Why do I keep this blog?

For few hours now I've been clicking on the BLOGYUL_BLOGGING BHUTAN page in facebook, reading every comment after Mr. Basnet's plea to stop sending him notifications from this group. When I read the first comment I was wide eyed with no sense of proper reasoning, "I almost blurted out, why is he complaining? What harm can a notification do? I mean its not necessary we have to read everything that we are notified about." (This is solely my justification and not intended to preach to any person living or dying. Or dead?)But then people started making the response I wanted to shout.
 I was added by one of my friend who is an ardent blogging fan( Thank you B, you know who I'm talking about if you are reading this) and have been truly inspired by the things I read there. Although I ensure not to leave traces of my being there for I fear to make my hoarse noise among well versed members there, I can't help clicking on the 'like' button whenever I'm totally dragged into fully inspired mood by some of the post there. I don't know Sogyel and Leoparsica, but have been reading everything posted by them both in FB and their blogs and I've become their fan with the kind of work they are finding time for despite their busy schedule(a standing ovation to both of you).
But the comments have taken a diversion from Mr. Basnet's plea to the blogger's posts.
And I diverted my thoughts too, I began asking myself, 'why do I write?' Do I write, hahahahahah, that's supposed to be a laughter right in my own face. My blog in mostly a diary as somebody mentioned in that same page in FB. Now I'm rolling in laughter, trying to raise myself on my toes to rub shoulders with other people who blog? Nah, can never dare.
But of recent times I've found myself entering my blog page and trying to fill it up...again the same question, why? I go back to 2009 December. After joining Nopkin.com I felt this extraordinary urge to try my hand in writing. Then on impulse owing to reasons my heart knows, I striped my posts from Nopkin.com ( hope ata Nopkin has forgiven me for that blunder) and I had nowhere to go. The itch to write still lingered and then this idea of creating my own space was seeded. Only three people from my Nopkin days followed me ( I know other people from the same followed me privately for reasons known to them,never mind, I don't have a mind to mind) and I found a solace in typing my feelings here. Whenever I needed a sanctuary from the tedious life, I buried my tears here and it helped.
So I decided to call my blog,feelings and emotions, and whenever any kind of feelings or emotions handcuffed me, it felt good to release it here. I was like in a prison cell here but I loved being in this little world where I can shed myself without any ears to listen to. I read somewhere that women need to shed their  problems and emotions, and devoid of true ears I feel this space here is the best way to cleanse my heart.
I don't write for people to read. I don't write for people to feel. Rather I write what I feel to shed the heaviness of my heart and its solitary stormy voyage.
I write about my family for they are the only people I can think of; I write about visits to places 'cos for a person like me who knows nothing about the wider world and has no interest in the political world, one can't have much say on the other issues; and yeah! I write about my childhood-hoping to relive its joyous moments; I write about my life for I don't know about other's life and last but most of the time I write about love- for I feel love is the most important feeling of all.
Phew! I hope I defended myself well. Need to join a Law school to learn the tactics of defence or maybe joining Armed force is not a bad idea. Hey! but before anything I need to join a class on literature to learn the skill of writing, BUT but but, why go anywhere when I can read various forms of literature right under the umbrella of BLOGYUL BLOGGING BHUTAN. So, here I find myself back in the same page I started with.

(P.S. Sorry Mr, Basnet, no offence meant, but seriously after those comments springing from your comment I started to seriously think of some of the issues here. But anyway, thank you for making a non-thinker like me think too).

