A Bhutanese Poetess

New Blog Link

2011-08-06T22:13:00.001-07:00

Please check my new blog, a Bhutanese Traveller's diary.

http://abhutanesetravellersdiary.blogspot.com/

Love died Yesterday

2011-04-20T22:13:00.027-07:00

Love died yesterday
I watched tear drops fall with grace
Should you pick up the crystal balls
You will find my soul in those little drops
Love died yesterday
I buried half my lifetime and two little wholes
Loved died yesterday,
You murdered them and laughed aloud,
I bled blood shed tear drops
While you watched my love die yesterday.

Bhutan needs Yaks and Yak Herders

2011-04-17T23:23:00.000-07:00

As I gazed into the lush green towering mountains, with one foot in Bhutan and one in Tibet, at a height of 5000 meters; on my right was the majestic Zangtopelri, clad in silver melting summer snow, a mountain that half belongs to Bhutan and half to Tibet, also revered as the abode of Guru Rinpochhe. On my left lay the rocky black mountains, covered with pebbles and boulders too little, too many, that one could easily hurt one’s feet while walking and when you get to the ridges with much difficulty and you are short of breath, you realize what paths the magnificently clever and illusive snow leopards walk and why they love it so much. On these mountains the only humans who have acclimatized themselves are the yak herders, and even them with much experience do at times suffer from altitude sickness. The bases of these alpine mountains are covered with shrubs and rhododendrons and beautifully coloured purples and pink, yellow and red wild flowers, most of which are medicinal herbs. These mountains are accessible after trekking strenuously for three days and are considered one of the most difficult treks. These mountains are also the habitat of some of the most exotic and high altitude living beings in the mountain ecosystem including the snow leopards, cordyceps, hedgehogs, high altitude endangered birds and so on.

Shingphel, the north eastern most village in Bhutan, under Tashi Yangtse dzongkhag is also considered to be a pious Guru Rinpochhe’s ney (pilgrimage) and since the journey matters more than the destination itself, it is the pilgrimage that makes you contemplate on the wonders of life like any other spiritual journey does, be it travelling to places or living life itself, everyday. At an altitude of 3100 meters, the village comprises of five yak herding households and about sixty household members, and 500 yaks, cows and genetically mutated socially considered incompetent and not taken care of- bochus (breed between a yak and a cow, one of the snow leopard’s favourite dish). Yak herders for your information are more politely in western academia now a days, no longer called nomads, or semi nomads, so these semi mobile people live travelling, in between shifting seasons and sheds.

They have sheds for themselves and their animals, and please do not imagine stitched up yak skins, they have quite nice mud pack wooden houses (of course with the regular one hole unhygienic outdoor toilets). In their main settlement Shingphel, they have some expensive possessions as well; television sets, sweets from China, cushions known as Damtse dens’, and yak sized woolen blankets that could keep you warm and make you sleep through the entire winter without waking up. And how can I forget the harsh tobacco, Chinese cigarettes and Lhasai Birak- beer from the roof of the world, nice rice beer and yaksha bathup and chugo! Reminds me, do we not need receipts for tobacco that side, I wonder if they even know of this ACT? The annual shopping list is given one year earlier to the Tibetan traders. I also found the remains of a coral reef which is revered as a jewel in a herder’s altar, lingering scientific proof of the rising of the Himalayas from the Tethys sea. Also, the higher you go the more sand that you encounter, perhaps from the timelessly forgotten beaches.

Over a cup of suja I get questioned and I am thrown rhetoric questions to which I did not have answers to. Is development equally distributed and emphasized in Bhutan? The tshogpa tells me NO; we all know that the cities get the first priorities and here we urbanites sit and complain about rural urban migration and discuss it over tea or the microphone and sleep over it. Another herder tells me that and very strongly so, how important they are to our political system, which I completely agree. Our northern borders are guarded by these yak herders who go through chasing Tibetans to go back to their national territorial space to collect cordyceps or when the Tibetan horseman with a Texan hat occasionally visits, rides in majestically and rides out because he is forced to. They are the ones who guard Bhutan and what do they get in return? Muddy pathless paths, two standing logs for bridges, one for each foot and we complain about our flyovers! Mountains slashed and sliced that your monkey instinct tells you to swing like tarzan to cross a big old log that was strangled to death by falling boulders, that could get your head and smash your skull, bridges that are made of old creaking bamboo nets with loosely strung wires which could give way any day and what if that is your expressway home? Life is hard for them and here we are complaining of pot holes on the road, yes rightly so traffic jams too. Campsites or migratory sheds are tick filled marshy lands, they are beautiful settings and have scenic views, don’t get me wrong, but what good is beauty without comfort?

Cordyceps Sinensis is a caterpillar fungi; when a fungi grows on a half dead caterpillar, it becomes a medical herb of wondrous economic and medicinal value and a kilo of it can fetch the herder roughly eighty thousand Ngultrums. The legalization of the annual harvest of cordyceps was originally an idea to empower the mountain people from the alpine to have an extra source of income and it was His Majesty the fourth King’s idea, but the herders of Shingphel complain, and strongly asserting so because the scenes have changed with democracy. These days the collection of cordyceps have been extended to a larger space and includes places from next to towns till high pass Tibetan mountains. People who live at 1500 m go up to 5000 m to collect cordyceps and the joke amongst the herders is, some cannot stand the altitude and suffer from altitude sickness and head back. They also say sometimes people with their census in the capital cities and so, go back to their gewogs to send a person each for collection only during harvest season. Over brushing the cordyceps with a tooth brush, one herder tells me that “few years back we earned about 3 lakhs from auctioning cordyceps but these days they say to get a lakh is difficult.” One of the herder, a mother of eleven with her youngest one still being breast fed tells me that one of her son is studying in Bangalore and they spend about a lakh ever year. I was amazed. I also suspect that the large herbivores which are the yaks play a very important role in keeping the pastures open, without shrub growth and this should have a link with the growth and size of cordyceps. Both yaks and their herders are crucial for this ecosystem and this country to survive.

Migration is a big problem. How do you solve this problem? Keep the migratory birds happy where they are. So, the herders were a year ago planning to move down to the city/town, change professions to cow herders, and become one of us, really. As much as they love their high mountain passes, where time for them passes moving from a pasture to another, singing songs and smiling under harsh conditions, with no vegetables! They are torn between making a choice of continuing a yak herding tradition they started few decades ago migrating from Sakteng and nearby villages and carefully guarding this kingdom called home, and now they are tempted and lured towards a modern comfortable life where if not anything, there are flat roads to walk and bridges over rivers. Tomorrow should they be gone, tomorrow if they be in T town, for two days you could trek into wilderness and not find a human soul. We live between two giants.
I would like to also take this opportunity to thank all who were a part of this journey that I shared with, porters, ponies, friends- some are dead and some are living, and the hospitality of the herders who are not just tough mountain people, but are very kind and generous. I do hope the concerned authorities will do the necessary and keep Shingphel alive.

We don’t have budget for bridges, roads, pathways, land slide prevention and so on, is a commonly used phrase, I can already hear that familiar phrase ringing again. Can the money spent in implementing the quite unnecessary Tobacco Control Act- in terms of its importance and significance to this nation, please be put to meaningful measures such as these, please?

A love letter to my country

2011-04-17T23:21:00.000-07:00

Dearest Bhutan,

I love you unconditionally and I hope it remains so for lifetimes to come should there be many. I write this out of my love for you so please do not weigh me by the word or a phrase or two, it flows as swiftly as a mother’s milk, you couldn’t separate the drops and it flows as spontaneously as it is being suckled. You of all should know that the essence is the essential not the words, nor the phrases nor the full stop or the comma in the right place, the essence itself. I write this for I have gotten into trouble for unleashing words like swords that have pierced systems and institutions and I do apologise, so here comes the writer’s disclaimer. Should it offend you, please treat this to be fiction, should it touch your hearts and rush your mind then please do spend a moment or two and contemplate. For reasons that make me a woman, this is emotional, I guess I think from my heart and my womb and remember the dead and the unborn and worry for them and us all, again, another female trait. I write as a feminine voice, that today holds a high held head but still thinks very deeply from the heart and still sheds tears when need be.

I shall shout and scream here no more, this is the last, it seems pretty futile talking to deaf ears. I shall blame no one no more, it’s like a sour relationship where we all pass the blame game ball and rotate it over an oval ever rotating table. It quite reminds me of passing the parcel game that we all must have played when we were little. We are all to blame; starting from our votes (I am not saying we put the wrong people to power, am talking about the thought of voting ) which usually ended up for our cousins and friends and family members and their friends and so on and perhaps also for the few deserving ones. Most of us voted with our hearts, if you are an exception, I am sure there are many, then I applaud you. We are seldomly known for what we do but more for our father’s name or the bloodline or our ancestral heritage and it bothers me to think, what if you have none of these? These are the Sonam Tsherings. These are the people I am most concerned about.

