Friday, April 29, 2011

Finally the results for the shape you have chosen

1. For Those People who have Chosen Circle:
It says you are Warmly, Sensual and Emotional person

2. For Those People who have Chosen Triangle:
It says you are Intelligent, Verbal and Analytical

3. For Those People who have Chosen Square:
It says you are Honest, Hardworking and Dependable

4. For Those People who have Chosen 'Z':
It says you are creative, Innovative and Visual.

So tell me how many of you think it's true and that the findings are true too? By the way, there were only a handful of you who have participated but still I  thank you all for participation. After all it's participation that counts. 

April month, My retrospect.

Apart from my alto car, a ray ban sun glass and a digital camera with 7.2 mega pixel was the most valued asset in my possession until I lost both of them.

On 22 April 2011, I took my car for a servicing in Sonam Automobiles (also known as Sonam Workshop) in Thimphu. I also bought a  pair of new tyre which I got it fixed in Ajit Tyre services.  Back in Sonam Automobiles, I wanted the technicians to check my wheel alignment. Soon a guy named Novin, drove away my car. It took a while before Novin and friend could actually fix my alignment. Nevertheless they did it. I paid my bill and also gave them small tip.

I straight away drove to vegetable market and before I got out for shopping, I Checked my belongings in my car. To my horror and disbelief, I found my sun glass missing form its case. My immediate suspect was Novin and I rushed back to workshop but found it closed for a day. On 23 April 2011, I had to drive till Bumthang in the sun but without a sun glass.

To make the worse situation more woeful, I lost my camera while coming back. It was a great loss for me and I couldn't even eat my normal extra rice for my lunch. However my father and mother were there to console me for the loss. Amazingly the consolations form my aged parents worked and soon I forgot about the thing I lost.
I reached Thimphu in the evening hours of 24 April 2011. Next morning I immediately rushed to Sonam Workshop and complained about the incident. The management told me that Novin went missing since then and have never even returned for his work. 

And Today on 29 April 2011, I found my bank ATM card missing and called the the bank immediately. I told them to freeze any withdrawal from my saving account. The person on the other end responded and told me to write an application but  never told me that application was a mandatory thing. 

Coincidentally, I had a very busy day taking my father to the hospital and attending him all day. To this note I called the bank again and told them, it's kind of emergency request from me and that they can block any withdrawal from my saving account even without my application. But a person with this number (17610871) even refused to talk to me. So I had to write an application as under and rush to Thimphu town to dispatch it through fax.

 Today I had to go back to workshop again because one of my front wheel buckles. There, I also came to know that Novin actually stole my glass and was found using it before he finally sold it.  I really felt a need to  teach Novin a lesson  for that and even called Police (113) I Told my father, (who is currently sick and unwell) my mother, my brothers, my sisters and my in-laws. They all told me not to teach poor man a lesson. 

So I have now decided to withdraw my complain from Police. Tell me if I am being very nice by letting that thief go free and also wish me luck so that I can have means to buy a better camera and a sun glass next time.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

I am an Alto Car.

When I first came on the roads of Bhutan, many felt I am a luxury component and that there were only few, who could actually afford to keep me. But over  a period of time, people's opinions about me have changed. I am no longer a luxury component, but have become an important commodity (of those middle class people). sometime, somewhere in my past. I have even won an award for being the passenger car of the year, But  I am not so sure whether it was in India or in Bhutan. Please forgive me for being very forgetful.

Anyways, I have come a long way on which I had many wonderful experiences. I first came as simple Maruti suzuki alto, after which I went on to become alto LX, then LXi and VXi. Today I have have come in the form of K10 to keep my customers happy and content. I thought that was the only option for me to compete with my  brothers from Hyundai, Tata, Honda, and toyota etc. Nevertheless, they are  giving me the hardest and toughest time of the millennium.