A Doll house for my daughter

My daughter is truly an angel. Many kids of her age is seen nagging their parents for toys: toys in the stores, toys in their friend's place, toys found in others clutches but I'm amazed, my daughter has never done that. When I tell my friends about it, they scoff at me that I buy things for her before she can even fathom there could be such kind of toy in the market.
Well, I won't say they are wrong. Look at the world around us now, its flooded with toys every li'l boy and girl can dream of. Back in my childhood days, my parents, both being uneducated thought toys were mere luxury affordable by wealthy parents only. May be it is this fact that I missed the opportunity of playing with such toys that I find myself eying every new toy in the town for my daughters.
 But our time kids weren't dull, we would use our idea to create toys. The empty khainee tins would be used for cooking utensils; a block of wood, if short, could serve as a car and  if long would serve as a gun. But we mostly jumped over the rubber bands and used stones to play hop-scotch and 'seven stones'. Our time games were mostly laborious ones while the kids now can just be sitting on the couch and do things with their tiny fingers.
Coming back to my daughter, as she looked at me with that ' I miss you mama' look, I casually asked her what she would want for her Birthday. "Dora kitchen." She surprised me, when did she learn to ask for stuff like that? Amused, I asked her where she had seen a Dora Kitchen. "Cartoon Network," she smiled meekly. I could sniff embarrassment in her tone.
I know it was more than empathy for the tone she used,I found myself saying, "I'll send one."She had asked me for something for the first time, how could I not fulfill it, "soon" I added.
The next day itself I set out on the quest to buy her Dora kitchen, I didn't want to wait for another month for her Birthday to come, I wanted to send it as soon as possible. Finally I caught hold of a huge doll house, it was not a Dora kitchen, it was a full house, with all rooms and furniture and even the tenants and their cars. It was way past 9pm when I boarded the train with that Doll house. Saturday night trains are noisier than other days with people going out, celebrating the weekend. I saw every eye cast at me as I stepped in with the house too big for my both hands stretched as wide as possible, while the bag containing the furniture,cars and the tenants dangled from my left arms and my handbag on the right arm. I felt hot with embarrassment. To worsen the matter, after getting off from the first train I found that my second train was out of service due to construction. Of all the times, I had to choose a different route than my usual one!
My normal two hours journey was stretched to four hours and I finally reached home, close to midnight, my arms sore from carrying all the stuff. I almost cursed myself for choosing a wrong timing for bringing that doll house home but how was I to know that the trains were going to be problematic.
However, I skyped with my daughter today and she was too busy to even notice I am on skype during our normal schedule. She was busy playing with her new doll house. Tears filled my eyes as I saw the happiness radiating in the way she handled the furniture, placing them in the right rooms of the house. I didn't mind that she wouldn't talk to me....there was a pure happiness in just watching her play.
The train, people's looks, my embarrassment, long journey, tired limbs.....everything faded seeing her so happily engrossed in her new toy.

Am I Religious?

