Farewell

Today was a nostalgic moment for the Wangdicholing LSS family.For the first time, the school organized a farewell gathering for its outgoing class eight students. Speeches and songs and dances were showcased (nothing unusual!).

One advice given to the students by our Principal had all of us laughing. He said," I want you all to prove that you all are potatoes and not eggs!" Wondering what's with this egg and potato? Well, according to him students should be like potatoes, no matter how hard initially, as they go up, climbing the ladder of Education, just like the potato getting soft and mushy the more we cook them, students should become more soft- meaning more humane and disciplined. Unlike the egg, which is soft initially but as we cook them, it becomes hard. Much as silly as it sounds, there is a lot of wisdom in it. So, don't forget to be a potato! :)

Sitting in the audience watching students perform on the stage took me back to my own days as a student. I always grabbed the chance to get on the stage whenever I could. As the students moved their bodies in rhythm I felt my heart grooving to the melody from the past. But wait! back in our times, most would shake their body to more of English and Bollywood numbers. Look at the songs played today, I'm proud to see our very own Dzongkha songs being performed and enjoyed by all.

Here is few pictures I captured today form the farewell performances:

Bursting out my own frustration!

Dear God,
I know as soon as you read the first few lines of this letter, you’ll say,”hey! This is not for my department,” but I know you are the only one who’ll go on listening to my story without discarding it in the waste bin like the others would do if I choose to write this letter to them.
There are times when I really question my existence as a woman. Do I really need to take eight more lives to complete the nine lives as a human to be born as a man so that I can walk and dream shoulder to shoulder with a man?
Till date I’ve played the perfect mother and perfect wife and I’m always playing the role of perfect daughter all the time. This is one reason why I never chose to go to upgrade my academic qualification cos the it would mean compromising with my role as a mother. It’s not that I never yearned for that. Having topped from my batch from NIE, the yearning for learning has always been there inside my heart, looming like an invisible dream inside me. But I kept on telling myself,” let your children grow up, then think for yourself!”
Recently upon persuasion from my family and friends, I took a chance in the interview for the post of Vice Principal. Working in school as a teacher, I’ve always given my cent percent dedication. It gave me immense pleasure to mother the hundreds of children apart from my own kids. And when I initially put up my application for the same, I started dreaming about the changes that I can bring with the added responsibility of a manager.
But my dream turned into fear when I heard from people who had participated in the same when they told me about the placement. As much as I care for my students and my school, I would first need my own family to keep me in that sanity to work in peace.
So I thought of withdrawing but I was told that I would be black listed that means I would earn bad reputation in my organization. And like I’ve already mentioned, one day, when my kids are grown up, I want to go and study. Study for my own academic growth; after that I would have no regrets of dying.
Not wanting to risk black listing, I went for the interview. People might call me fake but in earnest honesty I say this, I went to fail in the interview. Being in the interview was a rich experience in itself. I saw my mates carrying thick books which contained information of various policies, the whole organogram of the Ministry and many such details that the panel might ask. I rushed to my place for interview after feeding my kids just to reach in time for the same.
The much feared question was asked to me by one of the panelist. “If you’ve to go away from your family after being given this VP post, would you go?”
Straight from my heart, I told them I can’t go away from my family in a polite way. As soon as I came out, my friends asked me and I told them everything that had happened inside. Hearing my declaration to this query, everybody shook their head.
“why didn’t you say you’ll go? You can always change later!” they tsked tsked looking at me. But I walked happily back home to my family. Getting the post with a lie was not an option for me. I was happy for having avoided the blacklisting and even if I was not selected, that was not an issue with me.
But I was to prolong the stress filled days as I got selected. I scrolled through the list; out of the 33 selected candidates, there were only three ladies. We were informed that placement would be given as per the merit list. I stood in number 25th and once again there arose the question of black listing if I back out.
I respect the merit based placement and I applaud the ministry for ensuring fairness. But the question comes in my mind: can’t rules be bent sometimes to suit the need of the moment? Can’t the three women be given a choice first so that they don’t have to leave their family while pursuing their career? Can’t our Heads think of such strategy to ensure that women can also rise without having to compromise everytime? Don’t we talk about women empowerment?
I’m not saying that there should be certain numbers of seats reserved for women. That would be unfair. The interview has been conducted with same platform offered for all men and women. And 30 men have made it in comparison to only 3 women.
Atleast in placement, if choice had been given to these three women, would it have made any huge difference in the lives of the remaining 30 men. Would they have thought of giving up because they have to think of keeping their family together? I don’t think so!
Since the time our results were declared, I’ve been juggling between my own stand as a woman who has a career and a mother who might have to take her three kids to some wilderness away from their father and the beam of the mother always loomed heavier. I contemplated giving up the post so that I can be in the same place with my husband so that my kids will have both the parents together.
Just when the Ministry started calling up the selected candidates in the merit wise sequence, I too received a call. It was a man who was kept as a stand by. He had heard of my ordeal and he was checking whether I was really giving up or not. In my mind’s eye, I saw that man already eyeing my position.
Whole night I thought hard about it, tossing and turning, unable to get sleep. Today I received the call and the options were all faraway from the place where my husband is working currently. Blindly, I gave my choice of a school that was spread out as choices to me. The woman in me had awoken and she told me,” men will never lift your career and they will never stop at anything to get into power. You won this post fairly, why do you want to give up?”
I listened to that voice from my brain but now I’m sitting at home, my three little kids prancing around, I’m beginning to doubt my decision,” should I pull back my placement? Should I again compromise with my role as a wife and mother and give up this?”
Dear God, there is no such thing as women empowerment happening. Had it been there in reality, don’t you think the three minorities would have been given priority? If I choose to step down, don’t you think I’m pulling a woman down from climbing her career ladder? Is it fair then?
I don’t know God, I seriously don’t know.

My Scientific Daughter

Science teaches us how every little thing that happens in the Universe has its own causes; its own reasons; and its very own results. Nothing happens without no reasons and this statement holds true if it is something that happens to my daughter.Yes, My four year old daughter whose bickering fills my ears from the early sunrise till the time she surrenders herself to the angel of sleep.

Recently, while on a trip, she puked so much that I felt very sorry for the state she was in. But as soon as she finished throwing up, in her usual perky tone, she would jab me from the backside seat and ask," Mama, can I tell you why I'm throwing up so much?"

Anything to make her feel better! So, I ask her," Why?"

"because while rinsing my mouth after brushing my teeth, the germs that came out of my teeth went into my tummy when I swallowed a little bit of water." she gives me a sheepish smile. In stating her theory, she unknowingly confessed about swallowing the tap water. I always scream at her to throw out the tap water while she plays with it, moving it all over, inside her tiny little mouth.

After that smile she continues," so you see, now the germs apa, germs ama and germs baby are all inside my tummy and they are making me puke so much." Much as I'm angered by her tap water swallowing part, it is overshadowed by that cute theory of the germs family in her tummy and I laugh. She laughs too. (At least momentarily she forgets her puking).

Yet another time, I was calling out for her to pick up her toys, which lays sprawled out all over the house. She loves cooking imaginary dishes for us and all of us in the house do entertain her by pretending to eat and actually relish her dishes. But seeing the toys on the floor makes me super mad sometimes! So I was yelling out for her to clean up, which actually turned on deaf ears.

After I had finished cleaning up all alone, she comes out of the room, having finished her Chota Bheem show and lovingly coos near my ears," Mama, I'm so sorry I didn't do good listening today. Can I tell why I didn't listen?"

"Why?" I ask not even ready to hear her answers for I'm still fuming in rage.

"Today Azhim didn't clean our house properly. So, these tiny dusts have entered my brain and it stopped me from listening to you."

I cast her a dirty look. Not bothered in anyway by my looks, she continues," Our brain controls everything we do, right mama?" she asks solemnly.I don't answer her, this girl has the knack to pass on her faults to everything but herself. But she pesters me with, "right? mamaaaa???? right?"

Finally I give in and answer,"RIGHT!"

"See, the dirt are inside my brain and controlling my body." and she says it with such conviction that even Einstein, if he had been sitting next to us, would have given it a second thought.Bah!

So, you see, my four year old daughter gets away, every time, with such explanation.

Best of all is when I kiss her and ask her," Why is your kissey so sweet?"
She pauses for some time, as if thinking very hard to find her reasons and then in her cute voice says,"My kissey is sweet because I always eat a lot of chocolates. That's why!"

Awww! She is just so cute!

Exam time

Examination time: I'm sure every one of us have dreaded this moment at some point of our lives. But along with this dread lives many other moments that we seldom fail to register because we are so tightened by the grip of dread for exams. 

Well! Now I'm an adult and a teacher for that matter, people might think I've lost that dread for exams. But, to be candid I dread the exam time more than I used to as a student myself. 

Before, as a young student, my only fear was just for one individual self. But, now every exam time I ve to live the fear for my daughter( she won't worry a bit about her exams and immerse herself in her games. Yes! even during exam time). 