With 796cc force, I can easily accommodate and carry four average size people and in average, I consume 1 liter of petrol to travel seventeen-eighteen kilometers. At a time, when the price of a gas is starting to sky-rocket, this has truly come as a blessing for my (potential and current) customers.

Today in this fast changing and developing world, I think I am truly not a luxury item, but have become a necessity commodity for almost all the people, -necessity of people on the streets! This has led to a traffic confusion on the roads of Bhutan that are in a "permanent stage of development".

These confusion invariably resulted in the collision among many of us to which the Police department have created a term of reference for themselves. 'Tail getting' is a term used when we hit someone from behind and I guess it is called horn locking when we hit each other head to head. It will not be wrong to assume it as side kicking if some one gets hit on the side. 

In response to those confusion, there was not only hike in tax tarriff, but our entry was also suspended. This to some extent have gone against the will of those people who dreamed about owning one of my kind. On the other side, It was considered blessing for my kind  not to be  plying on the roads that have holes and ponds on it. But shortly, things soon to changed. In the spirit of pure democracy, the supreme court of the country found Government guilty of procedural lapse in their attempt to bring down the confusion. 

What ever may have been the case, I am now on a move and I am moving deep into Bhutan. with an impressive over all rating of 4 out of 5, I am the hot cake in the market. Perhaps I am suggesting  all the concern individuals to go for altos in place of Prados and land cruisers, because it will bring  win-win situation for all. Win because alto represents humility and humbleness which people not only like, but also respect and revere. Win  because, budget deficit will be bridged without having to cut essential recurrent expenses. Win again,  because superiors in Prado and land cruisers will understand more about the the realities of subordinates who travel on roads, full of perils in a vehicles like us which not only have negatives but have positives which far out weigh the negatives.

Next time you plan to buy a car, just look at my rating and think over. I think I stand for GNH as well.

COMFORT:                    3.5/5
STYLING:                       3.75/5
MAINTENANCE:           4.75/5

OVERALL:                  4/5

(Note: Author is not a alto promoter but an owner of one)

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Tale of a Tiny Temple

Hypocrisy combined with hilariousness and humors have long been the traits of Bhutanese people. This dates back to the days when People visited Tibet, either for trade or in search of Buddhist scholars. They were referred to as Aku Drukpa(s); - the entertainer and the buffoon.  True to the references, Their traits came in handy, unless it doesn’t cross the limit. 

Here is one such story where one of Aku Drupa (of those days) cooked up a story from nowhere to draw the attention of his Tibetan equals. His story involved a small Lhakhang in Bumthang Chumey, presently known more as the chuk-che Zhey Lhakhang (Lhakhang that houses the Buddha with one thousand arms and one thousand eyes) 

In his first visit, He told his Tibetan counter parts about the hugeness of the Lhakhang and that a man would take a solid whole day going around it. The bigness of the temple fascinated the folks and was awestruck but somehow felt convinced. They applauded and still believed it was true (Yemba dra)
Photo courtesy: Tshering Dorji.
The following year, the same Aku Drukpa attempted to draw attention from the crowd in a similar fashion but had nothing new. He decided to continue his story that kept the audience spellbound year ago. He took his time to begin the joke. When he did, he went little too far from the conventional humor the audience have actually expected.   

He said, he was still skeptical and unsure as to whether the wooden shingle from the roof of the same lhakhang, that fell year ago, would have actually landed on the ground or not after a year. That surely sounded rubbish and unrealistic! He got lashed and jeered and sent home immediately. 

The morale of the story; Too much of anything is not good, not even the jokes of a Lhakhang.

(On 24th April 2011, I was on my way from Bumthang to Thimphu. I took a picture of the same Lhakhang and thought I could share the same with my readers. But very unfortunately, I lost my camera in Trongsa Town shortly. If any one have a Picture of that Lhakhang, please do tag me in my facebook)

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

A walk in the rain!

