The Brown File

Miles away from the cozy town I had made a place I called home, I became just a mere brown file.

I don’t know whether it was a blessing or curse but having travelled a day’s worth of journey to get the pain in my abdomen cured I was diagnosed with a disease that never got introduced to me but had to lure me to this place so far away from home. Added on top of it was the fear of my maiden flight experience.

My daughter reminded me how blessed I was that I was sitting in the plane with no expenses of my own. I wouldn’t call it a blessing; not with images of planes colliding into tall buildings; planes colliding with each other and planes getting lost in the middle of nowhere dancing in my mind. I secretly wished television had never been introduced in our part of world. If only I had not seen these gruesome images in television I would not have been able to conjure up these images.

Fresh fear of being in the clouds, so close to God’s heaven quickened the already altered heartbeat in my chest. Had it not been those flickering television images behind my closed eyes, I would have seen god (that would surely have quickened my recovery!). But instead I was fated to become a brown file.

Holding appointment slips; fees and charges in the handbag; my daughter began the ordeal of standing in queues, a never ending one for that.

Seated under the whirling fan, yet sweating profusely, I would look at my daughter standing in the queue shifting her limbs from one to another. Had it been normal times I would have rebuked her for putting on weight like a sumo wrestler but seeing the dedication with which she looked at my comfort over her ordeals, I watched her with renewed love.

Many days of tests, money paid and sweaty queues later; there it was THE BROWN FILE. I had become a brown file. There were tests and consultation with doctors that needed my presence but even there too that brown file would be there, majestically taking a place more important than my ailing body. I thought highly of the brown file when my daughter left me in the cool AC room of the lodge to get more appointments for doctors, tests and other things that awaited my twisted fate. I knew the brown file was taking my place in that long arduous queues, jostling with population that surpasses more than the total population of my whole country put together.

I marveled at the fact that we didn’t have to get in the queue for getting the reports of all those tests. Whichever building, whichever doctor we were referred to, the brown file appeared miraculously. I didn’t have to tell them anything about my ailment. The doctors and the nurses became like a soothsayer, knowing all about my ailments without any of us having to explain. I would have seriously considered the soothsayer title for these people in this hospital if only I had not seen my daughter chat with her friends worldwide; groped in front of her laptop. Technology! I was aware of it.

I wished to trade places with the brown file whenever I was taken in the big room where none of my kith and kin were allowed save me and the brown file. While the surgeons casted calm glances at the brown file, I was cut up like some goat in a slaughter house. And not to forget, I need to add the act of stitching my cuts like I was some tattered rags in some dark tailor’s corner. Tears stinging my eyes I eyed the brown file resting calmly in front of the computer.

My daughter never gave me the responsibility of peering into the contents of that file. She knows I cannot differentiate an A from B but there was something malignant in that file that carried my name but never blessed my ears. Whenever I asked her, she would smile and tell me about some of the naughty antics she did behind my back as a little kid. I would laugh with her but secretly I could see the pain she tried her best to hide from me.

That brown file has passed many hands; has seen me being cut up and stitched; has seen me sob in pain; has seen me smile with hopes of feeling better soon;has seen me weep silently in despair. Has my soul got in that brown file or have I actually become that brown file, I am yet to learn!


(First posted in WAB in May, 2012)

Fate

I was a little girl. Often when the moon tore through the flimsy curtain, I would follow my gaze through that single file of blue light and try to bury the squabbles from the other room where my dad and mom slept. I was too young to even link them to a cat and dog; all I thought whenever I heard their raised voices was nothing;I took it as natural as the moonlight streaming into my room. Before I could even comprehend what a family life is all about, my parents broke the walls of family as they decided to part ways.

Salty tears gushed in silent streams each night as I lay in either of my parent’s house. Snuggling in the warm blankets didn’t shed the coldness that enveloped my heart. Somewhere lurking in my ignorant heart was the knowledge of the incomplete home.