We are all a part of this, this that is the contemporary scene in Bhutan, in all developmental spheres including this Amend the Tobacco Control ACT page that exists on Facebook for voices; urban educated expressive opinionated voices, voices that care and dare to share. Do not monitor or scrutinize this page and judge its intentions in terrible light but look at this as a new generation of voices, voices that want to participate in the democratic processes, voices that tell you please steer the ship and adjust your sails, for we are all sailing the ship of development and progress towards comfort and happiness, for it carries us all together through time, through thick and thin, let us stick together as a wise intelligent nation, that not only stands high on the mountains but that which makes decisions of the highest thought, the most profound and practical. Many such pages should in-fact be launched, using communication and technology for other policy matters will generate much more nuanced consensus and opinions rather than taking for granted that the people who we elected can read and understand our minds, hearts, conscience and consciousness which I think we did not surrender with our votes. But yes we did give them our voices, which should be their voices, not their individual ones alone. So when you say why were we sleeping when you passed the ACT, I throw that back at you, why did you get elected if you did not come to ask our opinions? Do you only come when in need of votes? So who was half awake?

I do wish to tell you, as a woman, I care, as a citizen too, the thought of people who are currently behind bars torment me, I get nightmares knowing that I hold one of the few pens that will touch your heart or fry your brain, that words come to me and by virtue of my education, I can think and reason, perhaps much better than many as we are a country of mostly farmers and so when I do not stir the storm, voice my concerns I feel hypocritical first of all to myself. Therefore these changing voices, sometimes anger seems to do the job and this I hope is much more subtle and touches your soul somewhere as a Bhutanese, as one of the brick in the wall that makes modern Bhutan. I wish to participate in such an interesting time that you are going through dearest Bhutan, Tobacco ACT and even otherwise as a nation. We are progressing, yes if growth means cars and buildings and all things materialistic. I will not drag GNH into this because that would make this letter an unending one, where again we all have opinions about its construction, perception and implementation. I believe dear Bhutan that we are a happy nation because of everything ancient that is intact, that has been handed down over the generations, with much care and concern, be it nature of which we all at times forget that we are still a part of, culture which again stems from it and both nature and culture evolve. Whether Darwinian or not, evolution is inevitable. As human beings too, we are evolving, the next generation that is born is always more intelligent, I am sure we all told our fathers that and our children will do the same. We all live, age and die, that is the ultimate truth.

I chose to smoke cigarettes when I was in high school, I wasn’t a regular but that was the start. But I chose it just to re-emphasize. Years later, I still do, not very regularly as nicotine doesn’t charm me much anymore but yes I do. When I was in London I used to buy a pack of twenty for roughly Nu.500; cigarettes in England are very expensive. Not very long ago they started a BAN too. They did not ban the choice to smoke, or to produce receipts which usually only air travelers have access to, they rather chose a more strategic implementable method; they banned smoking in public spaces, pubs and clubs and parks and so on. Importing cigarettes from another country into England isn’t allowed, well not for direct flights into England but transit ones can get away with it if you can pocket it into your check in baggage. There are always tricks and means, aren’t there? Dear Bhutan, why am I telling you about England? I have lived there for three years and what I have learnt is that when a reasonable logical system and an implementable one is in place then it is so much reasonable and easier to implement and enforce. Given my Asian looks and our anti-aging genes, I had to produce an identity proof every time I bought a pack, sometimes even for a lighter and bouncers at pubs too do the same for alcohol, strictly 18 and above. They control enforcement and very strictly so, on the sales part, with high end tax and penalizing people who violate the same, especially if they sell to minors. The enforcement is equal and the same for one and all. England itself here is not the example we should follow Bhutan, but perhaps to borrow some of its well functioning system and policies wouldn’t hurt us if from their ancient voyages around the never setting sun and their lessons learnt and wisdom earned can be used for our own need to maneuver our boat in this tobacco storm. What I do find (again this is a personal opinion), is that our own system is run by our hearts, dominated mostly by men’s thoughts (I want more feminine voices since we think differently perhaps we would govern differently), and as for the ego debate let us not ponder on the gender.
As His Majesty says, let us build a good system. Sometimes it is wise to let the system itself change and evolve and so I pledge on this page and the wider audience, let us all contribute, let us all voice our concerns, with words that do not abuse and swear, but reason and converse, let us all participate in this modern Bhutan that we are building, let us make the most prosperous nation in the whole world; we are almost there, we are not too far from the shore. Keep heart.

Ps- I am told, please do confirm, that an ACT when passed cannot be changed for a year even if amended. So dear Bhutan, are you going to keep the victims of the system, so that the system and decisions made prevails? Or, will you think as a Buddhist country, be compassionate and loving and kind, and forgiving and free the monk and others who have little children, and their minds, what will become of the minds I do wonder? The body will wrinkle I know but their minds? Will they fear a ring of smoke or the smell of tobacco, the receipt that they could not produce or the system itself? Are we building fear my dear Bhutan? Building a comfortable country dear Bhutan I think first of all stems from happiness. Oh wait, did you not say that, that is not my line!

Until I return,

I remain yours truly,

Manju

Young Bhutanese Scientist designs innovative Dhobi

2011-04-17T23:20:00.000-07:00

Vishma Rai is a second year Computer Science engineering student studying in Delhi Technological institute and has recently risen to fame in the international media for his innovative discovery of the fully automated pedal powered washing machine called Dhobi. He will be granted an audience by the President of India on the 12th of March. He has also been given a semester off by the institute formerly known as Delhi College of Engineering to commercialize his team’s product Dhobi. Vishma said “I conceptualized the idea at the end of first semester and this project wouldn’t have been successful without my institute’s support.” Dhobi was awarded the first price for innovative green energy technologies for India in New Delhi last month. He is probably the first youngest Bhutanese scientist to have made such an innovative discovery.

Vishma is an alumni of Phuentsholing High School and Yangchenphug Higher Secondary School but is not on a government scholarship; he applied for his United States visa which did not materialize and so he found himself in Delhi Technological Institute. Vishma said “this was a blessing in disguise as the boy’s hostel where there were no washing machines and there was a regular rush to go to a gym and spend a lot of money to avail its facilities to burn calories, inspired me to club both the ideas and come up with the prototype for Dhobi along with my team members,” of whom some are his seniors. The calorie burning, pedal powered, gear system with shafts and a motor, washing machine is aimed to not only make washing an easier affair for the rural women populace but it also comes with an idea to break certain engendered social constructions. Women are generally considered technologically incompetent, laundry is seen as a woman’s affair and this machine would inspire change and also inspire men to lose weight and wash clothes thereby making laundry a cost effective family affair.

The Dhobi is based on bicycle components that stimulate motor action. There is also a gear system in place very similar to that of bicycles. An average electric fed washing machine rated at 2200 Watt for a washing cycle of 1.5 hrs costs Nu. 12 and if a household uses it twice a day, it easily comes to Nu. 24, and a monthly expense of Nu. 720. Dhobi is a onetime investment and will cost Nu. 3500 for rural areas and Nu. 4500 for the urban crowd wherein for the urban one there would also be a digitized meter that would monitor how many calories have been burnt. For the urban crowd it is also aimed to reduce unhealthy lazy habits, obesity, hypertension, heart diseases, abnormal blood pressure, diabetes and other ailments for which people either go to a doctor or to the gym. The parts are maintenance free and this machine will never become redundant says Vishma. He further adds “the only thing missing as compared to the electric washing machine is that there is no hot air drying system but the clothes come out significantly dry even without it.”

When asked how he will commercialize the product, he says “through microfinance and social entrepreneurial model adopted by Nobel Laureate Muhammad Yunus. He also hopes international bodies like World Bank and Asian Development bank will help distribute it for free and maybe this would inspire Laundromat businesses that are sustainable. He also says “incorporating innovation and capacity building leads to newer ideas and innovation and would generate employment and lead to a self sufficient society. Helping the poor to be industrious will drastically decrease crime rates and other forms of violence.”

Dhobi is a green technology project that harnesses energy, saves electricity and washes clothesHe derives his inspiration from Scientists like Thomas Edison and James Watt. Apart from talking about Dhobi and discussing patent law with his Vice Chancellor, meeting eminent Scientists, Vishma is also very interested in E-watse management whereby he wants to supply rural schools in Bhutan discarded computers that can be re-assembled and reused. He also attended two international conferences last year; International Youth Forum, Seliger and World Youth Congress Turkey and his travel was funded by the Cabinet Minister. He found these conferences online and managed to mobile funds. Vishma feels very strongly about being a part of a global village and participating in it.

When asked if he would like to say something to the Bhutanese audience, Vishma said, quite like a scientist “ I quote Jonathan Schattke, ‘necessity is the mother of invention, it is true, but its father is creativity, and knowledge is the midwife.’ And we feel that concept of pedal power washing machine may have struck many minds but few hands have worked it out.” In ten years time Vishma intends to be a Scio-Eco-Entrepreneur a term he hopes will be coined in time.

The Tobacco Debate

2011-04-17T23:18:00.000-07:00

Finally read the ACT book/text book that we have been debating about. The preamble which justifies the need for the ACT to have been enacted banks on a social, heath and environmental concern that affects our GNH philosophy or something similar on these lines.