By any definition, I am a human being. Even though I believe in Buddhist thing called birth and rebirth, I am cent percent sure that I am not a reincarnate of any being. Definitely not a reincarnate of any aquatic being like fish octopus and for that matter a turtle. Thats why I have a strong allergy, being in water and walking in water, except my bathing hours.

Yesterday evening, when I got out my office and started my homeward walk, it was little past seven. The street lights in their full brightness glowed like "shining papayas". It appeared to be a very conducive evening for a walk. Perhaps with a kind of  poetic mood, I was as romantic as the evening itself. 

Halfway into my walk, a little drizzle quickly took a wrath of a heavy downpour. To worsen the already wretched condition, there was a disruption in the power supply and every thing got engulfed in the dark clad blanket called night. Mind you I was in my official uniform (Customs) 

The only light that illuminated my way was form few of the automobiles that ran on the highway form behind, Those that came form the opposite direction blinded my eyes with their powerful head lights. They lack the courtesy of using dipper lights when someone is walking form the opposite direction. I felt that, it was a display of unethical and un sensual driving. 

As mush as there were people out for a walk, there were that many cars plying too. When I was just about to reach to a place wherein I could wait for the downpour to stop, someone from the fast passing car puffed the smoke of a cigarette on my face. I don't know why he had to do that for me. 

Please god, save the enforcers, for it's not the enforcers that make unenforceable laws.

For Tashi and Sangay; on your wedding day.

May your cherished life bloom like a laurel tree,
Bountiful, beautiful and ceremoniously free,
May you learn from the heart,
“That hearts are not had as gift, but earned”,
From the beauty you approve,
For as long as you beat the looming “evil chances”,
“Assault and battery of the wind
Can never tear the linnet form the leaf”

It’s only the words,
“And words are all I have”
To wish you all the best,
That will last for the rest.

From a dear friend Kuenzang Thinley and family

Choose one shape that you think describes you best

Today I have come up with another way of blogging. This will not only involve me as a author here but will also seek the participation from the readers as well.

Choose your shape and leave me a comment along with your name. I will let you know the result of it in a weeks time. I promise its nothing scandalous here. The results when announced will surprise you. It's going to be a very pleasant surprise. So why wait. Take your chance.

Ohh. Let me remind you all that, take word 'Z' as a shape and not as alphabet letter.

For those of you, who already know about this, please keep it for yourself and do not share with your friend(s) who are about to take this exercise.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Here's a story as told by a Yak who wants to live and continue

In a Yak world, thats how a father is suppose to look,
decorated, muscular and healthy
If "Bhutan Needs Yak and Yak Herders" then Please read my story.

My name is Gangri Norbu, and I am probably 8 years old? I usually rejoin my herd late like the late spring of the place. Spring and summer combined are the most prosperous months in a year and lasts about 5 months. I graze with my herd and keep myself healthy, strong and most of all muscular. That’s because I have a business to defend my herd form irritating young intruders. When it’s winter again, the grass becomes scant and I leave my herd for better pastures to graze on. The cycle continues over and over again.

I have a loving owner that cares me and my herd more than he cares about himself. He keep on following us everywhere we go because he fears some notorious wild dogs and elusive tigers hovering in the jungle might attack us like they did to my predecessor, Hamsey Dawa.

Of late, I have heard many people discuss about the fate of my relatives in areas like Merak and saktheng in the East. Dagala, Sephu, and Bumthang in the central region and Soe, Yaksa, Laya, Lingshi, Lunana and Haa in the West.  Unending and relentless discussions like those bring chilling sensations to my spine and instills a sense of worry and anxiety in me.

 It has not only become a hot selling news in print and broadcasting media but has also been discussed extensively on online forums, blogs and even on facebook and twitter.  I think of it every day and every night and reality is even more saddening because decades down the line, I foresee prospects grim and ebbing for my species in many aspects.