Sunday morning dawns faster han any other mornings for it's the only day I get to feel like human. I mean it's my day off and only on this day I meet my roommate, the only companion I've in this place so far away from home. I darted out of the train and reached our closet- sized room just in time to see my roommate nearing the end of her morning prayer. She smiled at me muttering the prayers to JETSUN DROELMA.Sheepishly I entered the room. I could never memorize any prayer in my life no matter how motivated I felt.
The only solace I can seek is the BAZA GURU chanting which drops out of my lips whenever I am scared of the invisible ghosts or whenever I hear of some terrible mishaps. When people ask me about my religion, I say," I'm a Buddhist!"
Few weeks ago, there was a WANG which I attended with my room mate. As is the custom, there was a wang lung before the actual wang,I sat religiously positioned, my eyes looking solemn. As the Rinpoche delivered the luung in English for the benefit of all gathered, a man sitting beside me began with a friendly smile. He was a Pakistani who knew so very little about Buddhism but was all keen to make me his teacher, bombarding me with question after every pause Rinpoche took. I narrated whatever little I knew of Guru Rinpoche from my history class and beamed proudly at myself for being able to answer the queries of this muslim man sitting beside me.
But embarrasment took a first step as Rinpoche delved deeper into the crux of the luung.I fumbled,"you see, we don't really learn this deep in our school." The man understood that my knowledge about my religion had reached the dead end so he ended the conversation with the same smile he had given to me at the beginning of our conversation.
"I went to a synagogue," I announced as soon as my room mate was done with her prayer. "When?" I saw disdain in her lone query. "On friday, I went with my hosts for their Sabbath." I told her about the people who were there and the pizza,coke and lots of stuff for kids that were on display. She looked at me as if accusing me of being led to that place with the aroma of pepperoni pizza and not my interest of actually being in a synagogue.
I changed the topic lest she start her lecture on being a true Buddhist. Just few weeks ago I had suggested going into the church near our room just to see what it looks like and she rained words that made me feel like a failed Buddhist. I had to silently slip away on my own to embark on my quest for this other religion's place. The cross didn't warn me of crucifying me for being a Buddhist but entering their church. Infact, back in 2007, in Kyoto, When I bowed my head in silence and clapped thrice before coming out from a SHINTO temple, I didn't feel I had betrayed Guru Rinpoche in any way.Rather, although away from home, saying that silent prayer even if it wasn't a Buddhist temple gave me a peace I required at that time.
But having to face my room mate's interrogation whenever I pick the topic of other religion has me disturbed. Do I become a less of a faithful Buddhist merely because my zest to explore the other side of the fence is stronger than my room mate's. Am I less religious than she is just because I can't chant prayers like she does? It sometimes make me feel less of a good human when confronted with my knowledge of prayers and different kinds of rimdros.
But all the while, I try to keep my heart freed from all malice and make generous contribution for any religious activities. I may not chant prayers but I maintain a good heart( at least I would like to think so) and I feel I justify my being a Buddhist simply by being less of a sinner than more of a saint. However, I know this will be another round for a debate if I broach this in front of my room mate, who is snoring in oblivion of what I am typing (against her?) just now.

Books and me

The rains are here again. The slushy mud and the ladies scampering around always reminds me of Esther Rosa from Bashevis' Needle. Actually, I like playing Esther Rosa and imagine myself doing that most lady-like hop in the smallest puddles. But most of the time, when I am sane I stay tugged in with a book and a coffee (there is no better combination in the world,I guess). I proudly look at the shelf filled with books, books gifted to me by people close to me; books bought saving meager sum from my salary; books borrowed from friends and forgotten to return( these books actually poke me from the shelf filling me with guilty conscience).
There was time, the tear-jerker soaps filled  my time and those were the most impossible days of my life. Television times are always filled with tussle for the channel and the remote. So I lost the long battle for the ownership of the remote when I got married. But I think my foray into the world of books got deeper after that.
My interest in books started as early as the time before I started school. My aunt owned a book shop, I spent most of my days in their shop. When I went back home she would fill my bags with comics. I never slept without my comics. I would flip through the pages just to get into the flashy pictures. Then as I started identifying letters and words, I started actually reading them. Tinkle comics were the earliest. Followed by Casper the friendly ghost and Wendy the witch's comics. When I reached class five, the letter I had written to uncle Pai(Anant Pai but better known as uncle pai) of Tinkle comics and Amar Chitha Kathas, featured in one of the issues in the Reader's write column. I guess when I showed that to my entry to my parents they knew my interest in books was real. So after that they never denied whenever I wanted to go to my Aunt's place for vacation.
Archie's world followed. I liked playing Betty Cooper with her head and heart character. Slowly I crept into Photo Romance and Blue Jeans. I guess I was aging normally. However, the thick books frightened me with their size. So I tried a thick book only when I reached class six. I read my first Sidney Sheldon. BLOODLINE. It was difficult yet I managed to finish it.
 After that I took the thicker ones away for good and entered Nancy Drew's mystery stories. It had me ensnared so much so that one day, engrossed in following Nancy Drew with her mystery I had gorged on two kilograms of mango (Yech! I hate mangoes now) when I finished the book by the end of the day.
Somehow Mills&Boons never got into my system. During high school, I found many of my friends totally into it but it failed to leave its mark on my shelf. Then started Danielle Steel and Sidney Sheldon days.
Today I am a big Nicholas Sparks' fan. I feel proud to announce that I read all his books and I'm waiting for his THE BEST OF ME to come out in October this year.
My book shelf is a filled with an assortment of Dan Brown( although I didn't like his last book THE LOST SYMBOL as much as DA VINCI CODE, ANGELS AND DEMONS and DECEPTION POINT), Vikas Swaroop( people who loved his slumdog millionaire will simply find his other book SIX SUSPECTS far more captivating if you are into Bollywood and its happenings), Paulo Coelho(smitten by THE ALCHEMIST I bought all his books), Cheten Bhagat( all four are worth having in your shelf) and not to forget my much loved Nicholas sparks' books.
Someday I dare to dream.......If I own a house, it would definitely have a big room on the east side wing of the house for me and my books( THIS IS A SILLY DREAM). But till then I've to continue being tugged in the warm embrace of my rented apartment, for home is where my books are to me now.