Years stomped on another and many blue lights of the moon did I tear with my steady gaze and empty arrows of grief from my heart. However, I learnt to live life in its normal course. I would take in my share of oxygen needed to stay alive and maybe I even contributed some amount of carbon dioxide to the atmosphere. Well, that’s what I remember hearing in my science classes. Two decades of struggling to fit into two different worlds, I sat back in the cold room one dark night.

It was a night like the one I had often handed myself to the slumber hours back in the days when my parents were together. The blue light of the moon wove through the stainless glass, partly lighting the corner in which I pretended to surrender myself to sleep. Maybe, although it was a different shade of blue I found it the same for the two souls who had decided to part ways long ago, now sat together in the other room.

Strange!

It’s a strange world we live in and stranger are the ways of life. Cancer had brought my dying mom and my remorse- filled dad together. On the day my mom freed her soul in the arms of the man who had denounced her long ago I fell into a troubled sleep. I tossed and turned like a kite let loose in the strongest of the wind.

“Why did he leave her then? Why was he back in that odd hour?” Many questions flooded the rivulet in my heart. Met I a soothsayer in my dream. “Let me explain,” he said in a voice so calm and regal that I was compelled to listen to him spellbound.

“In their previous life, your mom was a cat,” he paused. I found my eyes grow wide in recognition of knowledge. My mom never left the area around the hearth, hmmm…. So she was a cat after all. “and your dad was a flea living on her body.” No wonder my dad was all jumpy in whatever he did in life. “Your mom, the cat then lost him when she was scratching herself. He was passed onto a passing dog who passed him onto another dog and to another.” “And to another?” I added, not with a questioning tone but a bass voice that put a big fullstop to the number of felines my father, the poor flea was passed onto. That explained why he never stuck to one woman in his life.

As it was in his previous life, he was tossed from the arms of one woman to another. “Then why did he return to my mom in her last days?” The question slipped from my tongue before I could even arrange it as a thought in my brain. “Well, I’ve the explanation,” he said. “As your father, the flea was travelling on the back of a dog, he happened to pass by the body of your mom, the cat who had been crushed by the wheels of a heavy truck on that road. He had got caught in her fur in that last final breath of her body.

Fate!

I opened my eyes and went to check on my dad who was a silent visitor in my house. He slept with a peaceful look on his face as if he had found the place where he belonged.

I knew my journey to the crematorium had once again been planned.

(An old post I had posted long ago in WAB )

River of Poetry

River of poetry flows
Ceaselessly, uninterrupted
From your pen
And I sift through each word
Some rounded with metaphors strong
Some flattened with similes
And yet some more polished with puns
I continue sifting through each
Sometimes I splutter on some sentiments
Sometimes I drown in the rhythm
And sometimes, I float on serious thoughts
The river of poetry flows
Ceaselessly, uninterrupted
From your pen
And I wonder, how many whirlpool of emotions lies in your heart
To keep that river flowing ~

Children's World

Maybe it’s my age, I find myself thinking more about the childhood of the people around me than my own childhood these days. Alright! Age has robbed me of memories of my own childhood; it was way too long ago (I admit!). But seriously, isn’t childhood the cutest phase in a human’s life?

Forget my childhood, it was spent wallowing in the dirty lane of my hometown, nothing grand about it!

I was thinking about the little ones whose childhood phase I’ve been fortunate enough to be a part of and save it in my memory file. Since I became a Teenager, I’ve taken care of my little cousins (who hasn’t done that in Bhutan?) and today I can’t help reminiscing and living my life backwards (Yea, yea…I know, Time travel is dangerous!!)

I’m reliving some of the funny things I’ve been hurled at by the little ones:

This particular incident is one of my favorites and come what may, I can never forget this incident and I never forget to narrate this repeatedly.