 Firstly, free education our country has played its role. It has become a fashion of educating people in the name of literacy and development. People pursue education in the want of fame, prestige, title, and honors, and yes, money too and not of need for learning morals and ethics. Sadly most educated people today are nothing more than a half empty drums that jingles most. I will not be surprised if a survey shows that the most educated and trained people are perhaps the least productive players in an organization.

Education today has become a desire driven and desires, as lord Buddha said are the main cause of the sorrow. To be very practical, who would want to live a remote life as nomad?  The stains of milk that stinks are too much for the clean nose our educated lot!

Secondly, Global warming is seriously hampering our habitats. They call it an effect of climate change. I don’t know what that shit is all about but surely the air has become bit warmer. There has been decline in the frequency of snow fall. Fast disappearances of White Mountains in the north are today the living testimony to prove that. Mind you I got bitten by mosquito last summer, at an altitude of 3800 meters above the sea level.

Thirdly, the noble initiative from the golden throne has been used as against the royal intentions. The decree that that legalized the harvest of a fungal plant known locally as Cordeycepts has further made the lives of our owners not only easy and comfortable but also made them lazy and easy pickers. They were already making good fortune form the milk which actually belonged to my calf(s). They actually thrived selling our products like Butter, Cheese, milk, and chugo. They even shaved our whole body and took away all our fluffy hairs and usually kept us cold all through the season!

 Human greed are limitless and they are by far the most cunning and cruel species on this planet. In some part of the country, my relatives are mercilessly slaughtered. And it’s even more painful to know that our remains are considered a specialty of the region. As Yak sha, (yak meat) Yak masha (raw yak meat), Yak sha juma (the sausage of  yak intestine)

Coming back to the fungal plant harvesting, I sincerely feel that, it has done more good. The boom harvest surely was a boon that lifted the standards of our owners to next higher level. The amount of monetary income it fetched enabled our owners to acquire anything between earth and the sky. From a land in metro cities like Thimphu and Phuntsholing to building mighty five storied building. From latest hunting bows and arrows to high tech boots and north face garments. From ray ban glasses and weather proof jackets to tissot watches and Swiss knives. The test of the fun and easy life in cities have lured them and lured them deep.

For our owners, to return to their origin and run after us will just become a history in coming days, because everything is evident that they no longer wanted to be an unpaid border guard, especially in the north when they are already having tough job in hand with us. As long as they have the means to relinquish their settlement here in the north with us, there will be no stopping point for them because the Article 7, sub section 7 of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Bhutan confers them the fundamental right to reside (everywhere) within Bhutan.

Of late, my loving and caring owner has fallen sick and it’s been about a month I last saw him. Without him, I see a bleak prospect when it comes to our survival. This is because; his children are dead against their old father running after us in rain, in snow and in sun. They think it’s a tough call for an old man to run after ever expanding and multiplying herd.

 Whatever may be the outcome, it has always been my pleasure and privilege to have grazed on the most fertile grazing pastures in the beautiful mountains of Shingkhar. To have met such a loving owner is even more heart melting. 

For now, I wish my species will not only survive but will thrive in the sacred valley of Drukyul, because just like any other species, we too don’t want to face our extinction. It is my only hope that we continue to thrive here and here only, for there is no better place  for us to  continue our generation than this beautiful mother earth. 

To elaborate more, Bhutan and yaks share a very special bond. This dates back to the days of my predecessor Lhadar Gaw, when he went on to became the favorite pet animal of the third dragon king. Not only that, few decades ago, legendary yaks like Singye Dawa, Dongka, Dongkar Sechung, Yangka Norbu, Serpola  and Lhasa Wanngchuk  and all used to be the talking point amongst the folks in the idyllic and yak conducive atmosphere of Shingkhar. 

Thank you all for listening to a story from a Yak like me.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Here is a Story of my Mom and Dad

In the summer of 2008
 By Profession, I am a carpenter.  My world into carpentry all started when I debuted my skills as carpenter with construction of a small monastery on the cliff of Sumthrang in Ura for a lama cum lopen known more as Chhoeje in our locality.

