cracking and birds calling
moths fluttering and spiders weaving
Oh! the sound of the green white water
heavenly blissful sound
shhhhhh shhhhhhhhhh woshhhhh shhhhhhhhhhhhh
the fish swimming and the pebbles struggling
cleansing and cleaning
the boulders are shining
monsoon delightful tears
clean and clear air
bare and naked smell of nature
green evergreen
screaming rejuvenation
R E B I R T H

Sorrow of a Swallow

A broken wing is all a bird needs,
bleeding feathers and flightless wings,
how does one swing?
The sting of the wing
doesn't let me sing.

Teary eyes and melancholic voice
broken wings and a stitched heart
blood I see and blood I weep
let it seep to the hole of my soul

Swallows come and surround me
but I wallow in my sorrow
low low swallow
in a gulp I swallow my sorrow!

Woman!

A woman.

Complex.

A girl within, desires and secrets hidden beneath her bosom.

Her stomach she feels knowing someday a seed will blossom.

Blood flows, period.

Hormones- blame all tantrums on it.

Soft as cotton, rough as coral reefs, strong as a boulder, weak and meek.

Complex.

Layers of butter...

Cascading hair, tiny hips and luscious lips, men she attracts and men she dispels,

God she plays and devil she becomes

Utterly confused.

Women are hard to understand they say

that's true, all we want is love anyways

who wants to be understood?

And who the hell claims to understand another person anyways?

A woman- just bored!

Rants! (grunts)

Waking Dreams

Endless cigarettes killed to death,
Your fingers and the golden ashtray,
A shot of brandy on another hand
rocking in your chair black and fair
A sip a gulp a ring a puff
Huff Huff
Hupplepuff

As the brandy slides down your throat
I can see it swim to your boat
your face a tinge of red
and lets hear stories well said


As you narrate I am all ears
while my ears hear
My eyes are lost
My mind near and far
A knot in my stomach
A flutter in my heart
let the earth stand still
as I walk on starry grounds with land above
hugging the moon and kissing the sun
I burn hot hot in the heat

While you drink I burn
While you think I sink
While you speak its music
while you smoke I breathe
I am high
on my Karma!

On Age

What is fourty and what twenty, twenty more new-years apart, numbers to scale and measure, more memories to treasure?

Angay

Enlightened.
Her nails tell the story of her toil,
Her wrinkles of many creases of memories,
Sans teeth a second childhood,
Her silver hair old and bold,
Her calm eyes balm my soul,
Her expression, just priceless~

(ps- This photograph is not mine)

Wai

I read Kinga's blog today, I don't know her as such but in Bhutan everyone hears about everyone through someone and knows that someone somehow; brushing memories of that someone being the neighbour's cousin or cousin's neighbour or some bizzare relationship fostered through chain of connections. We Bhutanese have an innate ability to network and have an immense understanding of public relations of which gossip is like grated cheese on datshi. So Kinga, an engineer and blogger, mother and writer, thinker and sinker- a friend mailed me about her blog and asked if I knew her and had heard of her blog, immediately I googled, there she was all decked up in her neat little blog and pinned by a clip her articles lay neatly arranged. I loved the look and I dug the writings, nostalgia of home couldn't have been supressed in a better way, her writing is in everyway very Bhutanese with a twist in the end of every story which reminded me of Tolstoy. The name rang a bell somewhere so I did some research and dug my memory. Whose neighbour? Whose friend? What connection, and bingo! Kinga happens to be my ex's friend from his workplace that he quit after he joined the job for a month,

I have been living away from home for a long time, writing in a language that you are reading and somehow I had lost the familiar sounds of "alawai" "gachilo" "kay haray" "hazur" "anta" "hang an cha ya" " chi beydo"and the like, the colloqialisms of everydayness in Bhutan. This is exactly what makes Kinga's writing special, the 'everyday' element, the moments she presents truthfully, realistically and beautifully. Kadinche (thank you) for bringing me back on track.