Firstly.
Heath wise:
Does domestic violence occur because someone went out for a smoke or drank a bottle of LEGAL whisky? Does the mortality statistics show that the death rate is more due to tobacco consumption or because of alcohol? Or the sooth from kerosene equivalent of smoking 40 cigarettes a day? Accidents due to bad roads? Pharmaceutical drugs? Psychological cases due to broken marriages, which again uncle alcohol is usually present and so on. An interesting thought I came upon today when conversing with someone; what if our parliament constituted of 50% women? We would probably ban or restrict the sale of alcohol and not tobacco.

Secondly.
Social:
As a social scientist, I do agree with the ban of smoking in public spaces which are used by children and adults alike, in pubs and clubs and other such spaces and people to be id'ed above 18 and so on, like some western countries do and which is strongly enforced without partiality to any class or strata of the society. But for cops to walk into someone's office, that too a media office? I thought Journalists were the public watchdogs, since when did Journalists get blue dogs around to watch us; sniffing around and waiting for the "crime" to happen? There is respect every individual deserves by virtue of being human, it is called human dignity. When you encroach into someone's private space whether it be raiding an office or a house or a shop or where ever, it sends out the message that their behavior is monitored and if it isn't monitored then there is something inappropriate that could happen. So what are we? Social beings that do not know how to conduct ourselves in social settings? I thought we were done with the colonial age! Socially, there are much more problems this ACT and BAN is creating and will create and sadly the repercussions could be very serious and disastrous. We really have to be mindful of what we are doing and how strategic it is in the long term, most importantly as a DEMOCRATIC nation. Democracy is based on public consensus right? Yes our MPs did voice our concerns but perhaps it is not reflective of the larger audience who want this ACT to be amended.

Thirdly.
Environmentally:
As a conservationist I know for a fact we are one of the few countries in the world that have negative carbon sequestration, which simply means you need not even worry about air pollution, that too from cigarettes! Please shut the mines and the other heavily polluting non-carbon conscious industries which do much more harm at a greater scale. Let us plant trees instead, or do something that really reflects our urban environmental consciousness and let this “environment” word being dragged and its free flowing usage be done much more mindfully.
Furthermore the Act is named Tobacco CONTROL act; how does one control when there is a BAN and there is no sale? Isn’t the ACT itself very paradoxical?

We should use the budget allocated for the enactment of this ACT and the cost of its implementation including the prison charges of dal roti to build bridges, schools, hospitals, roads, and to lift the 23% who still live below the poverty line, that to me is a clever and smart move!

Finally.
This text book, is vague, repetitive (we could have saved some paper really, time, energy and salaries of our dear MPs) and the ACT to me appeared to be just one page which is the penalty page and oh my, that makes me shudder, we all know why!

* Had to write a statement in the Police Station for this article. The usage of the word blue dog is purely metaphorical. It was run by the Journalist, Bhutan.

To You

2011-01-10T21:47:00.000-08:00

It is in absence that your presence is felt,
Light as a fluttering autumn leaf,
It falls and fits like it was meant to be,
As I collect fresh dew drops of memories,
I know each is sun kissed by your precious lips

Mississippi Highway

2010-09-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

(Inspired by the Blues Bar- London)

I fell in love with a singer

on the Mississippi highway

I fell in love with a singer

on the Mississippi highway

He looked so torn and battered by life

on the Mississippi highway

He was so lonesome oh! boy,

he was so handsome singing blues

on the Mississippi highway

He sang me blues till the sunset

on the Mississippi Highway

I fell in love with a singer

on the Mississippi highway

Walking Talking with London

2010-09-08T16:54:00.000-07:00

She gazed from the beautifully strung millennium bridge, white tight ropes that formed little pyramids swung on cobble stones that trembled with the passing train and sprung fresh with the rain, standing exotically on the Thames, overlooking the mighty brown Thames; if one peered long enough you could see pale blood from dead wartime soldiers in the deepest ripples, covered with sooth from the industrial revolution, dark beauty riding on the moon’s shadow. She wasn’t even drunk, her mind just floated in history and back and forth to the present day England, imagination let wild and free to interpret the artistic surrounding of the beautifully lit banks just above the embankment. It was a beautiful sight but beauty and pain seem to be the best of friends, hidden under a mask of strokes and colours, brushes and brows, bruises unseen and feelings unfelt, like beauty was a mask to un-remember the past. She actually felt ugly, a gray little duckling left ashore to see the wonderful world which was her home and yet wasn’t really.

She paused in the middle of the bridge, soaked herself till the lights around made her feel dark and hollow and empty, the kind of emptiness that makes the dead wake from their death, the kind that scares emptiness itself and sends it howling into the night, pain people can seldom see, people seldom notice and the kind of pain often plastered by a well stretched smile, as they say ‘ear to ear.’ She walked the first part of the cobbled bridge, weighing her footsteps carefully, like each tiny step would send a string flying down the bridge, London bridge is hanging some would say, and on her the little ducking clutched her webbed feet. She walked till her feet hurt from her thin soles of her black pumps, till her body trembled in sync with the frequency of the trembling bridge, on either side were the white little pyramid like tight ropes glued together, a pattern which is quite similar to if you have ever played the thread game. Yes the thread game, you take a long thread knotted at the end and dribble it around your fingers till art forms shapes and the artist feels the pride in those. A train passage was just in middle of these two threaded designs, smooth poles and elegant designs, it almost made her feel ugly, quite succeeding so.

She swung to the motion of the bridge, walked till the end and climbed the other thread, the view changed, magnificent buildings bathing in yellow light, her eyes felt like someone has just changed the lens of the camera, she rememberd her canon and yet knew the canon actually saw what her eyes made them see but this was clear and distinct, like its details were screaming to be noticed. She paused to the ringing strings of a guitarist on the bridge. He wasn’t a good one, nor did have an angelic voice, but his instrument made some wonderful sounds, it was an old one, natural wood of brown from its look, quite a good looking guitar she thought. She was thankful though, he was atleast singing, with a guitar case lying bare naked and open, two fifty pence two people had dropped, she bent down to give her share for the entertainment she was going to fully relish, for the joy of having music on the bridge swinging to its own melancholies, the guitarist said ‘bless you,’ and she really needed to be blessed, not by preachers not singers, just blest by the dark hanging clouds right above her head. Rain was sure to fall she thought, but she didn’t care. She cared about nothing these days, not even her-self.

The Buddha said nothingness was it, wasn’t it? Maybe she was getting there, becoming a flesh devoid of pain and suffering, suffering is a thought she had figured that by now, the thought would end with the end of thinking; she knew she was far from it. Oh! those thoughts, they didn’t trouble her, not anymore, they amused her, she could even laugh at her own miserable plight, she called them adventures, life called them troubles, but the Globe was right on her right, she wanted to scream ‘what’s in a name Shakespeare and was quite sure his floating ghost might shout back at her saying ‘hey that is my line.’

She walked a bit further, she was intrigued that sometimes her thoughts were actually quite intelligent. She shrugged and gazed till no thoughts were in her mind and all she saw was sight, oh! beautiful sight of London, stretched miles till the dark blue horizons and careless strokes of clouds caught her eyes, froze her thoughts for those few eternity like seconds, gripped her heart and squeezed her might, as the strength drained and she descended from her trans like state, all she wanted to do was cry, wail and howl, shatter the peaceful night like falling stars, shooting meteorites kissing the earth, clattering the silence of the night and the harmony of the passerby. She wanted to stare into a stranger’s eyes and question them if beauty hid pain so well and if so well and why so well? For what so well?

She walked a bit further, the bridge ended and began a little pale yellow dungeon, graffiti on either side and a phrase caught her eye, it said, are you a mooner?

She knew those words well and what connotations of state of mind it stood for but she wanted to write next to it, are you a moaner? Sometimes do you moan aloud, if not, you should!

Grumbling with her own thoughts, she descended the stairs and there were two lovely gentlemen, they were not suited and booted like the corporate Kings walking past but they were strumming such heavenly tunes of Spanish music and the instrumentals touched the deepest and the furthest veins of her heart and she could feel it tremble, with pleasure, sadness, beauty, love and feelings only the chords can touch, music was what she really needed to balm her soul.

She rested her feet, her heart, closed her eyes and floated with the sounds of music that reverberated around the Thames.

It was finally a beautiful night.

Muse of Music

2010-08-28T17:43:00.000-07:00

(An invocation)

Who is the muse of music?
Who is the muse of music?

Who is the muse of music?
Who is the muse of music?

Oh! bless me please,
Oh! bless me please.

Oh! please, bless me please,

Who is the muse of music?
Who is the muse of music?

Muse is the muse of music,
Muse is the muse of music.

Oh! bless me please,
Oh! bless me please.

Oh! please, bless me please,
Dear Muse, bless me please.....