My cousin was a toddler whose tiny lips were yet to be able to form words that would match up with the adult world around him. We used to live in Samdrup Jongkhar then. My aunty always used to stock up all necessary items in the house from her shopping trip to the Dantak canteen. My toddler cousin and I used to spend a lot of time together and when you stick together, you tend to irritate each other. I don’t remember exactly what I had done to irk him, but the firing I got from him is worth remembering. I still have a good laugh thinking of what he said in (cute little) Angry tone: “Chalambo, nan ji gi yekpa nalu mala may. Ji ni nan, apa ga yekni, apa yanan epped ga phani, nan peth than, shen than, chat ni, chat ni, tanteen nangka jan than, tshong thalay!!” (Was that a difficult dialogue? Let me give few clues: ‘Chalambo’ was his version of my full name. ‘Apa yanan’ is his apa’s car. Epped- speed. Tanteen- canteen. Now, read again! ;) )

Another time, I was on a holiday after completing my class twelve. There was a talk about enrolling my other little cousin in school that year. I guess I was trying to do my bit by preparing him for school mood. So, it was one evening, I had the little ones gathered around me and I was singing, “A..B…C…D” (yes, the alphabet song that we all know). I made them repeat after me for like, three times after which my smart little cousin quips, “oww ana, Boring showa, om ‘dari ngima’ jak khey lay!” Did we sing dari ngima after that, oh yes!!! And more than thrice!

Then they started school and knew their ABC’s well enough. I had just reached my uncle’s place in Phuentsholing and my little cousin who had returned from her kindergarten school eyed me, seeking attention. I just sat looking at her, wondering what she was up to. She then fetched her book and started reading, “A..P..P…L…E…Apple.” Pleased to hear her read so perfectly, I turned my whole attention to her. “C..U…P…kup,” she reads proudly. “Thawk” a knock lands on her tiny head and that’s enough of the showing off game.

My friends and family say that I live frozen in my past, and I have set up my permanent dwelling place in my past, well, they don’t say that for nothing.

I have many such anecdotes about my cousins but before they see this (but actually, none of my cousins follow my blog! So, no worries) and kill me, let me share an anecdote or two about my own children.

My eldest daughter was four years old when the Earthquake that wrecked havoc in Mongar happened. Both I and my husband were in our respective workplaces and my daughter was at home with the babysitter. When I came running home after the massive Earthquake, My daughter runs to me and says, “Mama, earthquake level two ga ofa na!” She was a huge game monster and all her talks revolved around the games she played. She had even measured the level of the Earthquake!!!

Another time, the whole bunch of our family were travelling together in a queue. My Apa’s car overtook our car and my daughter shouted, “Papa, increase your speed or we’ll be gameover!” So much of this Game Monster!

Let me narrate an anecdote of my other daughter too while I’m on that spree. My daughter had gone to play with her new friend. We had just moved to Bumthang then. Her friend, seeing her Ama coming home for lunch had screamed, “Ama ofa, Ama Ofa!” My little darling, thinking that her friend was telling her that her Mama is home, looks out of the window and religiously tells her new friend, “That’s not my Mama! My Mama is fat like a drum!” Oh my! Children! Save us from their words!!!

Coming to my son now, he just turned three yesterday. He pulls out his book and forcing himself on my lap, asks me to read it. That day, he had brought out his wordbook. So, we were flipping through the pages, he would point out to the pictures on the page and I would say the work aloud to him. We reached the page on ‘Food’. We began from pizza and fruits and then reached the picture of a fish. I pointed my finger at the fish and brought it to his mouth saying, “Fish…yum…yum…yum.” He grudgingly took my finger out of his face and yelled, “We don’t eat Fish. Fish pani ma tshorak..” He makes his ‘tshorak’ sound land in the imaginary water in front of us.

So many memories! So many children! So many cute things said………

Cooking up stories

Some nights I feel like the Seherzadi of the Arabian Nights. My little boy is a stickler for his favorite things and he has to cling on it, come what may.