To add to it, looking around hundred plus of my students whose successes and failures reflect a large part of my own state as a teacher, I dread examination time with a multitude of hundred fold. 

Take away these larger fears and coming to my selfish reasons to dread exam time is the invigilation duty hours. I guess being silent for more than two hours at a stretch is some kind of a punishment. That is when weird thoughts jump into my brain, jostling with the silence of the room and almost bursting my very sanity. 

Another big reason I detest the exam time is because it brings out the cruel crafty side of our otherwise happily -playing, innocent students. 

The first kind of behavioral change I loath is the usage of the daily greeting  culture. Students who never even caste a second glance at you would come running down from the first floor verandah just to say," good morning madam." ofcourse we do teach them to conduct this daily ritual but where is the sincerity when the over zealous students pounce on you with these greetings only during the exam time?

The other reason is the fact thatfew students have to resort to malpractices simply because their brain won't accommodate the information required to pass the examination.  This practice, if successful on the part of the student,is a deliberate bane on those who have sincerely prepared for their exams. 
And if that student is caught, it is a sad fact that the student loses one solid year of schooling. 
Either ways, the outcome is unpleasant and the direct repercussion falls on the young minds whose sentiments are then geared towards negativity. 

So, at the end I am left pondering " do I really detest exam time so much?" Well, all I can do is shrug my shoulders, pick up the bundle of papers and walk into the exam hall. 

My very English daughter

Ask my four year old daughter, "are you sharchokpa or lhotsampa?" and without waiting for you to even complete your question, she would reply,"I am English."
Sometimes, seeing the way she forces English language and styles into her daily life, I can't help thinking," she must have been a chilip in her previous life. "
 She really tries her best to communicate in English all the time. For a little girl who is yet to start her formal schooling, she is doing too good with the language. But because she doesn't have any body teaching her the language and its grammar, there are errors and some of them are so cute, especially the way she uses them that I can't help but put them in writing so that I don't lose them when she eventually learns the correct version of all the following words:
1. Calace: never heard of this word? If you are in conversation with my daughter you would hear this word used atleast ten times in a minute's time. She likes to believe that she is a princess ( yes! A Disney princess) and she lives in a ' calace'. So, obviously this word is a combination of 'palace' and 'castle'. 

2. Brone: if she is angry with you for whatever the reason, prepare to get this line," you don't have Brone?" actually she means to say "brain". ;)

3. Nember- no, no, I ain't talking about member here. But every time she wants to remind me of something she approaches me with her cute smile and says," nember? You told me I can eat ice cream?" ah! You are getting smart with my daughter's vocabulary if you heard " remember" shrieking in your brain. The way her pink tongue slurs with this 'nember' word, I wish it was not 'remember' at all. 

4. Buyed: as it is evident, here comes the common error most of the students in my class make too. Children feel that all past tense ends in -ed but my daughter who knows nothing about past or present tense also uses words with -ed very conveniently. For instance, she would say," mama buyed this book for me." or " I thoughted you will take me with you. " so, like wise there are many words she suffixes with -ed. 

5. Cooker- aww! This is the cutest compliment she gives me whenever I make any dishes for them. While her Ana gulps down the dishes greedily, my lil girl stops to tell me," mama you are a great cooker!" ain't that kinda cute?
Time permitting I can go on and on with the list of words in English my daughter uses, but bell has rung and I have to go to class now. ;). 

Shapes R us

I went for a walk
My daughter tagging along
She begins to talk-
To various geometric shapes we belong
Did I learn from her.

“I’m so puzzled mama,”
She claims, picking up dirt
“I feel a triangle in my heart.”

We walk further
“I can see so many things
That I see my eyes going in circles,”
Says she.

“Oh! This sun,” she complains
“Now I’ve become a square,”
Saying so, she squats
And doesn’t move an inch.
I carry her back home,
feeling so cylindrical.

And if you see
No connection
Whatsoever
Between the shapes and us
Don’t point your finger at me
Point it at my daughter
Who has become a rectangle
On the bed, just now!
(shhh! She is resting!Taking a nap!after that walk!)

The substitute

I remember watching the movie "THE SUBSTITUTE" long time ago when I was a student myself; save for the action packed grim things I don't remember much about the movie. But few days ago, when I was given a substitution class in Class PP, the first thing that came in my mind was the name of that movie.Whatever, there is no link between that movie and my substitution class anyway.

So, I went. twenty plus students were crawling, literally crawling all over the place. The first thing I had to do as a teacher was to get them seated. So, I started," Choe duetsu good boys da good girls eenna?" Immediately many of them sat on their tiny stool and replied, "een la madam!"

"Mo dhi naughty een la," they were pointing to a little girl sitting on the extreme left of the class. "Mo gi ngachey dramm may la." They added before I could ask them why they felt that little girl was naughty. "menn la!" the girl retorted and hit the boy next to her before I could blink. No wonder, they called her naughty.

I went near her, held her tiny hands and told her," drangni meyong tup?" she nodded religiously but pat went her hand as soon as I reached near the teacher's table. She was irked with one of the boy who seemed to be bent on proving her naughty.

To steer them away from this topic,I began, "choe duetsu gi zhapdra shey....." I couldn't even complete my sentence, a chubby boy sitting beside the so called 'naughty girl' started, "ngesem ngesem" and the whole class followed him, singing the famous song from Singlem. What was interesting was the boy who actually started the song knew just the "ngesem ngesem" part, he was mute after that. Seriously! :)

"Can I teach you all songs?" I asked them. All of them shouted,"yes"

So, I began with 'twinkle, twinkle' which many of them knew and sang with me. Then we sang "mary had a little lamb". a little boy knew this song too and he proudly sang with me while others couldn't get the words. So, I stopped after one time. I knew some were getting bored. PP kids can be so restless, what excites them one minutes ago, bores them to hell the next minute.

So, then I called five students and lined them up in front of the chalkboard. So, then began the literal enactment of the song. I made them jump while we sang, " five little monkeys jumping on the bed," and I too jumped with them. And as the monkey goes bumping its head, I literally pulled them near the table and gave them a little bump, just a wee little bump and "hahahahahaha......" went the whole class. Before long the whole class wanted to be the monkeys so we landed up singing that songs for more than six times.

I was panting after the last round but they loooked as fresh as the morning dew. As I took my seat on the chair, one of the boy came near me and said, " madam, toilet."

"No, wait for the bell," I told him sternly. He straightened his two lower limbs together,clasping his hands right inbetween the thighs. I saw an emergency there. So, I said," ok, go!" But as soon as I said that magic word 'go' the whole class went out, like a sheep following one another.

But they returned soon. and getting them to say, "please may I come in," was a cute adventure.

"doro zhabdra thengay la!" they pleaded. and we had more songs and jumping inside the classroom. The bell rang and as I came out, thanking them with a big smile,they pleaded "Madam naba ya sho tupga?"

This single line of plea made my day. It felt so good to be wanted by these twenty plus restless kids!

Cleaning Campaign

October is here. We, in the school measure our milestones by the important ocassion we have to prepare for. So, as I was saying, its October! and a week from now, we will be celebrating the Royal Wedding Anniversary. So in preparation for the same, we conducted a cleaning campaign from our school till Kurje ( our senior students are there participating in the Baza Guru Dungdrup).

Here are some pics I took of my kids:

Nervous Readers

"Namgay Wangchuk, come!" I call out. Namgay Wangchuk performs a round of twists and turns before he reaches in front of the class with his English text book. His crimson-blush almost invisible in his sun-darkened face. "Read!" it's a command. He puts his free hand on his forehead, "letter from Laya..." he begins and further scratch, scratch, scratch goes his hand on his head. And it is more scratch as he continues to read.

"Is your head itchy?" I want to ask him but put it off knowing full well that it is just an act of nervousness and nothing else. Every time I cast a look on him, I see a undefinable smile dancing on his lips and he averts his eyes away, away from my gaze.

"Ok, go now." Namgay almost brushes me out as he rushes to his seat, relieved to have finished his share of reading for the period.

"Ugyen Uden!" I call out, the next reader.A large fat tongue greets my gaze. Slowly the biggest girl in the class gets up from her seat. She tugs her tego, as if checking whether it is tugged in place or not. Her hand goes swish!swish! beneath the front fold of her kira and as her hands is pulling at her loose pony tail, I shout, "Ugyen! Come fast!"

She comes but doesn't come fast enough. some boys mumble something and I see Ugyen Uden casting them an angry glare. I wait for that bulky girl to continue reading. She struggles with the first word itself. She gives it a shot, shakes her head vigorously, tries again and again shakes her head. Deki, who is the best reader in the class softly pronounces the word beneath her breadth. I find it funny but I don't laugh. Ugyen Uden's hair is dancing infront of her eyes while she keeps on pulling that particular strand behind her ears. Three fourth of her three minutes is spent pulling out that stray hair than getting her words correct.