I am leaving for Bhutan dayafter, the past year my journeys have been meandering like the rivers and the countless ripples form and disappear but the river keeps on flowing and moving, never does the same droplet of water flow at the same place. Shifting between Wang chhu and the Thames- called Isis in Oxford, watching the Cherwell next to my college and people punting, I smile at the still flowing rivers. For me rivers make sounds, gushing sounds like our whitewaters back home who warn you from miles away saying " wai nga na bab do mey" (hey am flowing here), we need those warnings, who knows some drunk person at night with no light might not sight the river!

I miss being in Bhutan everyday, but it makes me appreciate what it is like to live at home, how lucky we are, how lucky that for me I can just go home for a 'vacation'. Few decades ago if you told some Ap Dorji about where he had gone for vacation he would probably tell you ' Gasa Tsha Chhu' or 'Bodhgaya' if you had the money or maybe he would have asked " Chuuti ya- gachilo" ( vacation- what? ) he may muster an answer of that sort but these days we have some fanciful people flauting their tan? saying " nga Bangkok jui ba" and they would propbably have been circiling Bo-bae the cheap market where lots of shop keepers go. Sometimes I really wonder if its worth saying I was in NYC when you barely had a tiny room to sleep in and come back home to exaggerate that you were almost in the Ritz but in reality were next to the tiny house opposite the small lane! Good we should travel but don't bring back stories that are just falsely woven!

I feel the pinch everyday I go out. I am calculating and converting in my head all the £ into Nu and thinking, Oh boy, I should be grateful for the cheap bus and taxi fares and stop arguing with people if they charge me Nu 5 more. I am in Oxford, I think its more hyped than what it is but the Oxford experience is definitely something I cannot put into words, anyways the point being, even here I am reminded of my origin everyday. I am unique (we are only two of us here), I know that you have never met a Bhutanese before and I also know you will tell me " my geography is bad but where is Bhutan" and I know if you do know where I am from you will say " measurement of happiness!" so there I go on my usual rant of happiness happiness and happiness, oh Boy! the world really is unhappy, happiness has become like a far fetched forlon medieval or stone age idea. We are on the way of becoming robotomised! slowly but surely. "Happiness is chilling out people", do we need to teach you that? I have a masters in it, its been granted by laziness academy and seconded by the department of enjoyment. :)

This is just a random note based on nothing in particular, started with Kinga and her witty write ups, definitely worth a read. Go check it out.
I feel so Bhutanese. Loving it.

The eye in the skY

I perched on the sky
saw the world getting by

Many melted into the earth
Many were thrown off the womb

So calm it looked the blue
So serene the clouds that floated, bloated and cried

I saw the birds flapping and the Gorrilas yawning
Orangs swinging and ants working
Humans dressing and snakes undressing
I saw the Polar bears walking and pigs snoring
I saw infinite sights
Unending music of sounds
I heaved a sigh!
Are there not enough reasons to rejoice?

I flapped my mind and descended back on earth.

Grains of Sand

Countless
Passed
All
Faded..

Many
Paused
All
Disappeared

Beneath the ocean
on the top
floating with waves
drowned in it
Present but absent
visibly invisible

Till it came to the shore
I was unaware
of life's duality
With time sails memory
With waves sail sand
this is the end
my beautiful friend
the end ( In Morrison's tune)

Another passed.
Another disappeared

But there curls
another wave

Infinite.

The beginning of the End

As my lament amplifies to a horrific howl, Wordsworth seems too subtle, Edward Munk's painting evokes imageries of placing my hand on my ears and reciting Ginsberg's HOWL, the best minds of my generation thought it was best to be inSane. As I read about 'economising' air we breathe and water we drink and everything else on this blue green planet, I shudder in fear for capitalism now wears the mask of market based instruments and mechanisms- selling carbon like popcorns and trading species under the umbrella of legality, I am glad I am insane for sanity makes no sense to me. Pulls and pushes, north and south, east and west, all created, constructed and construed to perpetuate dependence, polarization of power and income- a slow leech sucking all the blood and when there remains no core nor no periphery, no more dancing in space,all that will remain is the silence of pungent death brought by invisible hands of greed.

