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
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
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?
Looking for Royal Manas National Park
Its 1.12 AM.
I have a bus to catch at six thirty, I do not have a bus ticket and I don't even know if I will get a seat even if I go to check out the bus at 6 in the morning. I don't even know if I will wake up, so I have decided not to sleep. You see I am dedicated traveller, anything for the road.
I haven't packed, nothing new, been travelling for eight years that I pack in eight minutes these days. Throw all that you need in a rucksack and there you go, ready! I am yet to do the throwing bit. I am a lazy traveller, quite a contradiction but I don't shop, I don't buy souvenirs, I am usually a broke traveller, I make do with how much ever money I have, some times its barely a few thousand Ngultrums, at other times I end up home with fifty bucks and honestly I think the best stories are experienced when you are broke, it just has a dramatic effect on what ever you do.
This time, I am headed to Gelephug. I haven't been there for more than 12 years but I still remember my favourite stretch from Tsirang to Gelephug; it had lovely teak forests all around and a straight road where you could drive above 100 km/hr. Straight roads are hard to find in Bhutan, so it was a treat back then to zooom and zooop on a straight highway.
I am headed to Royal Manas National Park to do a pilot study (what a lovely excuse). I want to conduct some research there, plus it is the most biodiverse national park in Bhutan and I haven't been there yet. One horned Rhinos, Wild Buffalo, Tigers, some five different species of big cats and on and on.Currently there is a cat count going on.
It is like heaven I am told. But what is the way to heaven? I don't even know how to get to Manas from Gelephug and I hope, I was told that is the way to go and so I shall see where I will find myself tomorrow.
Gelephug will be sweating hot am sure, right now am in Thimphu wearing a sweatshirt and writing this, tomorrow will be quite another day.
Please pray that I get my bus ticket : ))
I have a bus to catch at six thirty, I do not have a bus ticket and I don't even know if I will get a seat even if I go to check out the bus at 6 in the morning. I don't even know if I will wake up, so I have decided not to sleep. You see I am dedicated traveller, anything for the road.
I haven't packed, nothing new, been travelling for eight years that I pack in eight minutes these days. Throw all that you need in a rucksack and there you go, ready! I am yet to do the throwing bit. I am a lazy traveller, quite a contradiction but I don't shop, I don't buy souvenirs, I am usually a broke traveller, I make do with how much ever money I have, some times its barely a few thousand Ngultrums, at other times I end up home with fifty bucks and honestly I think the best stories are experienced when you are broke, it just has a dramatic effect on what ever you do.
This time, I am headed to Gelephug. I haven't been there for more than 12 years but I still remember my favourite stretch from Tsirang to Gelephug; it had lovely teak forests all around and a straight road where you could drive above 100 km/hr. Straight roads are hard to find in Bhutan, so it was a treat back then to zooom and zooop on a straight highway.
I am headed to Royal Manas National Park to do a pilot study (what a lovely excuse). I want to conduct some research there, plus it is the most biodiverse national park in Bhutan and I haven't been there yet. One horned Rhinos, Wild Buffalo, Tigers, some five different species of big cats and on and on.Currently there is a cat count going on.
It is like heaven I am told. But what is the way to heaven? I don't even know how to get to Manas from Gelephug and I hope, I was told that is the way to go and so I shall see where I will find myself tomorrow.
Gelephug will be sweating hot am sure, right now am in Thimphu wearing a sweatshirt and writing this, tomorrow will be quite another day.
Please pray that I get my bus ticket : ))
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
You are a liar and so am I
I lay snuggled in my thoughts
You deep in your lies
We traded places
We were jaded with our roles
Lies and liars
Tires the soul
A hole is dug
Deeper and deeper
Lies sink and liars rise
Players we become
Each with a facade
A mask of hypocrisy
The phantom sings and the opera claps
The chorus melts and silence sells
Oh! You are a liar and you lie for me
I am no truth seeker nor no soothsayer
I am your demon driving you to hell
You are my knell the ringing bell
You sing my elegy and I yours
We battle to death
Seeking silence till hell
Oh my handsome liar
You set me on fire
Liar dear liar
You fuel my desire
I will sing with the lyre
You playing the liar
Both our eyes
Lies and liars
Cheaters oh cheaters
Your soul is sore and mine dark
Coffee shall we?