"Raj Gurung." He scurries like a tiny mouse. He is tiny but more than Jerry mouse, he reminds me of Pluto, Mickey Mouse's dog. Maybe it is his ears that stands out on the either sides of his almost bald head. He gives me his full toothed smile. Every line he reads, he slams his foot on the floor. I wonder, " class four downstairs must be wondering what's happening up here."(if they can hear his footsie by anyway).

Next is Tsheten's turn. This boy's laughter is a force in itself to reckon with. After every word, he makes his head take a plunge between his shoulders. And this tremors of his giggles and quaking of his shoulders become more intense whenever I look at him.

Finally I call Deki Seldon, the tiny Minnie Mouse of the class. She is a pretty little girl who is the best reader. But every time she comes in the front, the whole class roars with laughter. She has this peculiar habit of squinting her eyes and casting a sideways glance at her textbook with her body twisted half way. And her eyes grow further smaller whenever she comes across big words.

Just then the bell rings and before I can ask her to go back to her seat, she hurries away on her own. I pick up my stuff, thank them and come out. All these images makes a quick run in my mind as I walk back to the staffroom and I smile biting my lips hard so that I can continue hiding the big laughter. But I know by the time I reach the staff room, I would meet so many other sights that these nervous little kids' images would be drowned into oblivion.
(Do you think so??????????? ;) :) ;) )

My angie's story

My eight years old daughter would never run out of alibis to turn study time into something that she loves doing. At times I feel I'm a failure as a mother. Every evening, we have to quarrel over her study timing. "5-7 PM miss, you ain't budging an inch. STUDY!" I warn her. Meekly she turns away from me and takes her seat. I turn on my phone to see some updates, if any, in my facebook and she is there, smiling beside me, " mama can I show you something in your phone?" I bark out the timing again and she jumps back to her room.

It is so difficult making kids follow their study routine seriously. Sometimes she comes out after one hour with some crafts she has made using papers and other stuff. Other times she shows me beautiful cards that she has made for me. And I am so taken in by her arts and crafts that I forget that she has studying to do.

So, yesterday, I told her from the beginning itself that she cannot work on any art project during the study hours. "Mama, is writing a story studying?" she asks me. I give her a nasty look that sends her scurrying to her room. Fifteen minutes after that look, she returns with an impish grin plastered on her face and hands me this paper. "Mama, I just made up this story!"

I read and re-read her story. Amazed and happy. Of course, I see some spelling errors here and there but what captures my attention is the minute details of punctuation marks that she has taken care of in her story. I know they have still not learnt anything about the inverted commas and I see that she has used it so correctly. Then there is the moral of the story that catches my attention. "Angie what is gonna happen if you don't do good listening to mama?"

She has understood without me having to explain it. After all, she wrote the story in which the naughty chickens dies after failing to listen to their mother Hen's words, not me!

I'm singing

Today there is a song; playing on my lips. The tune that I thought I had forgotten returns. With the tune comes the melody which fills me with ecstasy. And I sing......yes! I sing! I sing of the clear blue sky in which I placed the clouds of my dreams.

I sing of the treacherous cliffs on which I left my rugged hopes hanging. The tune disappears for a while and I prance around; scared that this time I've lost it for good. But it's only a while and the spasms of tune returns, and I hum the forgotten tune back to life.

And hence I sing, of the vast green sea of love that I spread and the melody picks up. So, in a breaking shrill crescendo I sing of the Abundance of bounty that I shall soon harvest.

I sing of the white moon lying blindfolded in the embrace of the black night. There is an unspeakable beauty in the darkest of the night. When the dark curtain lifts its mighty presence; I sing of the freedom of the pretty birds that fly ceaselessly in the empty sky. And I continue singing.........

My handbag is a monster

My handbag is a monster 
It eats up all I can offer. 
My purse, a diary, the book I' m reading
In these goes; every morning. 

My pen, few markers and not to forget
Red inked pens; and a lot of it
All lay trapped in my bag. 

Used vouchers, bits of papers
Names of students
Those who were found shouting
And those who had done good;
All chomp! Chomp! Chomp!
Goes into the belly of my bag. 

A note scribbled here
A reminder scribbled there
Whoosh! It goes inside my bag. 

My blue umbrella and my
Purple phone
Are the only two things
That are vomited frequently
Out of this monster. 

My bag is a monster
And this monster goes
Wherever I go. 

My Class Football Team

" Since the lower classes are never getting the opportunity to participate in House football matches, this year we've decided to have inter-class football tournament for classes 4 & 5," as soon as this was announced in the assembly I saw an uproar in my class. "Madam, do we need to buy boots?" I cast a glance at some boys who may not be in a position to ask their parents for the same,and reply,"No, none of you are going to ask your parents to buy that for one silly match!"

"Owwww," snaps Kinley, who is son of a Contractor. Phuntsho and Khenrab run towards him and they go 'mumble, mumble, mumble.' Not wanting to hurt them I add," but if you already have it, you can wear it."

"YESSSS!" the trio yell in unison with their tiny ten year old's fist raised. Since that day a month ago they have been pelting on me questions about their so many football related issues. But the match had to be postponed owing to two weeks of Reading week followed by the Earthquake drill and other activities that required immediate action than their promised knock-out match.

Then finally, yesterday, the much awaited moment came! It was announced in the assembly by the Games teacher, "today we are going to start the match. The first match will be between 5A and 5B."

My 5A boys do not wait for me to take their attendance. As soon as I walk into the class, I am bombarded with thousand and one issues they have for the match they are going to have in the evening. "Madam, Jigme has to be our goalie but he doesn't want to play," is the first thing I hear before the usual "good morning madam."

I've only 15 boys and if Jigme says 'no' then I am left with only 3 extra players so I coax Jigme. Tears brimming in his eyes, he shakes his head whenever I ask him why he wouldn't want to play for his class. Somehow I find out that Jigme lost his boots just few days ago, owing to which his mom has promised that she would break his bones if he even think of football. I call up his mom and convince her to set Jigme free of this pledge.

Whew! I walk back into the class putting off my phone. "Jigme is playing but he doesn't want to be goalie madam," they report as soon as my head emerges into the class. I scan through the sea of faces and exclaim, "Arun, you be the goalie!"

"No madam! He is the main striker!" they shout in unison. "Khenrab?" I ask unsure (afterall what do I know of football?). "He has to play defence," they scream. There is total chaos now. Amid confusion, I see a tiny little hand go up. "Madam, I'll be the goalie," quips the tiniest boy in the class. "No, Sonam Chophel, class 5B boys are far more stronger for you," I discard his proposal before the others mock him.

"What about Chhoeing?" I hear some girls suggest. "He is wings," shouts Kinley. I almost see chubby Chhoeing flying with a pair of white wings.

I take a solemn look at everybody in the class and totally defeated, I go back to Jigme, fold my arms and order," Jigme, you are our goalie!"

Before there is any more refusal, I open the book and start reading. Everybody shuffles towards their respective seats and with disinterest written well over their faces sit down to read "Mum, dad and me".

Classes over, I go down to find all of my boys in the football ground. All save Jigme. Jigme has run away! Sangay has randomly been pushed towards the goal post. The referee blows the whistle and my boys, all wearing new football jersey and boots( They have bought it after all!) are found running like a huge circular mass around the ball.

"Hah!" I laugh the loudest. Hadn't I heard them talk of Wings, centre and so many other terms? I catch my tummy, laughing as my boys come out of the field having been defeated 2-0 by the strong 5B boys.

Lonely? Try WeChat!

When I was a little girl,Losars used to be the much awaited time of my life 'cause it was the only time, the whole lot of my family members came under one roof. No matter in which part of the country we were in, all of us would try to make it to my grandparents' place for losar. It was the only time of the year when the Eight siblings of my dad's side would crash in with their mini families, which consisted of my well loved cousins. Songs and dances, games and laughter; tears and everything would ensue within those few days we stayed together.

But time ( who else can I blame?) has ensnared each of us, keeping us entangled in the gruesome grinding of daily life that the ritual of meeting at my grandparents' place has all but become mere memories. Now that I look back I feel sometimes some of my cousins had almost become non-existent as we lost touch.

It's kind of sad that in this grueling world, we get so entwined in living a life that drains out all of our energy but is actually devoid of all soul. Many a times, during the day, I stop for certain period of time and contemplate on the kind of robot that we all have become.

But these days, things have changed in my family. My apa ( wish I could type my parents instead of just apa! Sigh!), his whole bunch of brothers and sisters and their kids are actually in conversation daily. We sing songs, we tell each other about the daily mundane things of life and hey! we are not even in our grandparents house for losar! and no we aren't spending tonnes of money in calling up each other over phone.

And all these has been made possible, all thanks to the apps called WeChat and the group my aunty created in it. So, there is no room for loneliness in my life now. I start my day by listening to the talks of my other siblings who would have blabbered when I was wandering in the slumber world. And through out the day I try to catch in their conversation and join in till I decide to close my eyes, calling it a day. Now, even my kids can make out who is who in our large family for they hear these voices all the time. But most important of all, this apps have brought all of us under one roof and that too not just for Losar but everyday of our lives!