Happy Song

2010-08-28T16:03:00.000-07:00

Mr happiness came around
Mr happiness came around
lets sing a happy happy song
For Mr happiness is around

Two different thoughts, A song in my head

2010-08-24T13:38:00.000-07:00

Friends flock to you in times of sorrow
and in happiness they disappear

Friends flock to you in times of sorrow
and in happiness they disappear

I am my only friend I have
I will stick to you
till the end

I am your soul speaking
through you
Listen to your voice
it will
never fail you

Friends flock to you in times of sorrow
and in happiness they disappear

You might get bored with me
I am your only friend
You might get bored with me
I am your lonely friend

I share my breath with you
We share our laughter...
I share this song with you
I share these thoughts with you

Friends flock to you in times of success
and in sorrow they disappear
Friends flock to you in times of sorrow
and in happiness they disappear

We live in one house
but
we are
two
different thoughts
And in the end
I am
the only friend
I have got

Friends flock to you in times of sorrow
and in happiness they disappear
Friends flock to you in times of sorrow
and in happiness they disappear

In response to famous economist Jeferry Sachs' advise on Bhutan's rapid progress by investing in chemical fertilizers

2010-08-14T17:53:00.000-07:00

The article can be found on Business Bhutan at the following link:

http://www.businessbhutan.bt/?p=2521

Mr. famous Sachs can pocket his $£$£ worthy advise, as much as we must thank him for all the advises and analysis done in the few days time he spent searching for happiness (which I hope he did find), we very much appreciate it but thank you. It would be fair to bring to his notice organic 'tasty' food makes a happy man and 'frozen' food makes a man cold (all pun intended). Soil is organic, it gives birth to life not just trees from where bills are produced, one needs to treat it with respect, perhaps the Red Indian's point never got into their ears. With Seattle- Chief Seattle was forgotten and his words buried under bulldozers and fertilizers. Now with all good intentions and far sight I hope, he has put Bhutanese people in dilemma (tried to-failingly so). Organic Vs Inorganic? We talk of substance abuse to our human bodies, what about abusing the soil? Well, soil cannot talk back, I forgot and neither can the insects that thrive in them.

On a scientific note in the virgin rainforests of the Amazon it was found that they were not 'virgin' after all; there were evidences of past human settlement and the presence of tera preta soil was discovered which was then linked to the rich nature of the soil and the growth of the rainforest. Bhutanese have been practising something closely similar for centuries- compost pit manure. Also, maybe Mr. Sachs did not notice the primary forests of the country, perhaps he could have thought nature was fertilizing it because litter fall manure is one of the best natural fertilizers. There are already natural mechanisms at play Mr. Sachs which are beyond your monetary understanding, while rapid development, increase in food production and decrease in poverty are very much desirable, it is a terrible long term strategy to use chemical fertilizers, it results in soil and water pollution among many other ailments. Patience is a virtue we all learn, when your soil becomes sour and food 'production' lesser in quantity perhaps you will remember the Shangrila, till then to alleviate our poverty how about giving us some money for reducing your carbon sequestration in the world. I think you OWE countries like us, US!

I could say a thousand things but to sum it up our value system is different, we as Bhutanese think differently and it is always an environmental friendly thought. Come back in ten years Mr. Sachs or even sooner, or actually, we will come to you- export you some organic Bhutanese food!

If the Himalayas were the Sahara, I would say Mr. Sachs give us some chemical food, but since we are THE Himalayas, I say Mr. Sachs, you need to get back to your roots.

Early May Morning

2010-08-12T15:27:00.000-07:00

(An attempt at song writing- written in May, 2010 in Punakha)

An early May morning
A black and white bird sang
it circled the green white water
and it danced
it flew three times and laughed
and then it sang

Clouds are hanging gray
leaves are falling green
on this solemn day
this early May morning
this early May morning

Tales of a Bhutanese Traveller

2010-08-06T16:01:00.000-07:00

Surfacing

On early travellers H.G Wells says how impossible private travels must have been in the pre-Alexandrian world during the absence of money but evidences of early travellers date back to third or fourth century BC. I can only imagine what Bhutan must have been like during that epoch given that we had our first roads built in 1960’s. Being a landlocked country, sheltered by towering Himalayas, the world must have been home and home must have meant the world, maybe the world wasn’t even oblate spheroid but just mountainous. Atleast that is what I thought when I grew up, well I wasn’t too wrong, not very much atleast, there are mountains higher than Everest below the ocean in the Pacific. Back in the days, we would have had saints and nomads and pilgrims travelling to Tibet, Nepal, India and maybe some other Asian countries but what would the worldview have been like? What were the stories that were heard and narrated? What did the travellers bring back apart from tradable goods?

I have no answer or maybe too many doubts but I as a traveller, now on my seventh year after leaving home to embark on an unknown journey finally feel ready to share my experiences. I feel the need to share what I have seen through these eyes and mind of mine, where my legs have carried me away from my mountainous abode, to learn, seek, lose and find, to experience this wonderful world, the dancing ball in space. Do not judge me for I humbly share my experiences so that you can feel the world of a traveller, the addict of constant change and motion, the detached being who constantly seeks new adventures in new lands. I know I haven’t really visited the most exotic places in the world, yet, but I know I belong to one. I grew up in Thimphu; eighteen years went by admiring the valley and valleys beyond, growing up and contemplating life, relishing and enjoying those moments in a wonderland with friends and family and now from a far away land, like the sailors did in the past, travellers who came home and narrated the stories of the vast world, I now in the age of technology which you and I are privileged to access, don’t even need to learn how to swim or wait for pigeons to deliver the news. Here is my epistle to you. These are tales of a young Bhutanese woman who was born in the year of the fire tigress with way too much energy and has dared to live the life of a yogin, a modern one or so I would like to think, even though that sounds too fictional!

I am writing this to you from London, I have been living here for a month now. I live next to the highway in East Acton. As I write this cars are whooshing past, I can hear the sound of the wind left by flying tyres, some music blasting from next door, compared to my lovely quiet house in Changidaphu, this is way too noisy but you don’t really get to live next to the highway with beds shaking from tremors of the passing underground trains, this is a new experience for me. Welcome to the world of underground and over ground. This shifting land dichotomy is an everyday part of a Londoner (which I suspect is true for all big cities in the world). Three long staircases down the trains and tunnels excite me and when the underground tunnels open with interesting adverts plastered on the semi circle like metallic arches, I feel like a character in a fictional novel, rooted deep, underground smelling soil above my head. I love wandering around in the underground, to me it is like toy trains zooming by, the sound of an annoying English woman who announces the arrivals and departures of trains with an emotionless voice blaring through the speakers, the fading music usually from electric or acoustic guitars played by street musicians who I absolutely enjoy and as and when time permits, I pause and enjoy the hanging sound of music floating in the tunnels of the underground. I often drop a coin in the not very filling empty guitar cases and smile at those musicians for making my day; I am crazy about music and have all the respect for all who can play some sort of an instrument and on the streets is where most artists begin their musical career.

I live on the central line, there are many lines in many different colours when you look at the tube map. Red is central, black is northern, and green is something else and you can imagine all the other palatable colours. Each line is associated with a series of tube stops following a pattern, there are places to change and interchange and exchange and finally get out, get above on the ground. The other day a friend of mine who has always lived in London was saying how artistic the underground is. It sure is another form of modern art; the art, the architecture and the way people experience and interact with it. It is a place where I could sit and look at the characters who get in and off the tube (very well dressed since London is the fashion capital) people who commute and people who make a living in those shiny steel dungeons playing music, or people who lose their phones or their lives in the everyday hustle bustle of working class London. The lines are so much important that when you ask a friend for his/her address it isn’t below the hospital or above the picture hall but on the lines! The lines also tell a lot about your social status and class, the further away from central London that you live the less posh that you are and areas like in any other place in the world are designated to classes, ethnicities and whatever else division you can muster. This is the place where the industrial revolution began (now England is a declining economy and there are no industries on the island which was strategically thought about since the English are very fond of nature, colonial memories might disagree) but England is still pretty and green and clean.

If I was a fish in an ocean would I remember all the fish faces? I see thousands of people in a day, they are mostly very good looking, very well dressed and the shoes, as any woman I love shoes too! I can keep looking at a feet or two and on and on. The strappy sandals for the summer, the dingo boots and those suits, colours and clothes are enough to keep my eyes moving. Other times when I am travelling in the tube, am stuck listening to my music player with Beatles playing only to me while I stare at the face facing me, stare through the person into the darkness of the underground and the wires whizz by and darkness fades into light and soon my station arrives. We are such evolved species, smiling to a stranger isn’t really a practice here. I sometimes see people voraciously devouring their books, some sleeping and dreaming, some with wrinkled foreheads thinking and worried, maybe it is the recession, I can feel England depressed and declining, money is worrying everyone, jobs are being lost, new jobs seldom found, after the great depression, this is another history in the making and I get to be a part of this. Is the sun setting in the English empire?

Once a well known Bhutanese writer once told me how terribly I write, ever since those words keep ringing in my ears, I had a mental block for a long time. I would crumble papers and erase written documents; the writer in me was slowing regressing, words failed to become alive, feelings expressed seemed like non sense, I have finally been able to slightly lift my shell, all I want out of my writing is for you to enjoy as much as I enjoyed living those moments and writing to you, judge me but gently. I wasn’t born to English parents, nor do I claim to have mastered the language but I do know that if you have stuck with me this long to read this piece you will eagerly wait for the next because this is a series you will love. Borrowing from Margaret Atwood, I have finally surfaced.