Black did you say?
Milk the coffee
And cover the lies
Liars we remain
Smiling demons
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
Monday, October 12, 2009
Nothing in Particular
Warms rays of the sun filters into my room illuminating my den with happiness, why is it that when the sun shines it brings a warm smile on my face? Not that I don't like the rain, I do and its fascinating how the tiny drizzles feel when they drop onto your cheeks and flow into the drains washing, cleaning and cleansing. I quite like the feel of my slightly wet hair and as I shake my head the tiny droplets drizzle, 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 catch only 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 and 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 despcription and I sit closing, blinking and opening my eyes just to type that feel. I do badly, infact terribly, its just that 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 described very seldom with words. Well, that I believe 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 facebook 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 devine 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 facebook addictness gene? No idea, could be possible, couldn't it? They will definitely have some crazy ideas and well a good typing speed!
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 (esp to 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! :)
Back to the sun, it is on a run and in England at a pace that you can catch only 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 and 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 despcription and I sit closing, blinking and opening my eyes just to type that feel. I do badly, infact terribly, its just that 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 described very seldom with words. Well, that I believe 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 facebook 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 devine 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 facebook addictness gene? No idea, could be possible, couldn't it? They will definitely have some crazy ideas and well a good typing speed!
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 (esp to girls) do not scream!
would you like if a cockroach was screaming at you?
That would be demeaning!
But oh! do smile at the sun,
its a sign of being healthy and happy! :)
Wrapped in Silence
She is completely wrapped
in silence
It braces her in a tight hug
almost throwing her off the rug
She can see silence
like it has a tape on its mouth
She tries to run but she is wrapped
and trapped
So she befriends silence
Charming as a gentleman
he leads her to the floor
silently whispers in her ears
dances till the door
and says, would you care to be with me some more?
She is trapped she knows
perfectly wrapped she feels
but willingly
So she dances till June
under the moon
She shuns the world
and kills her voice
till she is one
with him
In silence
they hold hands
and they both glance
a last glance
to leave
and live
on the moon
silently.
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.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
London eYe
A mad night of sitting next to the Thames, watching it swiftly and quite silently flow in a direction none of us could figure out but nor did it matter. The bright red light of the eye casting blood shot rays on the dark night, black clouds with stars guarding them from behind, yellow hues from the street lights fading into the blink of my drunken eyes, dawn was yawning in the corner and all I can remember is murmurs from conversations, laughter echoing with gulps of whisky and vodka. Celebrations galore and why not, not everyday eight Bhutanese gather by the Thames,we are just about a score in the whole of UK! It was the night of the Bhutan Society dinner, black tie, wining and dining, lords and ladies, friends of Bhutan toasting to the Kingdom we all love. HRH Dasho Jigyel in his black brocade gho shining princely indeed graced the annual dinner. The travellers club the venue, very posh and very British.
After the formal event, the informal gathering was the Bhutanese night out. As we entered a buzzing pool pub to drink few pints of lager what better music to greet us than the same ones they play in Space 34! Everything closes at 12 and we hit a club to grab some more cider and my body took the toll of mixing drinks and everything after that is quite a blur, but even with blurred images and slurred speeches, my memory can decently fish out these details.
It is the bond, the bond we share coming from a common land that even strangers becomes friends in just few minutes or hours. It is a bond the mountains have ingrained in us to love, laugh, enjoy and be happy. It is the common talk, tit bits of home and news, old nostalgic school day stories, funny anecdotes and what we struggle with everyday to live in this ridiculously expensive country. Some one takes a swing and downs the vodka, I am not drinking, I was already quite there but I was multitasking, listening to conservations, watching the moment slip and pass as dawn was yawning like I said and soon it was all of us. These are moments, cherishable ones, special ones, fostering the Bhutanese bond away in distant lands. I will be candid, there are times that I love the anonymity living in a foreign land that hardly is true back home but there are times where a gentle pat on your shoulder from someone from homes makes all the difference, to lift you out from a 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.
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 a 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.
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