If you live away from your family and loneliness grips your heart like an old foe, get WeChat on your phone and go on listening to them even when they aren't actually talking to you. Make you day come alive!

(lemme stop here before I start sounding like I'm the official WeChat Brand officer,lol)

Bhutanese Bloggers e-Conference

Thank you Madam Rekha Monger for this initiative. Well, I read about this Bhutanese Bloggers' econference in Passu's blog this morning but I wasn't very sure about taking a dip in this thing. And especially the timing is not really favorable for me as I'm totally lost in the whirlpool of my school's Reading Week activities. But then, when I opened my fb just to let my tired mind find its respite in the silly nothings that my friends post, I found Ngawang sir had tagged me for the same. Much as I wanted to make tiredness an excuse to escape my fingers simply didn't comply with my reluctance. So, here I am answering the questions, as required.

1. Why did you start blogging in the first place? And what’s the story behind your blog title?

I may not qualify as an active Blogger and the things I put in my blog is some silly gibberish things that run through my mind at some silly hours of the day. However, since I do put up some words in my so called blog, I think I shall behave like a blogger and start my story (heheh).

way back in 2009, I came across Nopkin.com and once I registered myself there, I found some kind of a solace. Words seemed to have laid a firm grip on me and each day, all I wanted to do was write, write and write. But not having adequate knowledge on subjects that might qualify me for a thinker I started tinkering with the idea of 'love and romance.' As I took up the role of love seriously I found myself enveloped in a different world of mistrust and mis- judgement. So, then ( Due apologies to Nopkin admins) I removed all my posts from there. I know I was naive and even to some point innocently foolish!

Having chosen to come out of Nopkin made me feel empty. There were words scratching my heart, wounding me to the point that I needed another space to fill in. Luckily, I came across this blogspot.com and I immediately transferred all of my posts from Nopkin.

But having a blog of one's own and writing in that public arena were two different things. Here, I tightened my words ( and it suffocated my inspiration) and hence I found myself writing mostly about my kids and my feelings in general. So, then I decided to call it 'feelings and emotions." All I wanted my blog to hold was my true feelings and emotions felt at the moment I chose to sit down and type.

2. How long have you been blogging? Where are you based?
Like I said, it was way back in 2009. I was in Mongar then and currently I am posting from Bumthang.

3. How do you schedule your blog post? Daily or weekly? Or as and when inspiration strikes you?
I do not follow a regular schedule nor do I make an effort to update it on a regualr basis. There are days when almost forget that I've created something called a blog even and yet! there are days when so many feelings and emotions pour out of my heart that I just cannot do without putting it in words.So, I listen to my heart and pen it down (time allowing, for a full time mother of three and a full time teacher can seldom find time to even think of anything other than my kids and my students).
And few of the readers I've should be forewarned that there cannot be any thing sillier than my posts in this whole blogspere where people think and write. For me, I feel and I put it down and my feelings are nothing special!
4. Does your family and friends know about your blog?
Well, my husband does know about my blog but I don't think he is even remotely interested in the silly emotions I write in this space here. And my Best friends do know I have a blog but FB eats up all of their time so they DO NOT follow my blog. And sadly, I realized none of my family members know that I've a blog.


P.S. Ngawang sir, I took u tagging me seriously and here I am, all done!

Wangling Puen Gi Dueshey

Teachers were the most feared people back in the olden days and worst still was the notion of school. How many of us have heard stories of our older generation tell us the tales of how their parents would bribe the officials who came to take the young boys for schooling. In just about two decades things just seems to have taken a somersault.

People, I mean parents of every five year olds would start fretting and fuming if their little ones are denied admission in the school. Many parents have even resorted to making fake birth certificates just so as to get their little ones enrolled in the school.

Although most now value the need for education, the value of schools and teachers have actually been reduced to mere nothings. Thousands of fingers have been pointed towards the teachers ( with few parents even resorting to use their whole palms on the teachers, such a shame!)and many question the standard of our education system.

In such a confusion filled Field; where only the less favored ones choose to venture; nine years ago I chose to set my path. Today, as I work my hearts out, giving all that i've in me,I never for once regret my decision of becoming a teacher. Every morning, I set off to my school with my heart filled with the love of a mother, ever ready to play mother to hundreds of children in the school.

But today of all, with pride I write this down: we aren't just paid civil servants who click with the hands of the time to fill our bellies. We are a lot who work with not only our brain but also our hearts. My school is going to start a new thing that will further widen the space in our already love filled hearts.

We hear of many untoward happenings in the lives of our young generation. Although we keep all our senses alert and open; somewhere a black hole has remained that has engulfed our young minds; pushing them into hellish situation. And many of such cases happens because the children lack proper ears for their problems. So my entire school has been divided into small manageable groups. Each of the lady teachers are getting eleven girl students and each male teacher will get eight male students. The teachers and the students are going to be bound spiritually ( the idea has been borrowed from the 'Dorji puen'system). A Lama has been specifically invited for the same. So tomorrow, the teacher along with the chosen group of students will be given a special relationship. This special group is going to be called Wangling Puen Gi Dueshey. Translated, this literally means Wangdi Chholing ( name of the place where our school is situated) and the Puen gi Dueshey would mean 'attachment/ feeling of a sibling'(correct me if I am wrong with this translation. )Whatever the translation, in our respective groups we are going to provide the love and care that every family member is worth of.

Following this binding, officially the group will meet every last Friday of the month. On these Fridays,the teacher will try to provide the 'listening heart' to any emotional or social trauma the child might be facing. If possible ( and why wouldn't it be possible?) the teacher will make visits to the students' house to get better understanding of the children's home ground. The group will work to promote love and provide emotional support.

In knowing our children's problem lies the solution to their problems and with the formation if this special group our school wishes to curb the problems faced by our little ones. So, here we go, opening our hearts to accommodate few more members in our heart to make a change in the otherwise unseen troubled lives of our little students.

That's why I shall always remain proud to be a teacher!

Eensy Weensy madam

Few days ago,  I overheard two class three students calling me 'eensy weensy madam' as I walked past them. I gave them my best smile and they reciprocated with a sheepish smile. 
I had walked into their class with a reluctant heart for this was not a level I had ever taught in my nine years of teaching experience. And my reluctance bred further pain as I struggled to start a proper conversation with my students. "madam, nga Chey English meyshey la. Nga Chey Dzongkha Cham chi shey la. " tears sprang like a bag of marble unleashed on the floor. 
Quivering with bottled up bitterness, I stood silently, thousands of bitter thoughts drowning me. 
Suddenly, like a long lost sister, a feeling of solidarity emerged within me. It tweaked my heart. With a renewed gusto I clapped my hands and having their full attention, I announced, "can I teach you a song." 
The word 'song' elicited a renewed vigor in my students who were splattered all over their class like an unkempt garden. 
To ensnare their whole attention I wrote down the whole song on the board and added a picture after every line to explain my lines. 
"hey, a spider" some giggled while some pointed fingers at my spider. I tried my best to draw a water tap and made my spider climb on it. 
Drawings accompanied song written on the board, I then cleared my throat. Everybody arranged themselves; all set to sing the spider song. 
So then began the journey of the eensy weensy spider from the chalkboard to their little lips. I was so carried away by the gusto with which they sang the song that by the time I realized how loud we were singing, principal was standing on our door, with a smile dancing on his lips. 
He had come to check some statistics. 
Back home, tired and totally spent, I reflected; bringing back every smile - starting from my principal to the thirty something students and i felt a smile stretching over my own lips. 
Now, no longer does the shadow of reluctance darken my mood no matter which class I go to. I take each class with a new song and my heart dances in tandem. 

I love you Ama

On this day last year,my ama left and I felt my sky being ripped off. But each day as I missed her presence in my life, I found myself more firmly rooted to the earth. For this lady,my ama, taught me to make families with the neighbors; forgive the sins of one's loved ones and live eternally in the pool of love and hope.
Today I feel that same sky flying away and I shed tears of loneliness but I feel a protective shield in my heart, that shield of love you placed in my heart.
This is the last picture of hers that I took during the last moment of our togetherness God blessed me with. She was all mine on this day! I'll always love you ama!

I Love you classes

Few years ago, I was sitting in class 10B. It was a same afternoon like today;warm breeze lulling everybody into a dreamy state. A girl was reading a portion of a story from their textbook. Her soft voice aided the sleepiness that was already stretched out in the class like a big bully. So I gestured with my heavy hands for her to sit down without completing that paragraph she was reading.

With relief written well over her face, She dropped into her seat with a soft thud that startled the boy sitting behind her. He had been dozing off. Too lazy even to shift my gaze, I gestured for that boy to continue reading from where the girl had left. Heavily sedated with sleep, he had never followed the girl's reading so he moved his head frantically like an over-worked pendulum, as if the text would tell him where to start reading from.