The other night, he wanted a bed time story. "sto-ey, Mama sto-ey!" He insisted. I was tired to my bones having had rimdro at home but I knew better than to fight with him. So, in a tired tone, I began his all time favorite "Elephant and Moo-Cow" story (if I'm not mistaken, I did post this story not very long ago).

But a child will challenge you when you least have the strength to pull on. "No, arko sto-ey!" He jabs at my chest. I'm in no mood to conjure up a story yet I play on and ask him, "what story?"

"Ol Mac Domal" he giggles in glee. Gawd! Of all the rhymes in the world! But do I have a choice? So I start braying," Old McDonald had a farm e-I-e-I-o".

"NO! Not song! Sto-ey!" He knows what he wants. But I'm lost. Where do I get an Old MaDonald Story from? (Have you ever read one? Have you heard one?)

Lifting all my creativity from my sleep-ridden brain I start the story:

Long time ago, there was a man called Old McDonald. (Yea! My boy claps his tiny hands. I smile at him). Old McDonald had a farm. (He looks excited)
"Did he have animals?" He asks me.
An involuntary yawn escapes from my tired soul.

"Yes, he had lots of animals in his farm," I tell him. He is looking at me expectantly. He wants a story. Right! A proper story with a good plot I presume! Ush!

One day, as he went around his farm, he heard Baa-Baa-Black Sheep crying. My son jolts up and donning a sad face, asks me, " why was bac-sue crying?"

"Because.... Ummm... Because..." I am lost for want of the next event in the story while my son gives me his expectant smiles.

" because his little lamb was lost," I tell him, happy for finding my wit.

"Who took the little lamb?" He is about to cry. He is such a softie.

I continue the story in a solemn tone.

Old McDonald told Baa-baa-black sheep," please don't cry. I'll help you look for your little lamb."

So he went around his farm and met Moo-Cow sitting in the grass. "Moo-Cow, did you see Black Sheep's little lamb?" The cow shook her head.

He went further ahead and met a Horsey, pulling a cart. He asked, "Mr. Horsey, did you see the little lamb? The Horsey said he didn't.

He went on asking the pig, dog,cat and conjure up as many animals as you can to get your little one tired.

My boy is tired of all these charade but he is bent on finding the little lamb.

"Then..." He prods me to continue. He is almost crying. He is sad that nobody has seen the little lamb.

I know I have drawn enough straws to test his patience, so I twist the tale to give it a happy ending.

Finally, he met the Red Hen. When he asked her about the little lamb, the Hen asked him,"what does the little lamb look like?"

"Oh! Its fleece is white as snow," replied Old McDonald.

"Oh yes, I saw the Little white lamb following Mary to school," the Red Hen told him.

My son has a broad smile on his face. He already knows where we would find the lost lamb.

I continue the story, my tiredness already melted in my son's happy smile.

So Old McDonald and Baa-baa-black sheep went to Mary's school and found the little lamb there.

We sing the 'Mary had a little lamb' song together.

So, Black Sheep brought her little Lamb back to the farm. The little Lamb was tired from following Mary, so as soon as they reached Old McDonald's farm, she slid into her Mama's arms and feel asleep.

My son smugly slides into my arms and smilingly goes to sleep.

I am left staring at my little one with my eyes filled with love.

Winter Vacation

It was almost end of the school term. ONe lazy sunday afternoon as I was putting my son for his nap, the two girls busied themselves in their laptop games. After putting the boy down, I told the girls that I too am taking a nap. Sometime passed and the girls, except for the tussle for their turns didn't make much conversation. I had almost drifted into light sleep when I heard my little girl exclaim, "You know Angie, my friends are saying they are going to Bangkok during the vacation."
Without opening my eyes,I continue listening to their conversation. Angie replies, "Yea sii, even my friends. Some are going to Australia. Some are going to Singapore!" I hear her moan with regret, almost!

For an instance, I am raided by the urge to pop open my eyes and explain why can't we go for vacation to these places but I choose to play 'I'm sleeping' for some time, just to know where the conversation heads to.