Till then I remain your humbly,

Manju

And the blind man cries

2010-07-12T18:48:00.000-07:00

Eyes lie awake till wee hours in the morn
sees colours of dawn become the darker shade of blue
lightens to lovely azure and sweetens to copper brown
slowly to mellow yellow that brightens welcoming the sun

The clouds form patterns and play with the eye,
I,
me,
We,
I see,
shapes I want to see and shapes that see me,
brighter the sun seems to the eye,
sigh! clarity is fading away,
it is darkest before dawn,
and that is the brightest
for you can see in the dark.

The eye lids are still not weary,
of seeing visions,
pass and sail,
to close and open one's eyes,
to be seeing such beautiful sight,
I thank that I blink,
I thank that I can sink- in the palate of colours unimaginable to the
blind man.

And the blind man cries....

Somewhere in between

2010-06-23T01:09:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in between a book I found an unread note,
the pages were crumbled and it smelt of faded yellow paper,
and yet those words smudged in black ink sank deeper than any sword,
as a tear drop fell smudging the already smudged crumbled ruffled paper,
it blotted till eyes became too blurry to read and my heart sank,
like someone sitting on cushions,
so deep till no air could be felt and even the breath was of muffled sobs...

It was no love letter, nor from someone who had passed away,
it was a note written a long time ago.

Somewhere in between living and dreaming,
Somewhere in between trying to please and be pleased,
Somewhere in between the east and the west,
Somewhere in between soaking the sun and gazing at the moon,
Somewhere in between thinking and speaking,
Somewhere in between growing and laughing,
Somewhere in between wiping the tears and trying to smile,

I have failed.

Friends who once held hands and hugged hearts,
Foes who I never wanted any,
Family who I could never please,
Relatives whom I never met,
Love and Lovers, too many to see,
Books I failed to read,
Poems I could never sing,
A guitar I could never play,
Writers I never understood,
I have failed for too many reasons to quote.

Somewhere in between failing and trying to stand,
I sprain my leg and wince in pain,
it is a gloomy day and my heart is weary,
Somewhere in between ageing and growing
I lament, my life, my life
I weep for the dead and the ones who will die,
I weep because I want to cry...

Somewhere in between I read the note and it is my own elegy that I recite.....

ps- Rest in peace, all those who passed away
Live in peace, all those who still breathe

Drip Drop Rain

2010-06-06T21:17:00.002-07:00

In between trees I planted memories
the trees flowered
the memories faded
flowers blossomed
petals crumbled
rumble rumble
the thunder grumbled

In between trees I planted rain
drop by drop it collected
a puddle, a stream
an ocean, a dream
soaked deep in slumber land
the memories filled and flowed
till the ocean became a dream and the rain
a dreamy drumming dripping drop
running down the drain!

tip tip tip .....

Confusion

2010-06-06T21:17:00.001-07:00

She stood at the edge of the cliff,
A whiff of air blew her lush black hair,
She shone delightfully fair in the moonlit air,
The shore was noisy and so was her soul,
The waves jumped in confusion,
and lashed with even greater delusion,
bubbles and foams and froth and wrath,
all jumped,
all tumbled,
within the waves,
between her soul,
the air became foul,
and rot her soul,
confusion breeds clarity they say,
clarity is an illusion they say,
She breathes the foul air
and manages to walk back with her flowing hair,
in despair
in despair......

Saturday Blues

2010-06-06T21:16:00.000-07:00

I can hear the left over music from the saxophone,
Friday's hue fades into twilight blue,
a crescent moon with a dotted star,
hardly at war,
and the Buddha sat behind the bar,
listening to blues from space afar

I can hear the fading sound of the harmonica,
Saturday is not in harmony,
it awoke to a gloomy morn,
and wanted to piss all day long,
and for miles, Miles Davis was all I had
to forgo my Saturday blues

Start a day with Saturday Blues
blew blew blow the blue
have you heard a harp so sharp
piercing piercing bloody blue
brew some whisky play some blues
tap your feet to Saturday blues.....

BANKING WITH A DIFFERENCE, ISLAMIC BANKING

2010-03-15T10:35:00.000-07:00

When one hears the words Islamic banking one might immediately try to associate the words Islam and banking and wonder, how different can a money making business be whether it is Islamic banking or conventional mode of banking? Is it just a name or is there more to the way how this kind of banking is done?

There are an estimated 1.61 billion Muslims worldwide, making Islamic banking one of the fastest growing segments of the financial industry. This banking system is not only appealing to the Muslim audience but in fact has much more to offer individuals, companies and governments who are interested in banking with a difference, a system that differs in the spirit of contract, a system that brings an element of honesty in a cold banking scenario where usually only money talks, a system that places importance on the ethics and the way banking is conducted.

The Islamic banking system differs fundamentally from the conventional banking system in its central idea that giving or taking interest (Riba) is prohibited. This system of banking bases its objectives and operations on the Qur’anic principles. The basic principle of Islamic banking follows the laws of the Sharia or Islamic law and this religious motive that governs the system of banking changes the whole structure about the way money is made and shared between the investor/borrower and the banker. Unlike conventional banks, Islamic banks share business risks with investors and borrowers. Another fundamental difference between conventional and Islamic banking from a risk perspective is in the nature of risk taking. There are no fixed rates promised and no false promises made, the bank becomes a partner and therefore the relationship created between them is much different than the conventional way of banking. The thought processes and the fundamental idea that drives and governs Islamic banking are religious and therefore it makes all the difference in its perception, implementation and accountability which cannot be found in the conventional banking system that is driven by collateral alone. Though it must be mentioned that Islamic bank attaches varying degrees of importance to the elements of capital, collateral, character and condition unlike conventional banks that focuses on collateral alone, Islamic bank gives priority to the character of the customer. But there is a similarity between the two banking system on the issue of priority attached to the security and soundness of a project submitted to the bank for financing.

During a time of economic recession the greatest since the Great Depression it does pose the question, is it about time that other ways of banking be explored? At Davos in January 2009, the World Economic Forum released a report on the future of global financial system and it commented on the Islamic financial system that it is capable of minimizing the severity and frequency of financial crises by getting rid of the major weaknesses of the conventional financial system. Then how does an interest free banking framework function?

Instead of interest the system in use is a Profit-Loss Sharing (PLS) mechanism for resource allocation and financial intermediation. Banks that comply with Islamic laws are forbidden to charge interest or late payment fees, which is also considered a type of Riba. To minimize risk, banks will often require a large down payment on goods and property or insist upon large collateral. It is lawful for the bank to charge a higher price for a good if payments are deferred or collected at a later date since it is considered a trade for goods rather than collecting interest. Sharia-complaint banking products include Mudharabah (profit sharing), Wadiah (safekeeping), Musharakah (joint venture), Murabahah (cost plus) and Ijarah (leasing).

Another way banks work within Islamic laws while trying to turn a profit is by buying an item that the customer wants and then selling the item to the customer at a higher price. For example, if someone wants to buy a house, a conventional bank will loan the customer the money to buy the house and charge interest on the loan but an Islamic bank will buy the house and rent it to the customer at a higher price. The bank will own the house until the rental payments are made after which the ownership is transferred to the customer. This is a joint venture.

The Mudharabah (cost surplus) is a partnership between an entrepreneur and the bank. The bank is known as the rabal-maal and the entrepreneur as the mudarib. The bank provides all of the necessary capital to start a business and the entrepreneur does the work of managing the business. Profits are split at an agreed ratio until the initial funds of the rabal-maal are paid off. The rabal-maal is also compensated with additional funds based on the profits of the business in terms previously agreed on. In the event that the business folds, the rabal-maal shoulders the cost and the mudarib is not compensated.

The Sharia or Islamic law also forbids engagement in investments that include financial unknowns such as buying and selling futures. In Islamic banking the money has to be from an Islamic deposit and it cannot be used to deal with something synthetic (like the recession), the goods have to be tangible. Therefore the risk involved is much lesser. It also forbids businesses that are haraam – dealing in products that are contrary to Islamic law and values such as alcohol, pork, gossip or pornography. These principles apply to all individuals, companies and governments.

In 1975 there was one Islamic bank; today there are over 300 in more than 75 countries. Today, Islamic financial institutions exist worldwide, participating in the $180 billion/day industry. The total amounts of deposits in Islamic institutions are growing at a rate of 25-40% annually. Because oil prices and liquidity are expected to stay high, budget surpluses will remain high, pushing both public and private sectors to be involved with the Islamic market. Many Islamic countries are investing in large infrastructure projects, creating more than a trillion dollars in investments.

There is also a huge potential customer base. According to Standard and Poor’s surveys, 20% of the customers in the Gulf Area and Southeast Asia would choose an Islamic banking product over a similar conventional product. There is significant middle-class urban and suburban populations that already use conventional banking and therefore present ripe opportunities for Islamic banks. Most importantly, outside of the religious and political allure of Islamic banks people are choosing their services for the safeties they are offered.