I see stars in daylight

I see stars during daylight,
it takes an extra eye to see them,
the eye of the mind.

I see the moon during daylight,
It is round and full always.

I see the sun when it is cloudy,
just behind but there.

I feel the dance of the earth,
the same move everyday,
the sun and moon are testimony.

I see the same face in the mirror everyday,
but the light in my eye changes,
my eye is my mind, my mind is my eye

Mystical mystique universe,
ask and thou shall receive,
listen and thee shall hear,
look and thou shall see.

I see stars during daylight,
do you?

6th Mass Extinction

The ball in space,
had once flaming dragons and veggie dinosaurs,
all left only in memories of fossils now.

The ape that once scratched its head,
walked on dangling limbs,
today wears a black tie and carries a suitcase.

Five times before,
from the Ordovician to the tertiary,
death reeked from all corners,
death but caused by nature,
regenerates

The sixth is underway they say,
the ball will silently float in space,
no human cries, no roaring tigers, no cuddly Pandas,
nature will shrink, does that make you think?

7 Billion heads, 7 billion mouths, 14 billion hands,
grab and waste, kill and taste, throw and go,
cling an animal on your neck, your ears,
all but to please the eye, but what says the bigger eye,
the third eye?

Kalyug

No More

I want to hide my head in the shell of time,
pause it with my tiny paws,
tick tick no more

I want to lick the dripping cream from ice,
my red tongue and delicious white cream,
drip drip no more

I want to lie down and stretch my back,
heave a sigh of relief and let you hold my hand,
appear disappear no more

I want to play with buttercups and tear fine green leaves,
face my chin up and soak the sun-shine,
fade behind the clouds no more

I want to sleep with open eyes
savour every moment of being alive
blink my eyes no more

I want to enjoy the silence
let my mind sleep and tuck my brain
learn to think no more

I want to stop writing unpoetic verses
waste words and digital ink
write poems no more

I wrote a note in a coat

I refrain
from pain
to be sane

I laugh
just half
to laugh the other half

I sing
to ring
tring tring

I fly
to flee
in glee

I sit
on seat
to eat

I pray
to stray
every day

I think
to brink
and sink

I sank
in a tank
that rank

I drank
and drank
got drunk!

Anju

You are eighteen today,
I was five when you were born.
I have held you as a baby,
seen you grow up to a beautiful teenager.
We have fought and quarrled and belittled each other,
but despite all I love you and I know you feel the same.
Common blood binds us and common ancestors combine us,
common roots connect us.
We are sisters, two branches of the same tree.

You will soon embark to see the world,
a world of much people, ideas, spaces and places,
of much death from history and hope from technology,
of much destruction, evil and love,
of much self disvovery and recovery,
of much exploration and adventure,
all I can say is enjoy it, savour it,
for they are all yours,
live it and love it,
for they are all become memories.

Have fun.
Follow your heart and you will be fine,
live like yourself and you will be you,
on a dark night when you do not know what to do,
read my poem and know that I love you,
I am always there for you.

Happy Birthday, enjoy your last birthday home.

Mindfullness

Let me share a secret
that everyone knows.

Happiness comes from being happy.
Being happy comes from being content,
content comes from appreciation,
appretiation comes from compassion
compassion comes from love

Awareness and thankfullness for moments
live in 'here and now'
don't make it then or when
enjoy the water in the tap, the food in the shelves,
the clothes on yourself,
enjoy enjoyment
joyfully
happily

Future you can't predict so why try?
past you can't erase so why brood?
Now is what you have, live it.
Mindfully love it.