"Owww, Mama and Papa can think of Samtse and Gelephu only for our break, right Angie??" The little one seeks support of disapproval of our family getaway destination. I feel sorry for these little girls who are in a race with their peers. I don't know how to tackle the case so I continue to pretend until I actually fall asleep.

It's been a month since their winter break started and I've brought them to Gelephu. Atleast we have escaped the cold winter of Thimphu. The following are some of the activities we have been carrying out this winter:

Ninda walking in the woods with my father.

Wanted to give Ninda an Elephant ride but my aunty says, "we don't ride on Memey Sangay." So this fake Elephant is all he got to ride on in Manas.

Reading, Reading and more Reading. We have finished the pile we brought from home. Have ordered some more books, Their papa is sending it this weekend. :)

I bought them Drawing books, paints and brushes. This is my Samdrup's favorite piece.

We never run out of ideas. Memey was making us roti for dinner, Angie asked a lump of dough and this is what she created. Ain't it beautiful?

Angie has discovered her green thumbs. Growing garlic, tomato and I don't know what else in her garden.

Can Angie getaway with something without Samdrup asking for it? Nah! So, Ta-dah! Samdrup has her own garden.

His sisters have it and he doesn't, that isn't fair! So, the little guy too gets his own tiny garden. Mind you, this little guy is so protective about his garden, he doesn't even allow birds to land on his garden. "Nana ko garden," he says beaming with happiness.

Their favorite activity. Laptop games and watching movies.

Well,there are many other things the four of us have been upto this winter. Gelephu is not Bangkok but we are happy to have eachother. But yes, these guys miss their Papa a lot. :(

Goodbye 2015

Good morning 2016.

So many wishes, new styles of greetings and of course blaring music from far and wide.

How was my New Year eve?

Totally uncool! I don't know whether to call it the last migraine of 2015, or the very first migraine of 2016 but yeah, I suffered with migraine way before 2016's entry.

But that was not to deter me from ushering in the New day without sending the wishes to my family and friends. I sent and responded the greetings and wishes on fb and Wechat and of course Sms till I could not face even the dimmed glare of my phone.

2015 is gone. It's going to take me some time to remember to write '16' instead of '15' but I know I'll get it perfected within the first week of January. ;)

Time to look at what 2015 has bestowed on me.

✔️My biggest achievement is that I completed reading 28 books. I could have proudly declared 29, but I m left with last two chapters of the book I'm currently on.

✔️La Ama finally happened and I am unabashedly proud of this small dream being fulfilled. More than anything, it is a gift to my Ama who has been a great strength and continues to be so.

✔️Met and made so many wonderful friends from within and outside. Every person I've met and interacted with has taught me valuable lessons in life. Even those who have not been so good to me, I tell you, seriously your negativity has fostered more positivity in my life.

✔️ My heart has enlarged its space for more than my family and friends. I've put in my whole heart to get things done for the #LightUpLangdurbi initiative. What I'm putting in isn't big, but I know this is good enough and this will definitely push me into doing more of such things.

✔️ Been around to schools and two colleges to talk about #ReadingAndWriting. Seeing the children inspired and motivated (because they got to see that even somebody like me could walk around calling myself a 'writer', why couldn't they?) ;)

✔️ I've been home. Have taken care of my family. My children are fed and clothed and loved dearly.

This has been a blessed year. Thank you 2015.

Ninda tells a story

Being away from home for almost a month now, we have run out of books but my kids won't let me sleep until I read them a story.

So, we struggle to grasp the tab from little Ninda who has declared full ownership of this gadget for his temple run games. This little guy can really flick his tiny fingers through the gross- looking dungeons, I tell you. Well, I've always been a stickler for denying love for such games I guess.

As I was telling you, the three of us struggle to borrow his tab for about twenty minutes to find nice bedtime stories online. After much push and pull and tears and yells ( doesn't sound like a picture perfect moment, ewww!!!! But wait, it lasts only till the buffering stops to a cool display of online read aloud stories and the tiny tyrant too is deeply engrossed in the stories.