Divorce

I logged into facebook, the only bridge that closes the deep gorge of lonely life I'm leading currently. No friends were online, actually many of my friends don't appear online these days, I blame it on the time difference and never let the ugly thought that they have forgotten me creep in me. When I've no one to chat with I browse through all kinds of psychics and here is what Anita had to say,"Darling, the experiences you've had in life can help to inspire others who need your help. It'll be in the way you express your words to get through to them. You'll create good changes."I stopped, cancelled the page, again clicked on it and re-read the page and was left wondering what experience do I talk about to inspire others. What could a bitter lonely soul teach others? Hey, then I realized, 'I wasn't bitter like this all the time.'
My childhood days were the best days of my life, I'm sure everybody would say,'what's the big deal, everybody's childhood days are the best.' But my weeping heart knows the transformation my life has taken and the different soul that took birth in my living soul, replacing the smart bubbly girl to a repulsive pessimist grown up.
The words of my neighbors still echoes deep in the recesses of my memory world,"This girl will do well in life." I knew it just like my neighbors knew that I was born to achieve the zenith of success with ease. I loved the powerful adoration in my dad's eyes when he showed my progress report to anybody who visited our place. Which parent wouldn't feel proud f a daughter who brought the letter 'I' written in bold letter in the space where position is to be filled for all three terms( back in those days we used to have first term, second term and finals). 
Not only was my academic performance excellent I had my dad's sense of humor too. I liked narrating 'humjaiga' stories and had my friends sitting in circles with there funny bones all ticklish with the jokes I told them. 
On losar and other occasions, I would be the first one to stand and dance to entertain people. I remember earning a huge sum of money from my relatives and neighbors during losars. 
But real life is no fairytale and my fairytale life ended with the bond between my dad and mom. They seperated and all my above mentioned traits vanished. It was like a boon granted to me so long as my parents lived together.
My academic performance dwindled. Studies didn't interest me anymore. 'Humjaiga' tales were buried so deep that even if I wanted to I would have been able to retrieve it. Dances became few and songs stopped touching my soul.
My parents unaware of the fact that a soul was drowning in the pool of their divorce were entangled in re-building their own lives. As they got immersed in their new lives, they lost the daughter they had in me. Craving for their attention, unknowingly seeking for love that my parents could never shower on me, I realized I had become like a hungry ghoul searching for love and drowning deeper into the cocoon of negativity whenever I failed to get one.
Today, I view anybody who talks of love with repulsion. I think they are another BIG LIAR waiting to pounce on some innocent souls. I've become a bitter and the biggest pessimist. Divorce killed the good human that I would have grown into.
But I know better than to blame my parents. Now that I am a parent myself I understand the decisions they have taken in life in a new way but that doesn't bring back to life what they killed in me long time ago.
So, with this story I don't want people to sympathize my ugly life but I want each of us to think of the souls we would be killing in pursuit of our selfish happiness. Many a times I wonder about MARRIAGE and DIVORCE. One day we feel that if the person who has captured our heart does not become a part of us, we would never be complete and how after few years of togetherness that same person seems like the cancer growing in our body. Why does marriage block the faucet of love from flowing? If we have dared to marry this person why can't we choose to commit ourselves to this person come what may? Whatever! Maybe, I can think of the ordeal of marriage and remaining married for some other time to ponder upon.