Loosing the Human Touch

I walk in, pick up a basket and start throwing in groceries. It is a typical supermarket, brightly lit to accentuate the colourful items decoratively collectedly from countys and countries; French salad potatoes to African Fruits to Indian spices to fish and meat. I throw in more things, cheese, juice, milk, and every vegetable you can make datshi with. Infact I have discovered a new way of fast food, with the datshi drop in some rice as well, there comes your Bhutanese quickmeal.

I then wonder who grew these food items, what must their life be like, where, how did they fare from the deal, were they cheated, who makes money out this item that I buy, are we destroying the environment by buying food? Is that why we need to buy certified environmental friendly items? Cetification in most cases are a scam in itself so who do we trust? Is it an ethically produced item, ethically advertised and marketed?

I scan all that I need, I look around and see children chauffered by their parents in prams, calorie conscious people looking for no/low fat foods, no one talks to each other, for gods sake it's a SUPER market not an area of social interaction.

How recent is this supermarket phenomenon? How long ago was it that people went out to the local markets to buy necessities of survival, man on man? And I am shaken from my reverie of supermarket thoughts when I reach the queue. Everyone queues here, no one cuts lines or no one pushes, it's a calm queing process, of moving like ants, I must say I enjoy it. It gives me all the more time to look at people, what they have bought and what they are wearing or how they behave. I see some scratching themselves, some dazed, some listening to music and some simply in a hurry. I know nothing about any of them, I never see the same one in the queue again. I never know the man or woman behind the cashier is like - like I do when I buy things in India or Bhutan. The bill shows on the screen, he/she utters a number and a debit card swap, deal done. Some say have a good day or thank you, some are just disgruntled, I say thank you and leave.

I miss those bhaiyas and didis who had not even have calculators and who were open to bargain and talk and who had fresh food! I miss those amas and apas and agays who would chew doma and calmly give me my needs at the same time turning their prayer wheels or beads.I miss the humaness, the genuineness of a smile and conversations that made buying a process so interactive and an interesting experience.

What have we have done to ourselves? I just see silence, silence that seperates the human from the human and makes a computer or an ipod more personal than a person itself. I miss those bus conductors who would smoke biris and talk to you, narrate you stories.

Life is all about stories in the end, is it not?

I see the developing countries now marching the trend of supermarkets- in every field, that too with great pace,hurry and surity.

Is it just me who is emotional?

Ze Woman I met

On the way to a party, I met this really strange woman on the bus. The entire bus was almost empty, it was about 10 PM and there were two or three men at the back and a woman came sat next to me in the front row, I was a little surprised since there were so many empty seats and when I looked at her with that surprise highlighted on my face she started talking saying " I don't like sitting at ze back," before I could say something in return, she started mumbling how late ze bus is everytime and how it izis annoying to wait for ze bus for 25 minutes and how all her cousins have cars but she likes riding in ze bus and on and on ze went. I was amused, I quite liked listening to her. She had a "ze" accent, African roots (slight), short blode coloured hair which had turned to bronze and there she went with her ze zes....Few minutes later she told me she is French and her roots are from Venenzuela. Ze was one hell of a woman I have met who talked for so long in a span of some 5 minutes.

I hope to see ze woman again!

Excerpts from my love letters

I feel terribly lonely. I stretch my hands to touch you but it only brushes against my memory, frizzles and you fade into smiles while the gajini tune in the background dissolves. You appear again, I try to hug you but only end up crossing my arms hugging emptiness, I see you slip out of my embrace into my mind with your face infront of me. Crazy.

It has definitely been long since I wrote you a long epistle, there are so many things to tell and none to utter, so many to share and no words to express, what is the point telling you what has happened to me since I have come here, what is the point narrating my experiences when they are just mine and no story could re create it, it remains as nothing but my memories, good or bad I bury it silently, I feel wicked too for I know they are solely mine safely locked and chained and left aside in my private library.

What does it mean to be a companion? We are both different individuals, with different organs and functions, thoughts perceptions and experiences, how much do we share, what do share and how truthful are we to be? As a human as much as I have tried to be truthful sometimes I wonder whether I really have been, even to myself, there are times and incidences which make you lie to yourself, hide things from yourself where a part of you knows the truth and the other denies it, is it the battle between your superego, id and ego?