Good riddance of the temple run for another half an hour at least!!!

We browse through stories, laughing and giggling with the characters. I daren't choose stories with ugly creatures in it. Ninda gets scared too quickly and starts pulling the tab for that gross game of his.

But today, his sisters ( after listening to four Peepa Pig stories) are already dreaming of ice creams and lollipops while this little guy is busy flicking his fingers on the tab, tossing the ugly creature across the dungeon of no end.

I'm sleepy but can't afford to fall asleep yet! Not with this energetic little one still up and about. (Sigh! The life of a mother!)

To tire him out, I snuggle close to him and pester him for a story. "So-ri?" He seems flabbergasted hearing me plead for a story. From him.

I keep on with the show. He relents finally! Without even casting an eye on me (fingers still busy in the dungeon).

"There was a girl," he begins.
"Uh-huh," I nod to probe him to continue.

"Owwwww I'm dead!" He huffs in anger, continuing the game without wasting a second and the girl of his intended story, long forgotten.

"What about the girl?" I test him and his tiny patience.

"She cried!" He declares in a non-committed tone. Well, even he knows that all that girls do, is cry. He has seen all the females in the house cry. No blaming him for picking that plot for his story.

"Why was she crying?" I ask, sounding very pegged onto the story.

His fingers flicking, he says, "she wanted....." He takes a long pause. I don't think he is cooking up the next event for his story, it's just that his game is done for another time.

"Dolls?" Tatu, who I thought was fast asleep suggests. Looks like even she was trying to follow the little one's first attempt at telling a story.

"Tatu, you tell the story!" He orders and turns to the other side, leaving me with no space to pester him.

Kadrinche Mewang Cho

Some four decades ago, a country, just a mere speck on the big wide world stood away from the clamor and chaos of cities wanting to spurt ahead, racing with each other; competing with developmental activities; spreading their boundary like smashing down a heaped plate of rice. While the wide world was jostling for power and pawns, this country lay hidden in its rich forest, silently prodding in its own snail’s pace; contended with the bounty and blessings of Mother Nature.

People woke up with the cockerel announcing the daybreak. They toiled in their fields; ate what they grew and lived with the cattle in the same structure they called home. They knew not that the world was not flat as they assumed and it wasn’t the sun, which made rounds of the earth. Water was what flowed in the rivers and streams and never something that could run in one’s own house. When they fell sick, they depended on the shamans and man of God to cure them. Various ailments had no names; all was attributed to the unseen ghosts and spirits. Horses were vehicles of the rich and the affluent as many walked barefoot with callused feet never fathoming something called shoes even existed.

In such hour, a man who was pre-destined to be a leader beyond comparison took birth in the Female Wood Sheep year. The country rejoiced the glorious birth of the young prince. It is said that a great Terton Drukdra Dorji had already prophesied “ In the hidden lowland of the southern country, where three valleys merge in a beautiful place called Womtrong, in the female wood sheep year, a boy of unsurpassed character will be born. He will ascend the Golden Throne at the age of 20 and take his country to the greatest heights of success unopposed.”

The age mentioned in the prophecy had been a calculation as per the lunar calendar. As was fated, his teenage shoulder bore the burden of the country after the untimely passing away of his Father, THE FATHER OF MODERN BHUTAN.

At seventeen, the young king stood with dignity at Changlimithang ground and only a man of destiny could have conjured up the powerful speech that bespoke the wisdom that surpassed the age he carried in his young heart. Toiling on the seeds of development sown by his father, the visionary leader walked with the gaiety of a leader who was to lead the country from its dark tunnel of isolation to the open field of light and illumination.