Being a mom!

I was tall for my age( I wonder where I lost that height now!sigh!); so that made me a boss among my peers. Whenever my friends came over to play at my place I used to take them to the attic ( I still miss that attic!), the only place my obssessed with cleanliness mom allowed us to play.
After ascending on the shaky wooden ladder, immediately I would announce in my bossy tone, " I want to be the mother!" acompanied by a look that said, anybody who doesn't like that idea can go out from here.
Back then, being the mom meant being the boss of the game. I would pick up my small handbag, made with paper, throw it stylishly over my little finger and order, " I'm going for shopping, you kids be here."
Kids will always be kids, some of my friends would get bored and look at with imploring glances which spelt 'can we take turns being mom?'. "Good children do what their mother says", I would begin my black mail session and make my friends help me with the chores my adult mom actually had me to do. I'm filled with guilt now when I look back. But then, my friends would scurry around and finish up whatever task was assigned to them. When the whole task was done, I would pretend to get back from my shopping spree and generously share the chocolates I always had in my school bag. The lavish throw of dairymilk always helped to cleanse whatever venom my friends might have gathered for me in their tiny hearts.
Now I am a real mom and I've realized real moms are never the boss. They are just boss for namesake. I never get to use that commanding tone I used on my friends long time ago in that dingy attic of my parents' house. In fact, even to feed them meals I've to coo and coax them to fill their bellies. If I cook veggies, " NO! I don't like this." "OK, what do you want? momo?" and the wide smile would confirm that's what's on menu. Scampering around the house, cleaning after them, cooking for them, taking care of their every needs, the chores are like never ending spiral staircase.
The day ends with the kids finally tugged in their bed. There is no mom spreading lavish amount of dairymilk for job well done. Yet! the happiness I derive now is far more real than the smiles of gratitude on my friends' face I know.

Dear Mom, Happy Mother's day!

Dear Mom,
Happy mom's day. You won't believe it but today I fully know what you are worth.You were right when you said I'll have to become a mother to understand the love of a mother.Being a mother of two kids has taught me that there is nothing like a mother and her love in this vast expanse of the world.
I know I've been an impossible kid to you. Forgive me for running away from the chores at home to wallow in the dusty lanes of the neighborhood. I used to detest you for making me do the household chores. I thought it was JUST a mother's duty to do the cooking and washing and sighed with pain when you made me do all that at the tender age of ten. But today when I look at the satisfied smile on my new family's face after I cook them a meal, I silently thank you for making me learn that so early in life.
Just when I entered my teenage, I was left to go to a boarding school, and I held my finger pointed towards you. But only now does my heart understand that those four years in boarding school has given me the new wings of independence. Today, walking all alone in the streets of one of the biggest city in the world, I want to shower you with the best of my smile and say, "look at me mom, I can handle life on my own."
Watching you swish around the house making it home for us despite the hard life, I used to think my dad is full of life while all you do is shed tears and lament about the negative side of life. Today as I stand of the pedestal of marriage and the struggles of keeping it alive, I know where my patience comes from, it's you I've learnt from dear mother.
You have made me who I am and you know what I'm proud to be aged and wrinkled; just few days ago somebody told me that I'm beginning to look like you. I can never forget dad taunting me about my looks, maybe in his eyes you were the most beautiful lady in the world but it used to feel bad when he used to tell me that I don't have an iota of beauty like you. But as I'm aging, people( even dad) feels I'm beginning to look like you, and that's the biggest compliment I can ever hope to receive.
Mom, I try to be you in every step as a wife and mother and above all the WOMAN you are. Thank you for shoveling the path for me to take in life, it makes life easier to live.
Happy mothers day to you!