The evidence is clear: Islamic banking is big business and is growing by the day. The 25-40% tremendous annual growth rate of Islamic banking is a testimony that this system of banking based on values and ethics instilled and driven by religion emphasizes on the conduct of doing business, promoting an honest way of making money and is becoming a fast growing niche in the financial world. With a growing customer base especially in the emerging markets and a distrust of conventional banking in such economic times of recession, people are willing to explore and experiment new secure modes of banking that is disciplined and puts an emphasis on basic issues of business, ethics and religion- Islamic banking seems to be the lucrative answer.

Karmic Disasters

2010-02-09T13:29:00.000-08:00

I have never felt so frustrated before. All my life I have been told about how much I talk and argue and how difficult I can be sometimes and yet when the time was for me to react that way I chose not to. Now that conveyed a completely different personality of mine (a fraction of me is still a listener) to people who knew me just for a day or two. I became "weak and introverted" which everyone who knows me long enough would laugh at or atleast let out a chuckle. I am an extrovert through and through (even proven by psychological tests in my class). I am one of the craziest people I know and my guts, sometimes even I shudder to think of what all I have done. I know my enthusiasm is infectious and my passion can make people wonder what fuels my energy, my curiosity surrounding the debates on words, meanings and meaningless topics, I can talk till people ask me do your jaws hurt? What do you not know?

The more I learn the more I realise how little I know.

And the faithful day where all the communication that I have ever learnt in my life is put to test, I fail and that too so dramatically that I don't get recognised for the very traits that are my signature! That is called a karmic disaster, when the whole world conspires against you.

Life doesn't give second chances, I wonder if some humans do....

I am deeply frustrated to have not been able to get a marketing communication fellowship and all that I have done these past couple of years is learn this business.

Disaster, absolute.

And so the cookie crumbles

2010-02-06T03:00:00.000-08:00

It crashes down like a pile of loose stones and boulders, of dreams built on a pile of trash,the crash is dusty and the dust surrounds choking me as I grasp for some fresh air to breathe.

You are an adventure seeker, what happened now?

Even seekers lose it sometimes. After all I am a human too, beyond a threshhold it is crash point!

How can you lose hope?

Oh well that I guess I should have lost long back.

I am another Dickens but the failure version of him. I came to seek new paths and find platinum streets, little did I know, little did I know, where the fittest survive the weakest are eliminated and I sure am not the strongest.

Where do I go now? What do I do?

Who am I? What am I? What am I doing?

Nothing really (chuckle)

Oh shut up!

Back to the beginning. Its a full circle.

Come lets go home...need a break.....

And so Alice decides her world will never be understood so she should never walk away from her wonderland. After all its a different view through the looking glass and only Alice knows, only she knows...

Shattering Stars

2010-01-28T21:29:00.001-08:00

How delightfully it breaks
into a million pieces
into a billion dreams
fresh as ever
sparkling and polished
distantly fading into the dark blue blanket
Oh! the shattering stars

How delightfully it shines
bright and twinkling
makes a man a child
unleashes his wonder
beneath those moustaches there is a grinning boy
Oh! the shattering stars

How delightfully it stays
forever and ever
etched to the sky
swinging with the moon
ever so gently
carved with randomness
born out of a bang
bang bang boom
zooom zooooop
Oh! the shattering stars

I have counted hundreds
but there are more than numbers can count
zeros will wonder
and will be left wondering.
Oh! the shattering stars

Like the little girl
holding hands with the little boy
pointing to the sky and saying
oh! look~ shooting stars, let's make a wish
Oh! the shattering stars

Nepali Song

2009-12-22T14:38:00.000-08:00

(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

2009-12-15T08:37:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-03T18:16:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-05T16:39:00.000-08:00

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

Teacher

2009-10-26T17:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-22T19:30:00.002-07:00

(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

2009-10-22T19:30:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-22T19:29:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-22T19:28:00.002-07:00

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

2009-10-22T19:28:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-22T19:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-27T23:31:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-25T17:30:00.000-07:00

(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

2009-08-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

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

?

2009-08-19T18:58:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-17T04:14:00.001-07:00

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

2009-08-14T13:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-12T08:12:00.001-07:00

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

2009-07-25T22:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-25T22:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-25T22:34:00.001-07:00

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

2009-07-25T22:33:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-07-25T22:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-24T20:20:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-05T03:09:00.001-07:00

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

Angay

2009-06-05T03:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-04T17:47:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-28T01:28:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-22T18:33:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-18T15:23:00.001-07:00

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

2009-05-13T05:14:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-13T05:11:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-09T16:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-14T16:13:00.001-07:00

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

2009-04-10T17:07:00.001-07:00

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

2009-04-09T16:20:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-06T12:33:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-30T07:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-30T07:53:00.000-07:00

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'

2009-03-25T11:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-16T17:36:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-15T15:52:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-15T05:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-15T05:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-14T16:09:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-10T11:26:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-07T06:08:00.000-08:00

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

2009-03-01T02:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-28T16:39:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-23T18:20:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-21T07:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-17T18:18:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-17T17:17:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-10T17:05:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-10T16:39:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-10T16:27:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-29T23:46:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-26T16:50:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-26T16:48:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-01-26T16:47:00.000-08:00

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!

I await

2008-12-06T15:52:00.000-08:00

I await to bury my head in your chest,
get as deep as I can in your vest,
the best.

I await you to look into your eyes again,
to see the joy of pain,
to see the light when our gaze meets,
yet again my dear- yet again.

I await to sit in silence,
wrapped in your arms,
hearing nothing but just your breath.

I await for wordless expressions,
motionless dances,
weightless happiness.

~I love You.~

Reading is the muse of writing, amusing

2008-12-05T02:54:00.000-08:00

I have tons of readings to read, I know that's a lot, whole lot, hell lot and it is in such times when you are to concentrate with your mind entirely, the muse awakens. The muse loves musings, it is clever, it knows that when it is not wanted it shall tempt and coax and finally get the fingers to move, smoothly, move them in words, frame sentences and there you go, a para-graph is ready.

It is joyfully clever, even when it has nothing to tell, it will yet not stop speaking, it just continues, murmuring and buzzing, soft sounds and loud noises, whatever it pleases and if you do not obey, then you had it! It will then exclaim and claim your voice and make it sound its own, it will take over, completely and you will have no say, no say at all, it is the muse and the muse loves being mused not abused.

But, but if you love it and if you hearken to it, it is the bestest confidante, choosing your words for you, your voice, your rhythm, rhyming where possible, connecting and dis jointing when not necessary, expressing the feeling, helping you lament and rejoice and giggle and chuckle and talk of love and life and help you get higher up the mind, oh muse, elevate me, levitate me, I await to join your abode in splendor, await to obey you ,my lover, my muse, I await to be told of the world and the worlds that have passed by, I await to listen to your voiceless voice, quiver listening to it, soaking every technique you tell, mopping it to my bank of memory, storing it gently, tucking away the moments spent with you my muse, descend now will you or just take me away, I await to be in your arms, your loving arms.

As you hold me I shall burst into a sensual prosody, uttering my endless songs and hopes and dreams to meet you, oh formless, being- less, benign muse, I put a pen next to me, a white sheet of paper, cross legged, my head looking into the sky, I await for you, come to me......
or did you just leave me?

Here and Now

2008-12-05T02:53:00.000-08:00

When my hair blows in the cold wind,
when my lips becomes dry,
I close my eyes to be blind.

When am blind my sight is the strongest,
I see the dungeons of memory,
I see you in every blind blink,
I hear our joyous mugs of beer,
and I swear,
I hear the clink.

I see your face,
this phase is full of your face,
you say live in- here and now,
you are here with me,
you but a voiceless you,
you but a formless you,
you who just smiles at everything and scorns nothing,
you are here with me darling,
I feel your presence.

Leave me never,
love me forever.

41st Iffley Road

2008-12-05T02:52:00.000-08:00

Stap your seat belts for your safety said the man, no I was not in a plane, I had just gotten out of one, I was in a bus. He further instructed if your want to use the lavoratory, it is to your rear and enjoy your ride. It was past midnight, I was in the bus from Heathrow to Oxford. Before getting into the bus I had just seen England below my feet, lights shimmering on wherever you could set your eyes on the land below, the half moon with a sheepish look, glowing to glory. Picking up my bags I walked to the immigration, and boy there were people, walking smartly, in quiet a hurry, trying to get out of the port and back to their hurried lives, and I seemed to be the only one around with nothing much but a lot of time. So I dragged my bags slowly, gaping at everything that passed my way or whose ways I passed; asking people for the information centre, the calling card shop and the ultimate question, which bus can I take to get to Oxford?