Double 'I'

I stare at the mirror,
It stares back at me,
I smile,
It smiles back,
I laugh,
I can hear silent echo from moving lips,
I raise my right hand,
It raises it's left,
It does look like me but I am not sure,
I see it everyday,
it does look familiar and yet so different,
do I see myself or do I see what I want to see?
I have seen myself grow,
a happy child to a grumpy teenager,
first tooth falls to curvy lips,
childlike to a woman inside,
my body a cover,
ready to be crumpled and wrinkled,
what am I?
What are you?

Proposal

I buried you today,
wicked smile on my face,
Smirk stretched for miles,
If only I had a pointed nose,
I would have looked like the perfect witch with a black hat,
burying you, satisfied.

Shoving white sheets with blank ink,
Tigers and Leopards scratching with their paws,
conflicts and battles smudged all over,
I took you to the grave
and e-mailed you.

Oh Boy you looked handsome,
dressed in your black tie,
ready to bid Goodbye,
adieu adieu never to see you,
please do not come back.
Slam (the lid) of the coffin!

Beat Bursts

Like a flower bud bursting open,
Like a ripe fruit spilling its seeds,
Like an emotional heart throwing arrows of words,
piercing with glances and speaking with eyes,
asking questions doe eyes,
those eyes I fear to face,
the rays of the days,
the seeds fall to grow again,
emotions ebb and flow to rise again,
the tides high and low,
sails the ship of my life on those,
sails the storms and the winds,
floats on calm air and shivers the sails,
oh hail, I have gallons of seas to sail,
my sails are weathering, my heart weakens,
my hands are aging my sight failing,
but the seeds still burst open,
the pods that boom,
hear the sound,
it's always the same.
Boom Boom

My poems are Dark and Depressing you say

Dark thoughts,
deep insights,
sights of darkness.
Only red roses are bright is it?
I question, I ask, I stumble, I mumble,
I seek, I find, I loose, I ask more,
I share, I write,
On nothing I can write yet telling you something,
Dark and Depressing they become, or you say so.
There is so much light in darkness,
dimmed light,
dark light,
bright bright it shines,
only if you see in darkness,
can you understand what I write,
no fright no fright,
just about right, so right that it frightens,
my talks of death and decay,
hits your immortal lives,
I know I know,
if it doesn't then you are not mortal.
My poems are dark and depressing you say,
I have fun writing them this way,
telling you that this is the way,
the only way,
life is but a walk to your grave!

Happiness

A glowing smile,
A tinge of happiness in the eyes,
Children playing hide and seek,

Rings of laughter in the air,
Smell of fresh spring,
A snail basking in the sun,
A glowing smile to melt your heart,
Monkeys swinging from trees,

A song bird rehearsing,

A dog chasing a fly,
A couple warm in embrace,
locked looks and kisses blown,
A lazy day on a hammock,
reading a book lazy and gay,
say say sing a song,
on happiness
a happy song.

Absurd

Endless Space.
Countless Stars.
Shapeless Sun.
Blue sky that is not blue.
Clouds that are not floating.
Dead hair and nails in a living being.
Mind that does not exist.
Soul that escapes when dead cannot be located when alive.
Logic is illogical.
There are no answers, just assumptions.
A journey without destination.
A stop one never knows.
Vagueness, Ambiguous,
Meaningfully meaningless,
Absurd.