With this, I have built numerous houses both in my locality and afar. Some of my finest craftsmanship is today visible in the beauty of Tango monastery in Thimphu and magnificent and towering Dzong in Punakha  to which I made my contribution under the divine decree I received from the fourth dragon King of Bhutan. In similar fashion, my wife was a traditional handloom weaver. She used to weave many beautiful Jachen Kisho thara  and woolen yathra for our Naktsang Ama then.  Ironically, we have no certificates what so ever to prove our profession here.
At our local level, we both originated form a well off family. Both our parents had everything necessary that would sustain livelihood of the family, -Starting from herd of cattle in the low lands to yak in the alpine, added by  group of pony and flock of sheep at the door step.  That was the definition of rich then, -so called the chukpo in local terminology.

Since we are both from the same village, there was nothing strange when we got married in our prime twenties. To say, I was the best looking man in my village, it would rather sound blowing my own triumphant, but I sincerely would like to assert here that my wife was the definition of damsel during our time.

 Few years into our gleeful marriage we were blessed with a good looking son. Sadly he  didn’t make to his adulthood. His demise was painful beyond our words.  However, we were again blessed to have a beautiful daughter followed by two sons. This obviously called for a concern from my late mother-in-law with whom we shared the house, because too many mouths to feed meant severe economic pressure on the constant family livelihood.  

Somehow, she wanted us to live separately. Her decision, by any means was subtle. When that thing got combined with other nitty-gritty family feuds, our small family had no option other than to take a shelter in a shade used for cattle. All we had was a small copper pot and a load of locally stitched blankets and mattress.  That was it, we received little support whatsoever form both our parents.

The days turned to weeks and weeks into months.  The years passed and passed swiftly.  The otherwise beautiful and idyllic valley was nothing but a mere barren plateau for us. So to make our life worth living and more so to make use of my young-fatherly strength, we migrated to lower lands of Kurtoe. There, we worked tirelessly on Government land. We planted maize and chilli. To make ends meet, we even resorted to easy picking like raising piglets for pork!

It was not only me and my family, who were at rough sea. There were other events unfurling as well. My younger sister was denied her access to our house when she decided to marry a man against our late parents will. There were also rumors that she moved to different place altogether.

Until my late younger brother took over, I used to be the strongest man in my village. That strength came in handy for me. A father of my status required it all. Those were the days when I, first experimented my carpentry instincts.  I became carpenter out of necessity and by default!

Isolated and cutoff, those were the days of great depression for my family. The competition was fierce and those in possession of land fairly progressed and prospered. We prospered and progressed as well, but in terms of having children! If progress was to be measured in terms of having children, then we surely beat all our competitors. In gap of eleven years, my wife again gave birth to four loveliest and cutest daughters.  That took my family to nine including two of us.

We then decided to move back to our native place on permanent basis. Even though we survived hand to mouth, we were also able to save in terms of grains, because my carpentry skills and my wife’s weaving skills came in handy. Few years later we not only decided to build a house but also started domesticating few yaks, a pair of pony and a flock of sheep.

With all those hard works and perseverance, we finally managed to pull ourselves into the flow of life as any other locals.  By then two of our elder sons were already admitted to school which was closely followed by two daughters.  We had little to feed but surely had lots and lots of amusements. My children would come home every Saturday evening and display every lessons they learnt, -starting form nursery rhymes to folk songs, from national anthem to march-past song and from Che-Nye-Sum to One-Two-Three. They learnt it all  by heart !

With few kids into the school and few at home, still crawling and toddling, my wife again gave birth to a healthy son when I was in full swing with the construction of our much awaited and anticipated house. My little son grew up like the way our house took shape, stone by stone and wood by wood.

Four years later, my wife again gave birth to a daughter.  She became our ninth children. The tenth and the final one soon followed after a gap of four equal years. The mere numbers created plethora of predicament in varying magnitudes. The food ran scarce and so did the cloths. Amazingly, to the envy of our local leader, my iron like kids looked well feed and well clothed.