Irritation clearly overshadowing my patience, I lazily barked,"I love you." His entire sleepiness went flying with swiftest wings. The boy gave me a shy look. I jerked with realization. Gathering all my teacherly composure,without acknowledging a hint of discomfort I had caused by my unclear direction, I added, "page 97."

His body relaxed as he saw the lines "I love you" in his textbook. So, I wasn't saying that to him, it was the conversation between the two characters in the story I had referred to. That same realization had dawned on all of the sleepy students, who now giggled in full waking.

"What were you all thinking? That I said that to Kezang?" and I let out a huge laugh to hide my own guilt at having put all of them into wide eyed awe.

As Kezang started reading,"I love you..." The mood of the class was like a fresh morning scene, everybody wide awake with soft giggles dancing on their lips.Their sleepiness totally surrendered to the dogs taking naps outside their classroom.

Today, as I sat in class VB, almost dozing off, I remembered this particular incident. Suddenly, breaking the lazy silence, a boy shouted "I love you" and huge laughter followed. I got up with swift alertness, was my memory of that incident so powerful that I could actually make it so loud for this whole class to hear and laugh? But a little boy stood up and explained,"madam this sonam penjor is saying I love you so loudly!" and laughed for another time.

As I began probing why Sonam said that, the whole class buzzed with their explanation while Sonam, the culprit, sat with a guilty look shining through his notorious face.

Another time, another place, in a totally different class, yet another 'I love you' brought alive the whole sleepy class.

Sad song in my Heart

I walk, my eyes sipping
The scenic beauty
Like no other care,
But there is a sad song
A very sad song in my heart.

I laugh, stretch out
The brightest smile
Like I've fondest reasons,
But there is a sad song
A very sad song in my heart.

I talk, tell merry tales
And the people around me
They laugh and make merry,
But there is a sad song
A very sad song in my heart.

Bell? what's that?

A mother might have hundred children yet the experience of leaving home after maternity leave would be equally painfully even on the hundredth time. The point is I joined my workplace after being with my lil kiddo for the last three months. My heart,heavily weighted with the tension of how my son would be at home suddenly jerked hearing 'sorry wai, sorry wai' being played on full volume.

There is a joke that for a teacher, whose life starts with the bell since the PP days would get up from the grave if a bell is rung. But listening to that 'sorry wai' song played instead of the usual 'ting, ting' sound of the bell changed the course of my heart.

I asked my colleague sitting beside me about the song being played and he informed me that there is no bell rung in this school, instead different songs are played each time. Isn't that a refreshing change in our lives!

I walked to my class, my heart swaying to the song, earlier mentioned stress a speck of dust mote flying in the rhythmic tune of the song. Walking back to the staff room, I found myself taking step with the song 'sha ra ra'. It truly proved an incredible first day back to school. Back at home, instead of being tired and dead with tension, I found myself humming the songs earlier played in school and in my 'light-heartedness' landed up cooking dinner as well.

So, now I know, each day, more than the stress of leaving my son behind, I'll look forward to my mood being uplifted,listening to songs while starting the day (otherwise, who has the time to play songs while trying to play the supermom alongside being a good employee at workplace?) and coming back home spreading the peaceful calm restored by the songs played instead of the monotonous clanking of the bell.

"sorry wai, sorry wai' here I go, singing it for the hundredth time today!

For the want of a Babysitter!

For the past few months I spent many sleepless nights juggling between two options: resigning from my job to take care of my kids and getting a babysitter. The former seemed more doable than the latter. But thanks to my ever caring apa, he finally found one babysitter for me.
Whenever I called up my friends and relatives spread around the nook and corner of our country, they would often say,"It's easier to find a stepmom for your kids than a babysitter!" Might have been a joke of a lifetime for them but to me it fueled my sleeplessness more than ever.So, when my apa called up to tell me about a class six dropout who wanted to first visit me to make her decision to come to work for me, it was like blessing sent straight from God's chamber.

The girl came.I thought it was supposed to be other way round, the employee was checking out the employer. But I was so much in need of this girl that I would have gone on my knees to plead her approval. Thanks to my apa, she agreed. But there was a clause to that agreement, she would stay with me for six months and choose to continue working for me only if she finds my household favorable for her. I agreed to all her terms and conditions like any desperate working mother would do.
With that like I said, finally! Now I've a babysitter! Whew! sounds like a huge pressure has been shifted away from my weary brain.

But now that she has officially started living with us, I feel more pressure weights on my shoulder than ever before. To begin with she knows nothing about childcare or cooking. So I spent most of the time running around my kids while she sits in her room, all alone, as if trying to fit in with the furniture around my house. While I still continue with the task of taking care of my kids, I've to frequently call out to her and make pleasant chit-chat so that she is not bored! lest she decide to go back home!and not to forget, I do the cooking too while she stands like a flagpole near the stove.

Every time, she comes face to face with me,she sighs and says," I don't like this place." and I've to play the clown to make her smile. I tell her funny tales to make her laugh. I make variety of dishes to please her palate. She tells me she has never seen some of the dishes I make and instead of being thankful that I am trying to make her feel at home, she throws another deep sigh and adds," I don't like this place!" ( Now I can't ask the government to place me in Thimphu, where my babysitter is gonna enjoy her stay!Sigh!)

Two days from now, I've to return to my workplace and I worry how this girl will do? and that means I would be further bent under the pressure of worrying about my kids being left with a girl who doesn't see anything when BBS is on. I wonder whether she will change the diaper of my lil kiddo in time so that he doesn't get daiper rash. I worry that my lil girl might go hungry because she needs constant coaxing to finish her food. I worry that added to my work pressure I have to worry about my kids and more than all I worry that this girl will continue to say she doesn't like this place and leave us despite the fact that we pay her equivalent to the NWF's wage with free fooding, clothing and shelter (and extra care).

Every night as I go to bed, I feel the humming pain on one side of my head from the stress of taking care of a household with added pressure of ensuring my babysitter feels at home in my house and I know I'll continue to worry what's she gonna decide at the end of six months. Am I not buying this extra headache at the cost of my own sanity? I wonder!

A is for Adultery

“ I don’t ever want to get married,” my cousin, who has just finished her degree from Bangalore and is back home recently, proclaims. This statement is a much thought about option after our hour’s gossip about friends who are unhappily married.
“But who lives happily ever after in reality?” I try to put sense while defending my own status as a wife. Man and woman are two species and they can never think alike, I try to reason out with them thereby explaining the reason for tiffs in marriages.
“Man and woman can never think alike but can’t the society have a united thought when it comes to the extra marital affairs? After all both man and woman who commit them are human beings.” That is a valid statement coming from a twenty-four years old unmarried cousin of mine. But I know where that wisdom comes from. She has already told me the story of her friend at least ten times now.
Pelden was in High School when she met the man of her dreams. Both of them were in the same class. Becoming a mother at ninth standard is not something one plans in life. But it happens owing to fate. Pelden decided to stay back home and raise their love child allowing her High School sweetheart Tshewang to continue his studies. Nine years later, Tshewang is a degree holder from Sherubtse and a proud entrée into the job market while pelden is a stay- at- home mother of two kids.
Pelden dreams of a home in Thimphu furnished with all modern amenities she sees and fancies in the movies while Tshewang’s plan is to set up a new apartment with the woman he has met during the Orientation program. The casual flings in college doesn’t count in his list of adultery but for somebody like my cousin, every girl that Tshewang dated is a thorn that has shredded her best friend’s heart.
One story of a friend leads to more stories about some more friends. I tell them of a neighbor who became my friend.
Tsheten was known as the most despicable woman in our neighborhood. I had gone to town with her, a week after I had landed up in the place. “Is she your friend?” a colleague of mine whom I had met the other day asks me with a dirty look on his face. Later I learnt that statement was challenging my integrity too.But I saw in Tsheten what others had failed to see. I saw the heart of the woman broken many times by her contractor husband who was always on the move with different woman each time. “Initially it broke my heart but with every woman he brought home and with every physical pain he inflicted on me, I hated him more.”
“Why didn’t you opt for divorce?” I asked, although I wanted to add,”instead of becoming like him!” but didn’t since we had known eachother for just a week.
“I am a mother of four kids. How can I deprieve my kids of their father?
And this simple statement had become a mantra for her changed life- a life plunged in the depths of adultery, a revenge she as a woman had taken on her husband.
Having narrated Tsheten’s predicament, how many us would actually lift the blame from her head and place it on her husband who virtually threw her in that dark life? But Tsheten and Tshewang would surely be viewed differently and would become a scapegoat of judgement on two different scales just because one is man and the other is a woman.
"No, I won't marry!" This sounds like the final THE END of a movie and I simply laugh at the conviction of my cousin who would tread the path of marital world sooner or later.

