Please check my new blog, a Bhutanese Traveller's diary.
http://abhutanesetravellersdiary.blogspot.com/
Love died Yesterday
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.
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
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?
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
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
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
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.
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
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.
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
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
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
(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
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
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.
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
(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.....
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
Mr happiness came around
Mr happiness came around
lets sing a happy happy song
For Mr happiness is around
Mr happiness came around
lets sing a happy happy song
For Mr happiness is around
Two different thoughts, A song in my head
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
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