There they were everyone who knew where to go and what to do, and there I was a lost child, enjoying the feeling of not knowing.When I got to the bus stand it said Oxford and I was relieved, I was at the right place, the huge tube pulled up infront and the driver got down to put the baggage in the luggage compartment, sorting them out according to their destination; my turn in the queue and he asked, “where to,” I said “Oxford,” with a puzzled look he said, “ But Oxfords big, where in Oxford,” I managed to remember my college room address and muttered with uncertainty “ 41st Iffley Road,” he shook his head and said that’s a long road, and in my mind I thought, and how was I to know that, it was my first time. The queue behind me was building, so I hurriedly said, drop me off, anywhere close to that, and he said the last stop, and even before he could utter the name, I said “yes yes.” It was one of those embarrassing times where you don’t want yourself to look like a fool and end up saying “ yeah, yeah,” to everything.

So there I was, jet lagged, destination unknown and strapped in a bus! The straps are quite a help really, especially when you are deprived of sleep and want something to hang your head on, what better than a strap to keep you wanted. I slept in bits and pieces, craning my neck to whatever passed on the way, half awake dreaming and then the pilot spoke on his microphone again, a thick British accent,’ we are here, watch out for your stops,’ and this was a dreaded moment. I rubbed my eyes shook myself from the quick slumber, and now time for vigilance, time to look out where to get out, but “where” is a big question?

“Gloucester Green, the last stop,” said the man, so I picked up my bags again and prayed some one should help, like god ( if you exist?), its late at night, how do I know where to go, how? The Bhutanese way, pray, and prayers do get answered; as I was taking out my luggage, an amount too humungous for my size, an English man said, “you wanted to go to Iffley road, and I was glad, there was my angel,” I said yes, he said well you cannot walk till there, you have to take a taxi, come I will show you from where, I followed more than willingly, he pulled my bags for me too, godsend. Taxi and there was I, infront of my house, I had a room in there, but no keys. Second task, to get in you need the key, and to get to the key you need to know where you can get it, but middle of the night colleges are closed, so now what?

Pray, say your prayers, wish. I was already missing the mountains, the food, my room back home but for now all I cared for was a bed, safe one. So I hit the bar below my house, it was a Friday and all bars are packed on Friday, that’s a universal rule. I saw a man with pink hair (coloured) and two ponies serving drinks, and there I go again with my questions, “ would you know anyone who lives upstairs, I rang the bell but no ones answering,” and pink man says “ it’s a Friday, you will not find anyone,” I knew what day it was but I needed better information than that, “ I need my room keys,” I was asking a bartender and he could be god for me at the moment, “try the college lodge, ” “ don’t know where it is and will it not be closed its quite late” said I, “ its open 24 hrs,” said pink man, bingo! and that was what I wanted to hear, 24 hrs. With the help of another landscape gardener who was drinking, I made it to the lodge which was not far away, picked up my keys, flashing my passport everywhere and when I held those in my hand, it was victory, I felt like I had gotten the biggest treasure of my life.

So there I lay, in my bed thinking, what a few days I have had, hopping from the nestled kingdom to this bed. I missed home, quite terribly but I was representing home, the only 'Bhutan' in this hub of nationalities, and that made me feel better, more like that was only way of consoling myself.

Mrs moon

2008-12-05T02:48:00.000-08:00

Mountains I conjure,
streams I concoct,
fresh air I breathe.

I am the blue sky,
Clouds dance in my shadows,
rainbows play hide and seek,
winter I smell,
smell of winter,
wintery winter.

Snow says it is on the way,
but it's flight is delayed due to climate change,
sun says I have extra work,
global warming makes me shine longer,
Do I not need rest?
Do I?
I am just plasma.

Glaciers are irritated,
"I am no longer solid," it proclaims,
is it just the age?
Sigh! old age! Human induced old age!

Moon looks like the sun,
bright glowing dark sun,
it is just the pollution,
Oh Mr Moon,
you now glow like a Mrs.
*chuckle*

I lament my earth,
I foresee disaster,
is extinction just the beginning of regeneration?

A usual day

2008-10-27T11:47:00.000-07:00

Beep Beep goes on my noisy alarm, and at such a point I just want to chuck it the farthest possible and go back to my dreamy slumber, which I do, and press the snooze; twelve minutes later it beeps again, I utter a disgruntled noise and press the snooze again. After some five snoozes, my watch reads some 7.45 AM and to attend 9 o'clock classes I should be up, infact up long back, then I curse myself for snoozing the time, curse the morning for being so cold and curse my bed for being so inviting.

Get up on a morning and that too late, then you start running like a mad person. Brush your teeth quickly, no time to glance on your oil soaked sweat laden face, shower even quicker, get out before the water settles in your body, mop roughly and there you are running around your room, and especially if you are messy like me, then you are running in your not so big room but everything strewn everywhere; books, pen, notes, phone, ipod, glasses, make up, and there goes the missing liner again, so search for it, beneath the bed, in the shelves only to find it sticking out with a wicked grin from your bag, ah! mornings. Dab some powder on your face, look a little presentable, look for your stole to cover the neck, and pack lunch, thank god I did it the night before itself, now that was being clever or just plain lazy!

Then I gather my coat, wear my stockings and my jeans and pocket my purse and go through the bag again, I live quite far from the department and coming back to pick up forgotten items would be a night mare, re-check, scan, done, ahh then the keys? the keys, bike and room keys...oh well in that am really intelligent, I never take the keys out of the key hole; once not very long back I got locked out of my own room, twice in a day, so that is never going to happen again, so I prove to the door that I finally have brians.

Slam, goes my door, click it sounds, and am out for the day.

Run downstairs, gobble some cereals, drink the milk making a throaty noise, gulp gulp, swipe the remains of the milk and then juggle to find the keys to open the door and close it back, be sure not to disturb your house mates since you would not want to be disturbed too. Then find the bike keys, unlock them, walk the bike across the road, cycle, and before five minutes of cycling, am cursing my breath again, ciggarettes, they are bad, bad, puff pant, they are bad, red light says the traffic, thanks for giving me the break. So it takes twenty two minutes to cycle to my department and I go find a seat, lower my back pack and today they tell me, the clock went an hour back, well the time settings!

Oxford Town

2008-10-25T16:45:00.000-07:00

"Congratulations," said some Ministers, some friends, some known people and some unknown
"Oh, nice" or just "hmm," said some, who perhaps did not know how to react or did not want to or simply didn't care, " I did not know you were an intellectual said a few," " lucky you ( was that all luck?)," said a bunch and all the hiss and siss and comments were for getting into Oxford. Frankly, to me it did not matter how people reacted or how not, I had to say it for I was looking for funds and all I got was words, 'congratulations' which became cliched within time. Here I was hoping to have inspired more Bhutanese to make the west know of our existence and to ourselves that we too are capable of anything that we want to do, but I often wonder if my doings have been mistaken, scorned at, I do hope someday people will understand.I am paving a path, or maybe just clearing one, I hope you will follow or your kids will....

Since I applied here, I do not deny I was not fascinated by the course I had applied for and of- course the ancient university. It was an ideal dream. Writing letters to the college, filling the numerous forms, juggling between university and college contracts, arranging money, crying, weeping and cursing myself for dreaming, it was all quite a process, and as I lie stretched in my bed, smoking a cigarette, I wonder if it was all worth it.

Then begins the saga of freshers and introductions with a template of questions asking " where from, which country, which department, which college, which road you live on and so on," and all I get when I say "Bhutan," is "where is that," "oh, cool! but am bad at geography," "you have the happiness index there, damn cool," and you meet some who would not care unless you are USA or Canada or Australia or some big sized place on the map, and to those wanting to know where it is I say "Himalayas," and if you don't know that and you got this far, you got to very clever indeed!

Oxford systems are bizzare at times. Everyone is affiliated to a department and also to a college. College for socials and parties and cocktails and other fancy jester like items and department for lectures and seminars and all academic bits. The terms are even more intense, an eight week marathon and before you know it it is over. But the eight weeks are full of readings and lectures and independent motivated studies plus beer, pub crawl, ale and cider. You have a huge platform to go and attend the extra subjects that you like and whatever fits into your schedule. I volunteered for the newspaper and went to cover Dwain Chambers, the British sprinter, and meeting him in person after having 'wikipediad' him was a moment. Seeing his metal tooth gleaming and hearing him talk openly at the Oxford Union (expensive union to join) on drugs and sports was quite interesting.

Cycling, I have a pink dunlop bike ;), they seem to not like the word cycle and hence its a bike. I fell down a couple of times at the traffic, got bruised and embarrassed, managed to get up, smile at the car next to me and cycled again, yes am learning...

It is nice to be here but I do believe it is quite hyped and coming from a close knit community like ours, it is a tremendous change. Changing rooms, finding houses, buying food, eating 'bread, missing ema datsi,' is all a part of life that I have chosen. It is shit expensive to live in the UK, shit shit, it is. From the bus that charges you two pounds to cover few hundred metres to the food in the supermarket to the medicines in the dug store to a pint of beer in the bar, it is all money. Capitalistic views surround sound, and for the moment the favourite word is credit crunch, know it or not know what it means, it is the word to use.

