Tuesday, 15 March 2016

When she goes by a bus.....



I do not want to weep.
I do not want to sob.
As I pass her red bag,
I lost hope in the time.
When she goes by a bus,
I do not want to control either.

I do not want to shout.
I do not want to rush.
Things came to me uninvited;
Like it was truly expected.
When she goes by a bus,
I do not want to be cool either.

I do not want to love.
I do not want to be loved.
As she sat in her seat;
I lost the pace of my beat.
When she goes by a bus,
 I do not wanted to hold back either.

 Do not want to imagine.
I do not want to hope.
As she tabs button in her cell,
She sent me literally to hell.
When she goes by a bus,
I do not want to stop dreaming either.





Monday, 3 November 2014

OUTCASTS

She came and took away my slumbering night
What can I say, she has the might.
She threw my feelings recklessly to afar
Like it meant bootlessly nothing at par
‘Creepy’ was what she seriously told at last.

Knew the fact, I, not deserving your emotions
Never knew I deserved that height of rejection.
You breathe you air and I shall mine
Surely, there is not a reason to whine.
‘Angel’ is not what I will say now.

Her heart believes my life as a plight,
Now I wonder; does she have a right?




Friday, 31 October 2014

Alarming Fashion of Rape

Every week, Kuensel reports a case, or two, and sometimes even more of rape in Bhutan. Last year, one of my friends told me that he didn’t read the Times of India without a rape story and these days I am hearing his resounding comments while reading Kuensel. Sexual assault and rape cases are growing with an alarming progression.

What is happening? Where is the loophole? Who is responsible? Are our sisters safe in Bhutan? Is our judiciary not strong enough? These are intriguing questions that all the concerned Bhutanese must address given the current cases of rape.

Utopian society may be a dream, but the cases of rape at this frequency are not acceptable even in low-set societies. Our society, on other hand, is known to rest of the world as haloed ground of happiness which in reality now is a place where rape is becoming astounding fashion. We read prison terms for the culprit and medical status of the victim in every case of a rape. We are informed of a rape case in various locations. These are information we get from media. This mere information is not going to curb down the rape cases. The concerned authorities must come up with pragmatic preventive measures and awareness programs. It is high time that we reflect as happy society and mend our activities to make it so.  More importantly, it is I and you at an individual level who needs to change. We must take rape seriously and say no to such a sickness. We must share what we know to our people so that rape may be one of the least cases in our country.

Finally, we are one people of Bhutan and increasing cases of rape is our common problem. Let us be united and act in the way to curb down these inhuman, lecherous and outrageous rape cases. Let woman and man be respected in Bhutan. May the soulless pedophilic rapists be brought to justice!


Friday, 28 February 2014

Losar: Bhutanese New Year

Greetings and happy Losar to all!

Recently, BBC covered Chinese New Year, which is believed to be a month of the highest mass migration of people. About 1.3 billion people migrate annually for the New Year celebration in China. Bhutanese New Year may not be known to the world yet, it is a joyous occasion for us.

My dad hardly cooks and when he does, everybody would savour items he prepared. Losar is one of the occasions he does. The day would start with my dad waking earlier than mom for the first time in a year. By the time he wakes us, we would be greeted by pepper-scented porridge. There would be two pots of porridge ready-to-serve categorizing each for vegans and non-vegetarians.
Every member would dress up to their best and sit together forming a circle of about 3 m dia. Our uncle and aunt would break the lists of guests we expect with their porridge and of course, Bangchang (locally brewed soft wine). The talk at our first gathering for the day would center about what one plans to do for the day. My dad always had tentative programs while brothers normally opted for either Khuru (traditional dart) or archery. Girls would prefer shouting with their friends playing Kolokpa (game played with large seeds of some perennial vines).