Pain

Today was a painful day,

it hurt the mirth in me,
it trickled tears off me,
it made me make animal sounds,
howling and wailing,
in despair,
in despair,
beyond repair I lay,
to say much and be unheard,
to shout and know I had no voice,
to do much but separated by seas,
excruciating pain I felt,
throbbing in my heart,
paranoia of the unknown,
wanting to peer through a magic glass,
I wiped my tears only for more to fall,
like raindrops but salty,
full of emotions those potions and portions,
Dukkha as Buddha said,
suffering as Christ experienced,
pain people burnt alive felt,
I could feel the flames burn my body,
till I lay senseless,
numb,
staring into an abyss,
an abyss of not knowing what humans are capable of,
I fear not death,
but should you come and take take away someone
without your invite yet,
I shall kill you death,
slash you and death you shall die,
come you will but you should on your will,
not as a knife in another's hand,
nor as vengeance,
if you do,
revenge awaits.

Virtual Tea

I place the cups on the table,

Pour the boiling water,
Mix tea leaves and look,
as you stare at blank spaces,
I smile and get back to making tea,
The milk makes a gurgling sound,
The sugar chugs into the sea,
Floats swims and sinks,
Ripples form,
A nice brown,
"your tea," drink it,
Irony is there are no cups and no tea.
Slurp** 

SImAr

I miss you~

sea of waves life has become,
it gushes and pauses,
looks and freezes,
runs and laughs,
lots of plots,
lots and lots,
makes me lost.

Mischief

An empty glass filled with air,
A black button without a coat,
A room without people,
hear the silence and listen to soundless sounds,
it makes rounds and rounds and pounds,
rushes and barks like hounds,
goes down in the grounds,
vanishes around.

Surround soundless sounds,
empty clicks and blank letters,
verseless poems and no rhythms,
tuneless tunes sung in harmony,
playful games.

Specks of Confusion

Like dust on a clean screen,
clinging to the surface,
I wish I could wipe the face of surface,
clear the dust,
one must.

Like pebbles on the sea shore,
washed by waves,
forgotten by the sea,
embedded deep in the ocean,
lost forever but present.

Blink thy eyes,
rub thy mind,
clear the clutter,
nothings clear,
my dear,
nothings cloudy,
it's all in the mind and your eyes see what 'the' mind shows.

The Jewel Of the Earth

You are Twenty Nine today,
How old do you feel?
Wisdom you display is ageless,
Words you say beyond your years.

You are a jewel,
The light of our Kingdom,
In you we see the ray of sun,
Shimmering delightfully, radiating the aura to us,
In you we see a hope of tomorrow,
A hope of waking up in our Shangrila.
In you we see a guiding light,
the way out of this mandala.

Everyday the sun sets without any promise of waking up again,
But it does.
Everyday the earth spins and every year it pilgrims around the sun,
It does so, ever silently that we hardly notice.
Every moment we breathe without realizing,
But we do.
Everyday is a new day,
A day to be happy and feel alive.

You are much loved Oh King,
Your hug embraces us all,
Your smile makes us smile,
Your words make us think,
Your gestures make us do.

Happy Birthday.
Wishing you much happiness.

Half Baked Poetree

And what is a poem, I ask?
A bunch of words
shuffled to scream?
It can moan and groan if I want to,
I can peel and seal,
sing and dance with letters and words,
I can jump to space and climb on Jupiter,
No even NASA couldn't do that! But hell I can,
my quill will and on my will it shall.

I can visit heaven and hell, if there is any,
can create my own if none exists,
I can become a bird, a flower and even the sun,
I can stop the poem and dirty it,
mess it that no one finds it poetic,
I can do what I want and even if that isn't enough,
what more is there to do? I am god, on this blog atleast!

I can make love to Buddha, but he doesn't desire me,
I can take Christ off his crucifix, free him of his pain,
I can do tandav with Shiva and braid his dreds,
I can strip cotton off Milarepa and even his black magic cannot stop me,
I can dig Kerouac from his grave and make him kiss me,
I can do what I want, what can I not, tell me?

So, the power of writing shall rule the world,
as long as humans live.
Now a tiger cannot write can he?
Well a tigress can, this is her poetry!