This King walked with dreams in his mind and his subjects in his heart. From the very start of his reign, he placed his people in the forefront and the enlightened father led his countrymen towards the right approach morally and ethically, taking baby steps to ensure his children walked in tandem with his vision. He didn’t make the destination evident but he ensured his subjects knew the path well as he personally walked alongside them. Nobody ever fathomed that gradually; he was leading his people to understand the power of their existence, which he always asserted as more important than his right over them as a king. He was a man who used his power to empower the citizens of his country.

Slowly, he widened the door that his late father had opened to the outside world and Bhutan began to drink in the glory of guided empowerment. Villages met villages with roads snaking between them. Hamlets connected to another hamlet widening the social network. The paths where horses trotted before, vehicles zoomed.

Dark days were visibly coming to an end. The houses in distant hamlets glowered akin to the stars in the dark sky. Winding farm roads connected the remotest village to the nearest town in the district. The products from their fields set on a journey to markets ringing in money in the pockets of the growers. Cattles moved away from the dwellings of humans. Sanitation and hygiene became an issue worth being knowledgeable about. Healthcare facilities were set up in every village. Different ailments had names that came with scientific cures. Running water streamed in through the many taps in every household. People came to know where the sun vanished as night fell and they got rid of the fear of falling from the edge of the flat world. Bells summoned more and more children to schools mushrooming in every nook and corner of the country illuminating the otherwise dark days.

The Weary Father stopped not and stooped never. He taught many valuable aspects of life by being the exemplary figure himself. He taught his people that emotional well-being is more important than economic booms. His this thought has resonated in every corners of the world and now amidst struggles for power and greed for more wealth, Nations are halting to understand the concept of GNH, an idea that generated from that speck of a country which the world never knew existed. Now, as every country, raided and butchered by the rising need of economy’s boom and doom stop to understand the reverberations of this noble concept; they marvel how a simple concept such as this can make humungous difference between a robotic life and a life truly lived in its right essence.

The concept of Gross National Happiness is his profound gift to the world. If only, all the leaders of the world chose happiness over materialistic wealth; wouldn’t that make our Mother Earth smile her widest smile?

Being happy is one thing but it definitely doesn’t mean not choosing to walk into battlefield merely because we call ourselves “happy people”. Our Beloved King has proven his stand as the true son of Palden Drukpa by not merely choosing to be a King who sat on his throne but by choosing to lead our country in getting rid of the imbecile pests that endangered the safety of our country. Majestically leading the army, not a hint of fear for his own safety, he led the other courageous sons of our country to the battlefield. But such is the modesty of his victory that rather than blowing the trumpet of his glorious win; he chose to mourn the people who perished in the unfortunate battle between the impossible and the imposters.

Prince Siddhartha left the glorious palace in search of truth. Our Beloved His Majesty sought the truth of our sovereignty and gained it with the ease just like Lord Buddha attained enlightenment sitting under a Bodhi tree. In retrospect, we look at these acts as miraculously achieved feats only possible because they were specially born for such feats.

Time tested him and each time he proved the reason for his existence was but to lead his people to the glory of their own powers. He held open his palm, offering his people the choices they not even dreamt of, lest ask for it. Bhutan evolved from an isolated and ignorant country to a country of equal intelligence as that of the developed world during the glorious reign of His Majesty the Fourth Druk Gyalpo. Celebrating the silver jubilee of his glorious reign, Bhutanese people realized the power of the flick of a fingertip. Clicking on the remote control swapping channels on cable television to flicking one’s fingers on the computer to get the information from the World of World Wide Web and dot coms, Bhutan ushered in modernity.

Just when People immersed themselves in the vain world of the illusionary world of the Internet and various television channels, our King left us baffled by inviting the concept of Democracy. Never in history would we find a man in power divulge the secret that would put his own stand in jeopardy. Such is the grandeur of our King.

And while the people stood, mouth agape, unable to comprehend the special gift the King had just bestowed upon them; he voiced out his decision to abdicate the Throne to make way for the next Monarch in line. Such selfless man, if not God, is definitely nothing less than a God.