Lunch would gather us again. No matter in what financial situation my dad happened to be, he would prefer lavish cuisines for the day. Pork, beef, fish and chicken if possible, would make one of the best days of the year. Unfortunately, everybody used to be filled with sight rather than amount.
My brothers and I would visit our neighbours with a plate of our day’s items. We just have to hand over a plate and literally, they would find ‘this is ours and what’s your’ inscribed over our brows; uncovered with our smiles. They would unload and fill the same plate with their items. Way back to home often used to be slower for us; we would inspect what is different and appealing in their offer.
The archery ground right below our home used to host many ardent players and some oldies who used to be the champions of the game. Those oldies would instruct the archer; vicariously enjoying an archer’s hits and lamenting his misjudgments. Some workaholic men would change their status to alcoholic on that day; often acting something unexpected.

The most interesting part of the day is the evening. All boys and girls would gather and start dancing in every house (one could say a traditional jam session of our village). Clumsiness after visiting two to three houses on that day never used to drag criticism or rather advice; be it from parents. It is a day in 365.
Young people would be joined by some oldies (ones they could walk and spare sleep). My dad used to be oldest active member of the group. His endless songs would always keep us busy and often endangering us of cramps. By midnight, we would have visited almost half of the village and received what every household has in store for us. Bangchang usually used to rule our night. We would continue till morning and would disperse with sore throat yet, filled with joy.


This Losar shall be different one. My dad is alone at home for some reason and his day will be never be same and so is ours. I will be missing him and his tireless efforts to make this day memorable one for all of us. I would like to join rest of my brothers and sisters in wishing him a joyous day. A happy celebration to all my village folks and let us pray that we will celebrate together in future with all beautiful traditions of ours! 

Sunday, 24 March 2013

Don’t Call Unkaal


It has been two years studying in India and, until recently, I came to know one more thing about Indians. They don’t like (probably, may not be all) being “UNCLE.”
Back in my country, Bhutan, uncle is the most abused title given to almost all elderly masculine folks. Especially, those brought up in urban areas have habit of calling uncle to almost all man with whiskers or not. Women are known for gentleness and in Bhutan; they use the word uncle as part of their courtesy. However, this may not be applicable to all, but I am sure about an abundance usage of the word.  If we happen to be in Thimphu, you will see how Bhutanese use uncle lavishly.
“Uncle, Babesa,” calls a girl from Babesa to taxi driver.
“Uncle, Tashi is beating me,” complains Tashi’s playmate to his dad.
“Uncle, no discount?” asks a customer at shops.
“Uncle, doma?” approaches vendor at bus stations.
Similarly, in many occasions, uncle is an integral part of our everyday conversation. Owing to the dual materialistic nature of nature, aunty has been explored in same line. I know that words like ‘Acho’ and ‘Azhim’ do have good stand, but not to the extent of uncle and aunty.
It was on one of the Sundays where I happened to visit a shop in our local market. There were two girls visiting the same shop. As usual, those girls with their Bhutanese look already made my morning. North eastern part of India has girls of our look. They wanted to recharge their mobiles probably; they wanted to heat up their mobiles on that day calling whosoever.
“Uncle, Vodafone,” uttered the taller girl with recent made reddish hair. I could see how happy her hairs were to reflect gentle morning rays. While another one was busy taking out her pink purse. Her handbag was pink and when she took out her pink purse from it, it was beyond one’s doubt to deduce her favorite colour. She gave me pinkish smile which was something I liked about her conviviality.
Bhaya, Airtel.” I said following them.  The man instantly worked for me unexpectedly. Those girls were earlier than me. I pressed my number and as and when I passed back his old mobile, I saw some graffiti behind him on the sky-blue wall. “Don’t call Unkaal.” I smiled to myself. Unfortunate girls didn’t see his warning. As I was making way out of the shop, another man came with an utterance of “Bhaya, Airtel.
After that day, I started being conscientious in addressing people. I was curious to learn the common trend in the area, so I started listening cautiously to the words people around me use.
“Hey, big bro.,” say students from African nations to their seniors and elders.
“Dah, kaho?” say friends from Nepal and Darjeeling.
“Arai, Bhaya,” say friends from India.
By then I realized how Bhutanese would annoy my young friends. They have very good coverage of hairs. The world of fraternity seemed more appealing to people around me. 