The weird shopkeeper

“Go, get yourself a packet of maggi,” I thrust a Nu. 10 note in my daughter’s hand. My sister immediately pulls my daughter’s hand to stop her. “Take Nu. 5 more,you never know how much this strange lady is gonna charge,” and she then sends my daughter who wants to eat maggi for breakfast. I tell my ignorant sister that a packet of maggi costs only ten ngultrum. “You don’t know that aunty,” she retorts and goes on to explain how the lady in the shop across her house charges extra for everything. The things she has to share about that lady shopkeeper is so hilarious that one would really want to hear more.
Everything in her shop costs above the MRP and if you ever make the mistake of taking things on credit, you can be assured that you would have to pay for even those commodity that you didn’t purchase during that particular shopping day.
Not only does that lady charge extra for all the commodity she sells but if the buyer is small boy like my nephew she takes double the amount for one commodity; One from the little boy and second time from my sister when she goes to buy some other commodity. My sister who is normally shy and less of a talker has had a tiff following many such incidences. I had a hearty laugh when she narrated the dialogues that passed on between the two of them. I had to double check on the tone my sister used to really confirm that the shopkeeper lady had indeed infuriated a calm and peaceful person like my sister.
Following the tiff, now whenever my nephew goes to buy his snacks from the shop, that lady sends him empty handed. Now he goes all the way over to the lane below their house just to buy a packet of chips because the lady wouldn’t sell them anything, not even a pin!
It is not just my sister and her family who has to bear the brunt of that shopkeeper’s way of conducting business. My sister’s upstairs neighbor who is a bachelor had gone to buy a phone voucher once and guess what that shopkeeper did. If you said “didn’t sell the voucher!” then bingo! You are right and you know why she didn’t sell the voucher? “Bhai never buys anything from my shop despite being my neighbor, so I don’t have voucher for you.” Isn’t this simply intimidating?
I wait for my daughter to return with her maggi while the upstairs angay walks in my sister’s place with her grandson dangling by her arms. Hearing us talk about their neighbor shopkeeper, she has many such incidences to add. Let it suffice to say that the lady does all what I’ve mentioned above to many of her neighbors that’s why we hardly find anybody going to her shop.
My sister shares another anecdote about another very weird shopkeeper. My sister’s friend who is a teacher in this place had shared this experience. An elderly couple had the only shop in one of the remote places in Chukha Dzongkhag. That elderly couple would not sell any of the items on the shelf if there is only last few last pieces of it. Even if one pointed to the commodity on the shelf, they would insist that the customer buy something that is abundant in stock and turn deaf ear to the customer’s plea for the commodity that is near exhaustion in that shop.
The three of us roar with laughter over this. Just then my daughter returns with a packet of maggi and two centerfresh chewing gum. The lady had kept the whole of the ngultrum fifteen we had sent through my little girl. And the readers can calculate the cost of one maggi and two chewing gums keeping that woman’s calculator in mind,lol.

A woman and her life

“How long will you be gone?” shouts her ama as soon as Syelma informs her mom about her wish to go out. She almost screams,”Tashi came home at 3AM only; did you ask him about his whereabouts?” But very calmly, she says, “an hour!”
Syelma is a busy working woman who has recently chosen to become a mother. Blessed with a healthy boy added to her successful career, her life ideally has to be what many crave but sadly it isn’t. She feels strangled by the pressure of being a fulltime working woman along with being a full time mother. Every day is a new battlefield for this mother cum office goer.
Rocking her insomniac son to sleep, she finally gets to call it a night only after midnight. Heavily doused with sleep, she immediately falls asleep. Come dawn, a new race begins.
“Your mom gets up before you to cook breakfast for you, why do you fuss so much?” Tashi asks his wife who is fumbling and feeding their son before washing and getting dressed, making herself presentable enough for work. What the husband sees is the kitchen clatter and the ready breakfast after a rested brain with fulfilled whole night’s sleep. What the husband doesn’t see is the emotional outburst from a woman who has had inadequate sleep (five hours of sleep at the most) and is ensuring that the child is well fed so that she doesn’t have to rush home before the stipulated feeding hour. Who likes looking at stern face of the boss and unfriendly glares from colleagues because you get to go home after every three hours to feed your child?
“You are paid to work!” she hears this line every time she has to seek permission to take her ailing child to hospital or take leave to attend her sick baby. Getting her office work done, preparation, presentation, meetings are juggled besides ensuring the house is well stocked for the whole family. Entertaining the guests and the weekend cleaning and dusting and washing is an unnoticed chore that Syelma carries out.
The house is neat and clean; presentably draped and the larder well stocked. The baby is healthy and well fed. All is well in the family. But the minute Syelma decides to claim an hour just to pamper her stressed out self, hell breaks loose. Her own mother allies up with the rest in the family to question her integrity,”what about the baby?”
Don’t they see that all of them in the house get their full beauty sleep and just carry out the manual chores while the poor woman is shredded into pieces with stress at work and home? The husband who is either found lazing around the computer or TV screen doesn’t even care to give his wife the unclaimed stress unwinding hour. How dare he claim he love his wife when he doesn’t realize the stress he has left his wife buried in?
Syelma mentioned above isn’t just one woman, Syelma here is every Bhutanese woman who silently goes on multitasking and ensuring that her career and her home are sparklingly taken care of while she herself drowns deeper and deeper into a machine like monster who the others don’t even consider human enough to deserve a break of an hour.
Do you think there will ever be a moment when the man in the house will look in the eye of the woman he claims he loves, and say, ”Darling, today I’ll take care of the kids and home, you go, take a break.” And actually send her to just spend some time without having to carry the baggage of what the kids might be up to? Or plan what to cook for dinner? Or think of a face to put up in front of the boss while seeking permission to take a day’s leave from office?
Will such a day ever dawn in the lives of the modern day Bhutanese woman? Will the mother in law ever realize that her daughter in law who has worked full day in the office is too tired to even lift her limb forget about fulfilling her dream of cooking the meal for the whole family? Will the husband who talk about stress at work realize that his wife who is a full time wife and mother also goes to office and has work pressure just like him?

I am Old and Happy!

"Was there a clarion call? Did you see the stars fleeting around?" I sat dumbfounded, my eyes wide with speechlessness as my melodramatic friend soaked me in her queries about the feeling of falling in love.

"Hellooo! Were you born yesterday? And me generations before you?" I felt the pounding response in my mind but I gave her my sincerest looking smile. "No,Dear! Its nothing like that!" I replied calmly. I wonder from where that calmness came in my tone when I was actually fuming like an active volcano about to erupt.

She took a tight grip of my wrist as if by doing so she would meet her soul mate in my throbbing nerves. Nerves! My God! I never realized my nerves were so visible! Age surely seemed to have taken a firm grip on me. Well! forty years of life is not so young for the nerves to remain hidden under the wrinkled skin.

Forty years! Time seemed to have grown double pairs of wings to take a faster ride. It felt like only yesterday I walked in the corridors of our school;hand in hand with my friend and here she was seated in front of me still looking the same while I looked like her mother(how I wish I could say like her sister!).

Marriage and Motherhood ages you more than your actual age I guess. I saw a tint of envy in my own eyes as I stared in her eyes, she looked so lovely and YOUNG. I checked myself, my fingers looked awful with its nails clipped short and without any colors. I had decided to keep my nails clipped as soon as I became a mother for I didn't want my nails to make an accidental scratch on my baby. My collection of nail polish too went in the trash bin at the same time around for I didn't want to take any chance with the chipped pieces fall into my kid's meals.

On the other hand,my friend's nails, perfectly manicured stretched out like a freshly mowed lawn.
As she lifted her hands to tie her ponytail, I saw her shirt rise up to show a clean waistline. Ech!I wouldn't dare to wear a low lying jeans like her;wouldn't people see the stretch marks from my pregnancy?

"Mama!" we both turned our heads to my two teenage daughters running towards me. As they came and hugged me, I saw something in my friend's eyes that I was thankful I didn't suffer- I saw pain of loneliness in her eyes! While mine own danced with joys of fulfilled parenthood.

Breakfast? Who has time?