Predicament kept mounting, day by day and the credit grain I availed from a rich man in Kurtoe couldn’t even sustain my large family. I even had to discontinue sending few of my children, who had good record academically, to school. When pillar and post ran short, I had no option other than to run to Thimphu to beg for kidu from the king himself. He graciously consented to my plea and I was given a land on which I could cultivate and feed my growing and voracious kids.  

That was also the time I first met my youngest brother who recently became dasho along with few other dashos like him from our place. I came back home with all the good  second hand cloths I have collected from my relatives and  with the empty but but of high utility oil cans I have gathered from the bins of the city. For my youngest son I managed to buy a new Pangtse gho as I have promised.

Our lives have improved as a result of Kidu form the king and I made up my mind never to keep my kids out of school. When my three youngest children started schooling, life became relatively easier than it was decade ago. Just like their brothers and sisters, three of them also did well in school too.

Today all my ten children have grown up and have a family of their own.  We could educate only five of them and all are doing fine. Remaining five, today are following our footsteps but in much better circumstances. Some of them have become grandfather and grandmother themselves!

Some are religious and some spirituous. Some have a tongue as sharp as serpent while some are down-to earth human. Some treated us with utmost respect and dignity where as some bothered least. They are our kids by heart and by soul. Irrespective of all their treatment towards us, we love them all equally form the bottom of our heart, because we believe at one point or the other, we have sacrificed our lives just for them.

Recently, I am being diagnosed with high blood pressure and as a result of which half of my body lost sense including my mouth. I can speak no more but understand and hear them all. As per indigenous doctors, they say, it’s because of my over exposure to the burning flames of Meme Ragula, also known as Zaa in Bhutanese context.

To enlighten me, all who come to see me say that it’s a curable ailment and that I should remain emotionally stable, pray to Guru Rimpoche and take blessings from as many rimpoche as possible. It’s my hope against hope that that it works, because I don’t want to die dumb. I have many prayers to say for my lovely children, my grand children and for my great grand children, before I bid farewell to this beautiful world.

Friday, April 15, 2011

I am Chath Dorji also known as the phallic man of Shingkhar

Earthly but mirthly,
Perhaps that's What I am
If not thousand, I am definitely more than 700 years old. I have lived all my life here in Shingkhar. Geographically speaking I belong to a brokpa family because Shingkhar is some 3800 meters above the sea level. I am Chath Dorji of Shingkhar. I am not so sure where I descended from, but my neighbors and friends consider me as holy person. My role in my native place is a seasonal one. I have a role to play only in the tenth month in Bhutanese calender. That is when the drum of  five day Shingkhar Rabney starts beating. I come with my sons to join the crowd in offering butter lamps and other available stuffs to our local guardian deity, the Goenpo Mani NakpoLhamo, Yeedam, Yakseng and other countless deities and most important of all, Me me Ragula. That is why I pray and work hard for the harvest in Golaipang  to be bountiful  year after year.

I am old and I am poor. But my face says a different story altogether. My browny crimson face says that I am still active, fertile and vibrant like a juvenile. Beautiful multi dyed yak hair on my head says how multi talented I am. The cane like phallus and a broken bell is all I have inherited from my parents. Folks, especially the infertile ones, believe in my blessings. I can tell  with the conviction that I can be a husband for your daughter because I believe I am as talented as our gullible local leader.
When me and my boys reach Shingkahar  for the Rabney, the folks starting from the chief lama would ask us to describe our arduous journey from Golaipang. This is nothing new. They ask us every year. As a matter of fact, I have been  telling them the same thing over and over and over again for centuries. Here is how it goes:

Yesterday night we all slept in phallus cave,
only to be woken up in a vaginal cave this morning.
We have come here with all the blessings of canny phallus,
So that each one of us live long and healthy,
in our harmonious village.