Thursday, 7 March 2013

Letter from Son


Mr. Penjore receives an epistle on one of the afternoons. It is hazy afternoon and the hectic lunch makes it somniferous. When their messenger comes in, he collects letter lethargically. The temperature is high and fans are dangling over head calling for the power. ‘BPC,’ utters Penjore spreading lapels of his gho. Afternoon office hour for him is drowsy. He keeps the letter casually on his lacquered desk not even daring to read. Penjore looks up to the fans, the source of relief against scalding heat. He leans back against the cushioned chair.
‘Hmm…the address is correct,’ hums Penjore to himself. Heavily, he stretches his dexterous left hand to pick up the letter and sees something scribbled at the back side of an envelope.
‘From your son?’ reads Penjore with an unusual frown. It enervates him instantly. There seems no comfort in leaning against thick cushion. Penjore tries hard to predict the sender. He thinks that it must be his friends trying to prank and make his dull noon lively. Penjore, father of three gorgeous daughters giggles and opens the letter conscientiously. With curiosity at its climax, he reads the letter with an utmost attention. It reads:

Dear Father,

I am sorry if I ever don’t deserve to address you as father. It is how I was made to understand through all my road of education that parents, irrespective of their conduct, are still parents. With these instincts, I am quite confident that you wouldn't mind my reference you as father. Though you never fathered me, you are still my dad.
When I was in sixth grade, I knew the meaning of the word ‘Bastard’ (too young at my age to contemplate) when one of my seniors referred me as ‘the bastard.’ Thank you, you taught me words beyond my reach.
As per my birth certificate, I was born on 25th July, 1986 in small, remote village at Pemagatshel. My mom, Thukten Choden has brought me up to all this way. She had woven clothes (more than an ordinary woman can weave) for my education. I was brought up indifferently like those who have masculine earners. There were no genuine financial shortcomings in my schooling. I had all what school’s norm demanded and everything was smooth despite few unavoidable falls (which I believe happens to affluent children too). Through her strenuous effort and immortal determination, I got to learn many lessons. We educated thinktanks should not ever underestimate poor, uneducated, vulnerable to many lecherous masculine folks, and dull village woman. I got to learn that as much as opulent sections have their way of celebration, penury folks do.
When I was in 10th grade, there was an open essay competition in my district. The topic they selected was ‘the role model of my life.’ You know, I wrote about you. You were my role model for all these years. Sometimes, I wonder myself thinking the lessons I learnt without you. Had you been with me, I wouldn’t have learnt these things. You have been a great teacher and still you are. I wrote about how you taught me to be a man when it’s age to be a child. You taught me to be emotionally strong whenever I have to fill your name in CVs. People often called me ‘Golapo’s son’ and I trained myself to remain calm as I don’t actually become what they call me. Few friends, when they were angry, called me bastard. I swallowed the word and later it was easy to accept the word. Whenever I had shopping to do in faraway places, I used to go with my friend’s dad. Your absence taught me the alternative uses. Anyways, this is all I wanted you to know. I am doing fine and as news, I graduated recently and now I am a simple teacher. I convinced my mom to spend rest of her life with me and she does fine with me.
Lastly, you must know that I am not against what you have done. The society you grew must have added value over you. I would like to wish you success in every plan you draw. Under the grace of the God, may you have happy life!

With Love,
Yours Son.

P.S: I would be grateful if you could send your new ID photocopy to Punakha HSS.

Sweats trickling through his cheeks, Penjore folds letter exactly the same. The UPS under his desk beeps time and again. He kicks the UPS hard enough to disconnect. ‘Huh,’ says Penjore. He tries to recapitulate his moments of tour to a village in Pemagatshel 27 years ago. He thinks it is too old to be in his RAM, but it comes like it was just yesterday. He finds 10,000 he paid to Thukten is too less to bring up a boy. The light comes and he connects to his monitor. The screen warns him about his rough shutting down. He taps the enter button to start the computer normally and opens files randomly without an objective.