Joke of life called iRoNy

Laugh and someone weeps,
Joke and offence sweeps,
Calm is no balm,
Psalms no one hymns,
Knock and hear no sound,
Cry and no tears drop,
Smile and lips don’t stretch,
Sound that no one hears,
Leaves that will leave,
Flowers that don’t bloom,
Seasons that doesn’t change,
Wars that don’t kill,
Love that doesn’t care,
Mockery that doesn’t mock,
Life that doesn’t live,
Laugh if you will,
Iron of irony,
Sigh and why of lives,
Hi and bye.

Sun Tone Stones of Hampi

Amidst stones and boulders lies a kingdom far far away, down south, an ancient kingdom which was the seat of the Hindu empire for more than two hundred years. This ancient Hindu kingdom was perhaps one of the best planned cities of those times and every step you step, takes you back in history resonating the energy of those times.

Ramble

Jingle Jangle

Jumbled Bangles
Tangle Tangle
Untangle
Entangle
wrangle mangle
mingle single
tinkle twinkle
sprinkle
wrinkle wrinkle
winkle
L I F E

Come hither Spring on your Wing

A fresh spring breeze,
wafting from the seas,
gently blows away winter,
bitter winter,
the ice cracks and melts,
the trees creak with joy,
birds twitter and sing,
frogs croak o-boy,
a dog stretches lazily,
a cat yawns and sleeps,
I bite my nails,
sniff the air and scribble,
Oh spring have you arrived?

29-01-09

Clamshell he called me,
I fluttered like I had no shell.
Writers, with words they woe,
with silence they crack your heart.
Clamshell, Crabshell, crap-shell!

(found in my drafts)

Poof! I shall blow you

When you die,
I shall smile at your pyre.
I shall laugh with the fire,
along with the sizzles,
hope it drizzles,
not letting you burn,
not so easy.

Hatred, jealousy, desire,
compassion,love, beauty, humility,
different words,
different swords,
One cuts deep and slashes,
the other opens the heart,
said the bards of the past.

So when you burn I shall feel nothing,
nothing at all.
I shall remember no past, nor concoct no future,
I shall simply let you turn to ashes and when the drama is over,
I shall blow away the dust off my hand and feel it,
is it ash or human flesh?
When will you die? do invite me for the funeral!

Balsam Pomorski Tradycaj

For a week it has been lying on my table,
next to my bed, within my hands reach,
to teach,
I listen and I submit,
Humbly, dumbly,
I listen and I talk, but can it listen?

I reach out again,
I see the colour,
the entire week it is the same,
slightly herbal, gold,
strong and bold.

It burns, turns
and puts on a smile on my mind,
a laugh on my tongue,
gone are the frowns,
the creases and bruises,
the ifs and then and buts and whens and hows and whys
floating in cosmos, lying in bed,
I look back at it,
Balsam Pomorski Tradycaj I say aloud like I would utter my lovers name,
the Polish Flavoured Vodka!

RandomImageriesOfZeMinD!

An eyelash fell on my fingers,
a strand of hair sticking on my coat,
nails looks dirty and brittle,
I see dead cells come alive and die again,
I wonder how strange we are.

Strangers we find strange,
of people we mock and talk,
but we too are in the mandala.

A spider spins a web somewhere,
A man builds a house,
A lion pride hunts in the Serengeti,
A cat purrs, the sun is tired and the moon lazy,
but the man, the man is the man, never fatigued,
ideas and words and letters and bombs and blasts
and boredom.

Ask a man to sit alone in a room,
24 hrs and he is slightly mad,
so much he can live with himself.
He needs a remote, a paper, a smoke, a drink,a ball/balls
something to fiddle and meddle,
so much he needs to be himself.

A chillum baba of the Ganges,
A saint chewing cocoa leaves in South America,
A Buddhist monk in a cave on the Himalayan top,
each one, a Nostradamus wanting to be,
when all is clear, when all is known,
nothing but death surrounds,
play the music of life,
but even a symphony has to end,
silence will rule,
but someones music has just begun,
so the Mandala,
spins, spins,
it hurts my head, it spins,
so does earth everyday!