In another hour’s time, people would be eating their lunch but I sit, eyeing my breakfast lying near me while my li’l boy is latched on tightly on my lap. My toasts seem to get browner and stare at me with coldness for not consuming it while hot and tasty. But what can a mother do? So, I continue to wait till my li’l one surrenders himself to sleep.
Finally! I see his eyes shut and he delinks his tiny lips from my breast. Happy that its breakfast time now, I gently pick him up but I can’t put him to bed before giving him a good burp. I set him close to my bosom,’GROWLLLLLLLLLLLLLL’ my tummy seems to have become an enraged lion while my li’l one, startled by that, opens his eyes. Well! Breakfast has to wait for some more time.
While he continues to enjoy the lap time, I gaze at his tiny face and with my finger, I draw invisible lines of love. His forehead- I can’t help noticing those lines which resembles his paternal granddad’s. It’s amazing how a child can take on not just their parents’ but also their other relatives’ looks. Then I move down to his eyes. When open, he has his dad’s eyes but when he has them closed, I can’t help noticing how those closed eyes resembles those of my sister, the sister I lost eighteen years ago. Like I said, a baby can look like the whole lot of family members one has got.
Coming to the nose, there is no denying he has my nose. How my cousin hates the nose of our family! I mean all in my dad’s family, if we don’t have anything in common, well! We’ve our noses to prove that we are of same lineage. Whenever, we’ve family gathering, we always compare whose nose is the ugliest? That’s some fun activity, ain’t it?
The lips, oh my! How I feel like kissing those tiny pink thing but I know we shouldn’t be kissing an infant’s lips. Don’t want to pass on any germs! But there is a joy in simply looking at it. Had he been born a girl I would have wanted to call him something related to that pink lips.
Softly I take off his mittens and slide my finger in his clenched fist. My finger seems like Gulliver sleeping gigantic in the land of the Lilliput. His grip tightens around my gigantic finger. I’ve heard somewhere that a child can even kill a snake with that grip. I can’t vouch for that with any proven data, just a hear-say through the grapevine.
Before I can linger with that look, he wriggles and goes pink in the face. I know he needs a nappy change. Nappy changing of an infant can be like unpacking a gift situation with all those layers of blankets and clothes. I gently pull out his soiled diaper and leave his bottom open to air out. If one doesn’t know, airing out helps to prevent nappy rash. Before I’ve a chance to slide in the fresh diaper, oh! He wets the whole set of clothing and the wetness spreads like the cirrus clouds just seconds before the heavy downpour. Before I can do anything, even his shirts are wet. So then, I engage myself in changing the whole set of clothing.
While picking out fresh sets of clothing, I notice my untouched breakfast. My cousin comes in, “Ana, breakfast ma zala?” I smile and push the tray towards her,” chon chen om das gai lunch zalay!”

My Water Bottle

Humans! We come with unique traits, something that sets us apart from the others of our kind. I was in FB chatting with some of my students. Like I always say, when your students who are all grown up still remembers you with a fondness, you feel you have never made a wrong decision about your profession. Well! That would be my side of rebuttal for being in love with my Teaching career.

So, let me go back, I was chatting with two students. Initially both started calling me 'mom'(whoa! did I feel old?lol) and we went into talking about sweet nothings and serious business of life when one of them said,"Madam, I really used to love your water bottles!"

Hey! It pulled some chord in my heart, something that was sleeping in some corners of my brain or heart or where ever but definitely was there. I don't remember much from my childhood and teenage years but since the time I was in NIE I remember having developed excessive thirst for water( thank God it was water and spirit of any kind). Being a day scholar I used to find it tiring to be carrying a bottle of water which would be an eyesore for all of my group friends. "Gachi mo, desert nalay yong yop zumbay?" My friend Sangay would always bark at me whenever she saw me taking a gulp of water from their room. But where ever I went, my water bottle came too.

Then I became a teacher and although my bottle didn't qualify for the role of a teacher, it did follow me to the staff room and to all the classes I went to. In the same school, we had a teacher who had some medical problems which required him to be taking sip of water every now and then. So there were two of us carrying water bottles with us. I heard from students that he was given the name, "water-man!" That is when I developed that fear. I definitely didn't want the name 'water-woman' or whatever related to my precious water bottle.

But since my student reminded me of it, I remembered these small silly incidences I had owing to my water bottle. It was way back in 2008, talk was going on about pay revision for the civil servants. Although all others pretended not to be as thirsty as I was, Whenever I approached they would extend their hands. It wasn;t just my collegues. I remember even my students would ask me water. Now that I think of it, it used to irk me sometimes (not really!). So, I was talking about pay revision. There was one male teacher who always extended his hands whenever I came in his view. So I told him (in jest),"Sir, This small bottle of water is not enough for all of us,when this pay is revised I'm planning to buy a syntex tank and carry water in it."

Well, that was supposed to be an verbal attack on him. But, to my dismay, he turned out be better in verbal wars than me. His answer was, " madam, since you are buying a tank you don't need this bottle, so after the pay revision, please give me this bottle." I could do nothing but hit him with that same bottle.
So many memories, so many people involved and I had discarded all those until this student reminded me. "Madam, when you left your water bottle in the class, we used to steal water and drink," and she laughs. She had her own set of people to remember, her own set of memories, all linked to my water bottle!

(If the readers think I'm talking about one water bottle that I owned from my training days to now, you are mistaken. I had a huge collection. It came in variety of colors and I would try really hard to carry a water bottle matching the color of my dress. Terrible obsessiveness? lol)

My Li'l Bird

Fly away li'l bird, fly away
wings clipped with ailment strong
caged in the bars of false hope
and unseen miracles.

Fly away li'l bird, do fly away
choose your sky
of painless freedom.
Glide in glee
flap in jubilation
get a real life.

Alas! today my li'l bird
has left her cage.
Where she flies,
I know not.

I seek her in the narrow lanes
of the streets she walked.
I listen to soft melodies
songs she connected to.
I caste fleeting glances
in the vast blue sky.

But my li'l bird
now flows with the forceful current
of swollen summer rivers
charred and burnt.

Come back li'l bird
pray come back.
Come back to sing me songs
come back to give me life
for one more time.

(I wrote this in stanzas while tending to my sick mom and ultimately bidding her farewell in the summer rainy river, found this in my phone. Missed her a lot today so I put it here).

Meeting the (Un) Dead

As a usual practice, I would discard the princesses and the princes; witches and enchantress; good versus evil immediately after my kids go to bed after their book ends. I would then pick my own book and immerse myself in the world of grown-ups and their predicaments in my own choice of books. But last night was different; no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t connect to the character Bette from the book I was reading. She got drunk; went crazy in a high couture party and wore brands worth dying for but I didn’t feel like getting in her world at all. (why? Got no explanation!)
I closed my book and put it aside. Lay holding my li’l one’s tiny fingers, feeling her soft breath near my cheek. I peeked further and tousled my other kiddo’s hair as she lay fluttering her eyelids lightly. “She is dreaming!” I said aloud in the dim room.
Still holding my li’l one’s hands I don’t remember when exactly I dozed off. Suddenly I found myself in a room buzzing with activity. There was sea of faces I didn’t recognize. People moving around; talking; smiling; laughing. A lady in navy blue skirt and a shirt two shades lighter caught my attention. “Ama!” I called out. She glanced towards me and came hurriedly carrying a plate. “See, I got you this,” and she handed me the plate with something that always had me licking my fingers.
“Come here, “she pulled me out of the throng of people buzzing around. She took me to a corner, it looked familiar but I didn’t try hard to figure out which room’s corner that was. As we took our seat and I dipped my fingers in that yummy dish for the last stroke, I remembered something I had to ask her. My lips seemed to have a life of its own. “Ama, in those last final days, I remember you casting glances at me and you seemed to have a lot to say. What was that you wanted to say?” I found myself asking her so casually as if death and dying is a temporary matter.
“Ong ni!( she always began her sentences with this). I knew I was dying and I wanted to tell you that I’m dying but I had lost my voice,” she explained. Warms tears gushed out of my eyes. It flooded my cheeks and I woke up with a start to find my pillow wet with fresh tears.
Sadness gripped me. A part of me wanted to go back to sleep and get a chance of meeting my ama once again but part of me ached with sadness that didn’t need a re- run of those pain filled moments. However, soon I again found myself in a room bustling with activity. I craned my neck trying to locate somebody, I didn’t know who. Someone pulled me by the hand. Startled, I found a lady in typical Bhutanese hair cut in mathra kira smiling at me. She was telling me something and I was laughing with her but neither could I hear our conversation nor did I know who that lady was.
“She also went from the same pyre your mother went,” I heard a distant voice reminding me. I saw my eyes widen with amazement as I saw another woman sitting close to us, she looked so familiar but was totally unaware of the woman who sat so comfortably nudging me and making me laugh. “Isn’t that your granddaughter?” I found myself asking the kind lady who looked in the direction I was looking to find a tiny girl with chinky eyes, moving with a toy in her hands. “Isn’t she a darling?” she said, her voice somehow soothed my furiously throbbing heart.
“Your mom and my mom, both passed away on the second,” the voice sounded again. I trembled and woke up once again. “Why did I see these two women who had already left us?” I kept on picturing my own mom and the other mom who in reality was a stranger to me. There was something two of them were trying to tell me but what? I kept on tossing and turning, thinking of the two women and feeling their touch; remembering the way I smiled with them and how comfortable it felt being with them.
Outside a dog cried in a melancholic tone.

Does it mean something?