This would not quench the thirst of humor hungry folks. So me and my boys would continue. We would continue with all sorts of paradoxical and mythical idioms. In order to convince the crowd about our wonderful journey, we often go to the extent of swinging our wooden phallus right below the nose of  the chief lama. Most often than not, he would blush. Blush and blush red. When my boys enter a trance describing our journey, I would pretend to have dizziness and fall on the dusty wintry ground to stop it all together. 

By then folks would have laughed and laughed hard. Some even would have peed in their panty while others would have shed a tears of mirth. I admit that I am not a master comedian but I am in my own simple way, the unifying force in my village. I am neither witty nor an intelligent man, but my words have the power and strength to subside the storm in the cups among my natives. This has been the role of me my boys for over many generations,-co-existing and entertaining them till the five day Rabney is over.

Today with the force of modernization and development, I am starting to see many changes taking place in my village. It all started when the dark nights of my village got illuminated with the coming of solar light in the year 1991. This has not only illuminated the dark nights but has also instilled a sense of greed in otherwise,  innocent and ignorant highlanders. 

Then came the road. This has made many economic activities like planting of potatoes and growing clover grass possible, instead people got engaged in some other activities. They preferred working in quarry digging for stones! A meter cubic stones would fetch anything around Nu.80/-. By local definition, that was a lot of money. 

Then came a Project called ADC project, -they say it's a joint undertaking of Austria and Germany? I, for sure don't know what is Austrian and German are but with their yellow hair and long legs, they surely look alien to me. Back to the project: The project not only had a  huge impact on the economic wellbeing of my place, but have also had many negative impacts too. I have witnessed a horror of forest destruction. Countless number of fir trees, aged more than  century were sowed down and taken away form our place. I don't know where? The money-centric activities lured and divided the locals like the election events of 2008. How sad!

And of Late, I have seen people from the capital city surveying the beautiful plains of Kangsumthang, Nangkaipong and Fawafee, which has been a grazing ground for cattle, sheeps, yaks and other domestic animals for ages. They say they wanted to convert the plains to a golf course.  The idea surely sound good but doesn't look promising for natives. I am deeply worried because no grazing ground for cattle could also mean no more cattle or other livestocks too. This means my locals will have no butter and cheese to offer to me as Lamju,-a farewell gift, on my way back to Golaipang when I am done with Rabney.

In addition to that, I have also seen people erecting numerous iron poles along the pavements. They say, that the lighting system better than the solar is coming soon to Shingkahr. Today morning I called my son Pholay Karchung not to buy an Alto car but to keep money for buying electrical fittings.  I also told him to donate the remaining money for our chief lama because locals wouldn't want to work for the construction of Garkhai Lhakhang if not paid their minimum wage. 

Even though I risk being un-regarded character, just as my jokes risk being obsolete in this "fine woman eat crazy salad with meat" kind of age,  It's my sincere wish and prayer that I continue to entertain my folks during Rabney.  I earnestly and fervently pray that Rabney, Shingkhar, Bhutan, and "World will flourish until eternity"

Monday, April 4, 2011

John Keats; What is this called poetry?

A sorrowful John Keats, 
Panting yet praising; an Urn, -a Grecian old urn,
Beholding an art with life,
Of maidens and of passionate lovers, 
Of the thing they loath and love equal.
Lamenting like little lunatic lad,
at the life less sight,
of a garlanded cow and of a priest,
The citadel on the mountain
 at peace in the morn,
yet silent and desolate, 
The cold pastoral, - a waste of generation.
A thing of beauty, a joy forever.
Truth, Beauty, Beauty Truth.
What is this called Poetry?

Enterprise; What is this called Poetry?

All that appear will disappear,
All that come will go.
All that bloom will wilt
Nothing is permanent on this earth. 
This is the universal truth.

Our life is like a trip to destination unknown,
The zealous first stage are known for many,
A courage, rage, intelligence, and ambition.