Amidst all these you do meet interesting people too, name the country and you might bump into a citizen. I met someone from Barbados and am living with a house mate from Malta, Mexico and have classmates from Greece and Croatia and Venezuela and other places on earth. Met poets who recite poems while drinking beer and tell me of Blake and Ginsberg, scientists who work on some fancy atoms but nevertheless drink a lot, archeologists, anthropologists, photographers and the list goes on; you meet humans who have been brought up in different cultures and want to meet people from around the world, travel, learn and share. Academia, Oxford is truly one in that sense; there is room for everything and everyone, though this bit is debatable.

I am not trying to sound lucky or plain snobbish, I just want people to know that if they try, even this is accessible, but unfortunately there are no scholarships for Bhutanese and I did try speaking to the authorities but it seems they need funding from the government to give students of that government a chance. Politics, everywhere, it reeks in every corner of the world.

Autumn leaves rustling on the streets, falling overhead, green to yellow and to none, is a gorgeous sight. Panting and puffing, I ride my cycle, it is the cigarette that I should not be smoking, it makes my breath shorter, and I gaze into the pale blue twilight, the architectural marvels of the historic town, a student town, multicultural town, it reverberates of ideas and colours and drunkards and drinkers ...

Good old town Oxford, many a people have come and gone, written and done, been and seen and I will be in the many soon but I shall indulge in you Oxford,till I last in you.Hope someday we have more Bhutanese coming here. Hope to share my experiences when ride back and gently climb the mountains where I belong.

To sum it all up, happiness is desirous to all human beings and you do not need university education for that, no you don't. Just be happy at home, there is nothing like it but if you are adventurous and would like to experience unhappiness, escape from innocence and know the world, then well, try you may and you should.

Nature Pees

2008-10-09T16:12:00.000-07:00

Dark Grey shadows of the sky,
the clouds seem to silently move,
becoming darker and darker,
till hell will break loose,
and when it does- they will pour,
with a vigour so vigorous,
it will prove its Englishness.

Chilly and cold wind,
leaves rustling and rubbing against the stony floor,
making 'that' sound,
maybe autumn beckons..

Here I am, south of England,
eating sausages and baked beans,
admiring the country side,
sitting on a wooden bench,
Oh meadows so beautiful,
oh gorgeous doe- eyes,
but today you are overshadowed,
with the dark grey clouds,
it's like it brings forth a message,
the message of rain- heavy rain..

Did the English weather drink a lot of beer?
Nature pees....

Mystic Me

2008-09-24T14:28:00.000-07:00

A poetess in love with words,
A traveler in love with the road,
A clam shell- A woman deep inside.

Nature, my paradise,
The Himalayas, my abode,
The mountains my friends, the wind my breath, the rivers my joy,
Trees I love them,
I am a fire tigress, an Arian,
Art my food,
Camera my eyes,
Speech my reach,
And friends my need,
Knowledge my thirst,
Poetry my song,
Oxford my dream and
You- my destiny.

Tic tac toe

2008-09-08T22:36:00.000-07:00

Tic tac toe,

The clock ticks ever second

Tic tac toe,

A minute has passed,

Tic tac toe,

An hour has passed,

Tic tac toe

The day will pass

Tic tac toe

I am one day closer to death.

Tic tac toe,

Who invented you?

Tic tac toe,

Why do you matter so much?

Tic tac toe,

They tell me you are precious

Tic tac toe,

You remind me of work,

things to accomplish before I hit the grave,

Tic tac toe,

Can I shut you forever?

Or will you shut me?

Tic tac toe,

You never leave me, you annoy me,

Tic tac toe,

You are the fleeting moment

Tic tac toe you shall always continue,

Time you are timeless,

Tic tac toe-

I give up!

I want to Run or just melt away

2008-08-07T12:33:00.000-07:00

I want to run or just melt away,
I try,
I ain't growing shorter by the day.
I want to disappear,
but I keep on re-appearing.
I want to float with the clouds,
kiss the skies,
but I can't fly.
I want to understand the whys and the hows and the whos,
and all I hear is a silent SOOOshhhhhh.
Eyes are open and yet closed,
Ears listen and don't hear,
I breath but with no air,
I freeze and cold I have not become,
I can't comprehend the cosmic happenings,
so I will try vanishing like a ring of smoke among low hanging clouds,
fast and quick.

To the Rain

2008-08-07T12:32:00.000-07:00

You poured today,
and in so long I haven't seen Thimphu so drenched.
The smell of summer pervading in the sky,
seeping through the rocks,
billowing from the clouds,
ah! the fresh smell of summer,
or is it giving way to autumn?
Mornings are colder,
sleep you get is longer,
slumber and slumber.
I watched the sky,
to figure out how you fall and from where,
clouds of shades I could find,
out of blue skies you were pouring at places,
some out of dark,
Some shiny clouds smiling,
and after the Rain,
a friend once said,
Thimphu looks happier,
I think it does,
people look brighter,
dogs bark louder,
things look better,
Ah, rain come again tomorrow!

To Oxford that I shall never see

2008-07-19T13:12:00.000-07:00

I dreamt,
and it was madness.
The dream started young,
a dream so beautiful,
full of literature and poetry,
of Thames I dreamt sitting by Wang chhu,
I couldn't share the dream,
for everyone thought it was madness,
and madness it was,
and this madness drove my thoughts,
thousands of miles,
it perhaps met Shakespeare's soul there, or Elliot's,
it is still a dream,
and the madness is wearing out,
of people I have begged,
and people do sound sympathetic but its my dream,
they wouldn't care,
and never have I wanted the evil money so much,
never, never before,
nor do I crave for more,
for I know all this is for the plants I grew up with,
they talk to me,
I can feel them and it hurts to see them deplete and burn,
logs and logs burn,
and my heart burns with it,
this is madness I know,
like that 10,300 km on the road was not enough,
the fourty days in the car,
madness is wearing out,
I am growing older,
But I still do not understand the world,
am sure none do, but all pretend to,
of death I wait,
I am not even scared
and hopefully
it will be a mad death.
Amen!

Faces of Trees

2007-11-12T10:50:00.000-08:00

It is a desire of every human heart to live till, and experience old age. Trees are no different; they too have life and they too would like to experience the bliss of longevity.“Man-kind” has made this world his kind only; giving little importance to nature and environment which actually supports this world. Deforestation of tress, careless forest fires, logging and other human activities are inhumane to the nature cosmos and this greatly hinders the life span of a tree.

This estranging photograph of a tree found in the Eastern Ghats of India, clearly exemplifies the tree as not only a breathing being but by giving human features to itself, it makes us realize that trees are also “living, feeling” beings. It presents us the face of a tree, the body of an old woman bent with age and yet treading the path of life. This tree is a metaphor for nature, old age and our savage behaviour which has prompted nature to show its face, attracting us and yet estranging us, thereby making us realize its place in this world. There are also lessons to be learnt by us homosapiens; it shows how the young protect the old as seen here in the protection of the old tree by youthful neighbouring twigs and branches. The zest to live life till its last breath is seen in the weathering of the bark, but the tree’s enthusiasm is not dead yet, for the colour on its body is very much vibrant and full of life. This picture does not portray a scenic, conventional beauty of nature but instead this picture is to remind us of the law of individual differences that exists among trees. At the same time how their vigour to live life is similar to ours and how we should not take away their life and let them live, and perhaps in their old age we will see faces of trees like in this one.

As a photographer, what caught my eye was how bewitchingly beautiful the tree was and in my journey from the Himalayas to the jungles of south India, this is one tree that made me realize, trees not only have life but they have an identity too, which often goes unnoticed by an unfeeling being, the so called and proclaimed mammal of higher intelligence, the humans. Humans die, but nature is perpetual, alas,we can no longer say so for we are killing our environment every passing moment and this tree’s howl is one such testimony.

Futurity

2007-08-28T10:27:00.000-07:00

She sits there,

her arms wrapped tightly over her knees,

her body at complete ease,

her skin glows a beauteous hue,

the sun amplifying it further,

she feels pulchritudinous.

Then she wonders;

the skin that glows will someday wrinkle,

the face that she sees in the mirror, will disfigure,

in front of her eyes,

the alcohol and the cigarettes, slowing consuming her body,

and her brain, deteriorating, dysfunctioning, and then

what will remain?

The soul that one has never seen,

The body which will go back to the earth,

The mind that dies with the body,

And yet the cycle continues,

the unknown cycle,

and this future is not her alone,

It is for all of us.

Ode to the Mountains

2007-08-28T10:02:00.000-07:00

You stand majestically,

clad in green,

barren at some,

at times adorned with white,

purity is your essence.

you never stoop,

never stumble,,

you are born to stand majestically, till eternity.

Seasons come and seasons go,

autumn paints yellow all over,

and winter comes,

snow and you,

earth and heaven,

white and mud red,

the white sinks in you,

makes your red richer,

and when spring sets,

you are greener than never before.

But still you stand,

never budging,

never complaining,

your patience is a virtue-

humans will never learn,

your elegance- no woman can ever compare,

you are THE MOUNTAIN,

the land raised high above,

so high that you divide the earth and the sky,

and yet so low,

that without you,

there is no Home