Cooking up a Fairytale

The second snowfall was beautiful; it was thicker and stayed long enough to allow the kids to have the share of fun they always talk about. Taking the kids out and making a (not so beautiful) snowman was an awesome fun thing to do. But the aftermath of this few minutes of fun was definitely not so good. The white blanket outside led to dark homes for three consecutive days. I guess this was no deal for some of the parents who have seen darker weeks and months before but for the kids who have always had some electronic gadget or the other it was monstrous three days without electricity.
Much of our daily schedule had to be changed as per the dark hours by the candle light. One event that I always follow with my daughters is the book reading session before going to bed. But I didn’t want them squinting their eyes trying to see the letters in the dim candle light. But rituals once started are difficult to break, especially with my li’l one. So I didn’t read them a story but I decided to tell them a story. The difficult part is my li’l one has to choose the character as per her mood and no other story would work. So, I asked, “what story do you want me to tell?” “Star and Moon!” Pat came the reply without further delay. So I had to cook up a story with moon and star and do it fast and lo! I did and by the end of it I was so impressed with myself that I decided to put it here.
Long ago, there lived a moon at the edge of the forest. One day, he got up and found out that he was really hungry and lonely. So he decided to go into the forest to find a friend and may be with some luck find something to fill his empty belly too. On the way he met a li’l girl with a red cape bouncing with a basket dangling on the hand. “Hi. What’s your name?” The moon asked. “I’m Red Riding Hood and I’m going to my grandma’s place to give her some cake and wine.” “Can I have some of it, please? I’m really hungry,” the moon pleaded. “I’m sorry these are for my granny, I can’t give it to you.” “Then can you please be my friend and play with me for some time?” “I’ve no time to waste,” replied the girl and she hopped away with much gusto. “Go then, May you encounter the wolf!” cursed the Moon and walked further deeper into the forest.
Next he met the Gingerbreadman. “Hello li’l man. Where are you off to?” asked the moon. “I’m Gingerbreadman and I ‘m running away from the old woman, the cow and the horse who want to eat me for tea. Byeeeeeee,got no time to chat,” and away he sprinted. “So much for a conversation, may a fox gobble you up,” cursed the Moon who was getting agitated with hunger.
As he walked on he met Humpty-Dumpty who was sitting on a wall. “Hello, Mr. Eggy, Can I eat you?” the moon drew nearer (by then his hunger was causing a huge wreck in his patience). “I ain’t no Eggy and No! You can’t eat me!” huffed Humpty- Dumpty. However, the Moon jumped closer and splash! down came Humpty- Dumpty. So the Moon ran away as far as possible before the king’s horses and the king’s men could come looking for the one who caused the mishap.
Soon he caught up with Puss in boots. “ Hiya, Round, Round, circle of a man, where ar’ yoo off to?” Puss asked in his western twang. “Hi, I’m Moon and really hungry,” he replied in one breath. “wooaahhhh……we got one hungry ‘un here, eh? Want this?” and he spread out his paws to reveal a freshly caught mouse. “Eww, thanks but no thanks, I’m not hungry for a mouse.” He darted off.
He then caught up with another lonely character in the small clearing. “I’m star and yes I do have some food for you.” Finally! The star shared his food with the moon and they played in the rose garden outside the star’s house. The moon was so happy and wanted to reward the good character, so he asked the star to hold his hands and close his eyes. The moon then said some magical chant and off he darted with the star. When they opened their eyes, they were far off in the sky away from all other unfriendly characters. That’s why still to this day we see the friendship between the star and the moon is strong and no other character can reach out to them. THE END.
So, this was the story I cooked up for my li’l girls. Dark nights can sometimes ignite the sparks of imaginations. By the way, all the fairytale characters are some familiar characters we meet every night when we have our bedtime story readings. If your kids are acquainted with some more characters, you can go on adding but don’t you forget to make your child choose the main character! That brings out the real joy in your kiddo.

Sibling Rivalry

A typical scene whenever we got together, I mean my family and my sister’s family. Her three sons plus my two daughters, I always felt elated, a feeling I was crowned for being the mother of daughters who were supposed to be lot more silent compared to the adventure seeking three boys. “I never know if my kids are home!” I would proudly tell our cousins who would cast ‘lost cause’ look at the three boys shouting and screaming the roofs off. I would try to teach some sense to my sister in upbringing her three musketeers. “Get them into books, make them paint, let them have a favorite show, buy them games, give your laptop, blah blah.” Well, these are some things I had gotten into my two doves who sat in one corner happy with any gadget they could lay their hands on.
But of late, away from my sister and her screaming boys I feel the scene from her house is replaying itself in my house too. My silent girls have turned more skirmish and well, bit too loud too (sigh!). “Mama, can I play your phone please!” my li’l one comes innocently just when she sees her elder sister fiddling with it. On many occasions I chastise my elder one and make her give in to the innocence of the li’l one. But I know my li’l one is not as innocent as she plays it. Take for instance, during bed time, I get in between the two so that both can have equal share of me but my li’l one goes,”achuuu….mama, its cold on the side, can I come in the middle?” To any outsider it may seem like an honest plea but the way she casts a mean look on her elder sister who is holding onto me I know its sheer sibling rivalry. I have no options but to relent. I give a quick wink to my elder one, she knows this wink means,” I’ll come in between after she is asleep.”
Being the eldest one, I know how it feels when the parents always support the li’l one just because the li’l one is the younger one, hence the blessed one. So I always try to balance the choices offered to my two kids. “Mama, I don’t like this song, I want the other song!” my very particular about choices elder one quips while her baby sister is dancing to a song of her choice. “You are going to switch to ana’s choice of song after you are done with this,okay?” And I shouldn’t forget to add, “ I love the way you dance to this song but aren’t you tired with just this one?” (laugh!laugh! smile! Smile!......that does the trick!)
My li’l one digs out an old invitation card from among their books and although she doesn’t know A from S, would religiously read,” mama and papa loves ana and don’t love me!” (Pout! Tears well up!) “Baby, who told you this?” I question, exasperated with the kind of stories my li’l one is capable of cooking up. “Look! Ana has her picture on this card. I never had such card!” Well, how can I explain to a three year old that that card happened when she wasn’t born only and the reason she doesn’t have a birthday invitation card is not because we don’t love her but because we missed two of her birthdays.” This year we’ll make this kind of card for your birthday too, okay!” I promise. She giggles gleefully and runs to tell her ana about her birthday plans.
...and there are many such competitions between the two that I am often left wondering, "As a parent, am I doing justice to these two people who look at me as if I am God of some sort, always!"

The HELP: Wanted!

For the last eight years life has been smooth- sailing, at least in the home front. But now the girl who assisted me in the household chores and taking care of my children has outgrown her wings and is ready to fly away. I’ve no strings whatsoever to keep her tied to my home. When a girl attains that age there is no stopping her I guess. Candidly speaking, for the last one year I’ve been frantically making calls to every nook and corner of our country, searching for her replacement. But the response from all ends are same,” (sigh!) All girls are enrolled in school now!” There are tinges of sadness in this line. What an irony!
Actually as a woman and a teacher for that I should be proud to learn the fact that all our Bhutanese girls are now in school. Inside the classroom, this is what I always tell my girl students “Don’t drop out of school. Ever. It is only with Education that you will have your own ground to stand on. Even if you get a job that pays you minimum salary, you’ll have your own sky to claim.”
But my own words slap me with a vengeance as I utter without missing a breath,” …but there has to be some girl who cannot go to school.” Immediately I feel guilt creeping up and then I hear loud thudding in my heart which does a “what are you gonna do?” jig.
I have even gone to the extent of offering more than the minimum National wage but to no avail. I see myself turn sour to those girls who would rather slog in the scorching sun and chilly winds to earn a meager sum while the option of working in a house won’t even take half of the bitter life they lead on the roads. In my heart, I even chastise the girls choosing the drayangs over the warm homes. Their mathematics seems to be poor but I think they would rather choose to be the boss instead of being bossed around (wait! On the second hand, are they the bosses of their own body in these drayangs?Well!Well!Take No Offence! I’m not saying anything against these Drayang girls.)
As a last option I think of the girls across the border that can be willing to jump at the offer of half the wage offered to the Bhutanese girls but how can I defy the laws of my country. My country doesn’t allow these across the border helpers to ease the burden of our household chores. So the final option would be resigning from the job I love so much. I cannot see myself sitting at home cooking and cleaning. Teaching is more than a bread earning device for me, it’s a passion. But now within these two months I’ve to find someone to take the reins of my household chores if not maybe….I even dread to think of that option.
But how can I save my job? Is this an indirect indication that with this rule of no across the border babysitters allowed, our government is telling us, the Bhutanese women to return to our primitive place- the kitchen? I don’t intend to raise my finger to the government but I know of no option offered in place of the no bringing in labor from outside while our own Bhutanese market has no one offering their services of babysitters.
I know even as I am frantically calling my relatives and friends, there are many others doing the same. I know the story I am telling is not mine alone, there are many women who are crying out the same. So, on behalf of all these women, I would like to ask, where do we find a solution? Who do we turn onto to save us from losing our well-deserved career just because we need proper care for our kids?