In the second stage,
As the dilemma of drama continues,
The air of futileness seeps in, slowly but surely,
It seeps and seeps deeper.

Finally, on reaching destination, 
Many hardly know the the reason, 
It's like "the trip had darkened every face, 
Our deeds were neither great nor rare"  
Said Nissim Ezekil.

But what is this called poetry? 

Flute Music; What is this called Poetry?

In Rabindranath Tagore's Flute Music;

If the Kantababu's Sindhu-Baroya Raga on flute
Has power and magic of transforming Kinu,
 The milk man's alley to heaven,
Then the Haripada,
The clerk, need not runaway from his bride,
Need not stay late at Sealdah station to save the cost of light,
And need not pray to Ganesha, 
The god of success.
He is as OK as the Lizard in his room

The hiked tram cost,
The depleted umbrella and cut pay, 
The stinking alley,
The moist and damp room.
These are nothing,
But a meaningless statement of a drunkard,

It's sweetening thing to see
A line of distinction between Akbar and Haripada vanish,
The royal parasol merge with torn umbrella, 
The rise of music above worldly is eternal.

Haripada need not suffer
From the "pangs of separation",
and need not evade the marriage,
A lady of his mind lingers in and out,
 All day long and night long,
Dressed in Dacca sari,
Vermillion on her forehead,
On the banks of Dhalesvari river,
Under the shade of tamal trees

But what is this called poetry?

Birches; What is this called Poetry?

The Inquisitive Robert Frost said
the good fences make not only good friends,
But also make good neighbor. 
The wise man has a wisdom, 
But how often do they practice?
If swinging of birch in the cold is  idiocy, 
Then, there are some who 
"could do worse than be a swinger of birches"
Like a penny wise, pound foolish fathers at home. 
But what is this called poetry?

Fern Hill; What is this called Poetry?

Once young and care free Dylan Thomas, 
with a memory all green of his greener days.
The self proclaimed "king of the trees" and "prince of apple town".
Who once, rode heedlessly  with careless feet
Among the barns and calves under every new clouds.
Revered  and honored by the foxes and pheasants.
Alas! the Lamb white days are but a sweet past.
The reality of adult is a chain, 
the chain that binds us all 
to the sea of earthly thing. 
But what is this called poetry?

A walk by moon light; What is this called Poetry?

google image

Romantic H. L. V. Derozio's 
Reminiscences of a walk in the moon lit night, 
Together with his peers; -the same feathered birds,  
Rejoicing the the power of mystic and majestic moon,
The power that transcend the mundane mirth, 
The unceasing spiritualness of all,
The language of the stars,
The moon woven silken robe,
The blissful music of the breeze and 
the grass that breaths beneath feet. 
What is this called Poetry ? 

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Cricket and India

It's India's Cup. The champion's Cup.
I don't know why, But I felt extremely happy for team India for winning the cricket world cup 2011. 

The classic Kumar Sangakara, the Sri Lankan Captain, led his boys for the batting first and scored a magnificent 274 runs with 6 wickets down in 50 overs. A cup hungry Indian team did their best by displaying their exceptional  fielding capability.   

Indian's inning started by disappointing not only the Indian crowd, but also disappointed me. Sehwag, out for a duck and Tendulkar out at 18. Things didn't seem to go the Indian way. I became restless and told my wife that I may not be able to work in my office tomorrow, should the Indian loose the final.

I watched the match progress ball by ball, bat by bat and over after over. The young Indian boys did a marvelous job by not loosing wickets thereafter, Gautam, Kohil and Yuvraj  complemented Captain Dhoni in their run chase. 

They finally did it . 

So congratulation to team India for winning the cup for India and (for me)

Friday, April 1, 2011

Wordsworth; What is this called Poetry?

The unending cry of William  Wordsworth,
His praise of nature, from the "Tintern Abbey"
to "the stolen boat",
The sights and sounds,
The the pleasures both raw and polished,
The beauty, both within and without,
what is this called poetry?

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