 

Thursday, 28 February 2013

Letter of Reminiscence

The following is the letter I wrote in Nov, 2011. Mr. Yang T Dorji, the then principal of Nangkor Higher Secondary School had chat over facebook with me. It was his idea to inspire students of Nangkor with the letter from its alumni. I wasn't sure how far i inspired them, but it was rejoicing having got the chance. 




Sam Higginbottom Institute of Agriculture, technology & Sciences
Allahabad,
Uttar Pradesh.
Date: 1/11/2011

My dear principal, teaching staff, supporting staff and colleagues,

It gives me an immense pleasure to join you all in wishing our fifth Druk Gyalpo and Her Royal Highness Azhi Jetsun Pema in your UNESCO newsletter. Kindly give me chance to wish them. I join you in wishing them a successful life and prosperous life. May Bhutan be all the time a peaceful nation with happy citizens under their generous guidance! May she be the heaven on the earth with intact environment and rich biodiversity! May all people in Bhutan find happiness under their farsighted visions.
The memories of Nangkor are so fresh to me and will be fresh for me in times to come. Thanks to all of the faculty members, principal, non-teaching staff and students for making me realize the need of leadership quality, peer working and co-operation in team work. With countable falls, me as president of Student Governing Body (SGB), we made everything end successfully with the year 2010. I remember who I before was and who am I now. I take pride in what am I in terms of attitude, working ethics, socialization, integrity and aptitudes now. What I am now is what I learnt in Nangkor. This is tribute to all my teachers and friends who were beside me in all weathers. Today, I am here in my college with same confident as other students. I stretch my neck with confidence. If some of you see me here, you will notice trace of Nangkor in my confident eyes.
How about your studies my friends? I am sorry I couldn’t wish my colleagues of X and XII in your trial, moreover, I was engaged in my mid semester examination. Hope this is not proving you all as the lamest excuse after all; exams are the important part of our life as learner. Anyways let us forget that. Let me assume by now you all are studying hard, right? I am happy if you all started working hard but remember I will be happier if you all learn systematically. Remember all students study hard for board exams but few make it through. No magic is involved in it. It’s the system one adopts for learning that make them excel in studies. Our principal used to say us last year and hope he does same this year. He used say us how it is not good to read too much for too long and how effective it is to concentrate fully for thirty minutes. Hope you are following his advice and it the peak of pyramid if you consider studying method is pyramid. Refer past questions paper and identify the areas vital for examination which we often find it as the least important part. That’s true I found as I passed through the stage you all should pass this year. Helen Keller writes in her autobiography: “Yesterday has gone forever! Tomorrow will never arrive, but today is yesterday’s tomorrow within your reach. What are you doing with it?” She questions us. Sometimes such words from great people are reminding us in many areas. Do what you can do today itself. Procastination is one of the main reasons making people poor performer. We all have same brain; let us make use of it. I may be sounding like blowing my trumpet; it’s not of my concern if my words bring little changes in one among hundreds of you.
Friends don’t be tensed for your board examination as it is not the Battle of Chanlingmaithang but do take it seriously for it will be deciding who you will be in future. Please do take my words as not advice but I would appreciate all my friends if you take it as reminder. Remember sometimes you will learn a lot from reminder. Is a falling apple an advice for Sir Isaac Newton on gravitation? It was reminder for him that objects fall all the time towards earth. That reminded him of earth’s gravitational pull. Take many things as reminder and try to learn something for life is full of learning. Learning ends when your ventricles stop pumping blood.
In conclusion, I would like to thank all my teachers, supporting staff and all my dear friends for being somebody important part in my life. It is tribute to all my teachers for all I am. I had wonderful experience working with you all and these memories will always adorned my memory cells till it functions. Happy teaching career for my teachers, best of luck in your coming exams for my friends and let us jointly pray for long live to their Majesties. Thank you, principal for offering me the opportunity.

                                                                                                                 With love,
                                                                                                                 Chezang Dendup
                                                                                         BSc. Agriculture
SHIATS,