Quietly in his retired stance, had it been any other being, he would have become just a monument, a memento of importance but no! His gift of GNH prods our country deeper and deeper into the wide world. His sacrifices for our sovereignty are a discipline of patriotism that every Bhutanese carry in their hearts with utmost pride. His unusual gift of democracy is a sacred task each Bhutanese revere with paramount magnitude.

Bhutan Then and Bhutan Now sounds and looks very different but in every essence, it reflects the dedication and sincerity with which our Fourth Druk Gyalpo Jigme Singye Wangchuk propelled it forward. In every essence, it radiates the hopes and visions with which our Great Father designed the architecture of our country. Bhutan is one of the most beautiful countries in the world, a perfect blend of tradition and modernity, only because our leader emboldened it with their vigilant care and consciousness.

Therefore, as the country celebrates the completion of a rabjung of this great visionary father, all agree with our Beloved people’s king Jigme Khesar Namgyal Wangchuk, who affirmed “There has never been a King like His Majesty Jigme Singye Wangchuk in our history and there will never be a greater King ever.”

Kadrinche Mewang Choe for giving us heaven on earth.

A bed time Story

There are nights when I wish I had all the money in the world to be able to buy loads and loads of books for my kids. Especially, the nights when we land up having no new books to read for the nightly reading time. It is then I need to put on my “Creative Head” and conjure up stories to fill in their “hungry for stories” pangs before bedtime.

My Two year old is also totally into the books and stories thingie now and wouldn’t allow me to sleep in peace if I don’t tell him stories of his liking. Well, my son is a big “animal lover”. He absolutely loves them. Another thing he cannot be seen without is his Badminton racquet. Even when he is busy with other stuff, he has to carrying his badminton racquet and shuttlecock. So, here is his favorite night time story these days. (You can quit reading if it bores you ;) Just felt the need to share this story so that you too can be motivated to conjure up stories with the stuff your kids love and don’t forget, your little kiddo has to feature in the story. Keep it Real! )

“Once an eaphant (elephant) badly needed a friend to play with. He searched the entire forest looking for a playmate. In a meadow, filled with green grasses, he met a ‘Moo Cow’ (cow). He asked the Moo Cow, “ Would you like to play with me?” The Moo Cow immediately agreed but set her own rules.

“ I want to play Badminton!” she declared.

“Bu…u…ut, I don’t want to play Badminton,” pouted the Eaphant.

“Then I don’t want to play with you,” Moo Cow said and went looking for a partner. She saw a Horsey (horse) running playfully in the meadow.

“Horsey, come lets play Badminton,” as soon as Moo Cow said this, Horsey readily accepted the offer.

“Where are the Racquets?” asked he.

“I don’t have!” Moo Cow mooed Loudly. “But I know Ninda has it,” she added, dragging Horsey towards Ninda’s house.

Knock…knock…knock…they knocked on Ninda’s door. (knock using your knuckles on your little one’s forehead.But do it lightly!)

Nobody answered.
Then they pressed on the doorbell. Tr….r…rr……iii…..nnn…..ngg…..(Press on your little one’s nose, they love this and gurgling giggles is guaranteed).

Ninda was playing with his truck inside. He heard the doorbell and called out, “mamaaaaa…..Someone’s at the door.”

Mama opened the door (Put your palm across your little one’s face and act out the opening of the door) to find Moo Cow and Horsey standing outside.

“Ninda, give me your Badminton racquet,” Moo Cow snatched the Racquet while Horsey asked politely and took the other.

“Mamaaaa…I don’t have any racquet to play,” Ninda cried.

Mama took the racquets from the two animals scolding them, “These are my Ninda’s!” and put it on….

“The cupboard,” Ninda adds. That’s where they normally keep the racquets.

Quickly Mama brought out the football and so Moo Cow, Horsey, Ninda and Mama played football.

“Bhhhuuuutttaaannnnn ni?” Ninda adds. He has watched the recent football matches between Bhutan and other countries. So he never forgets to cheer for Bhutan whenever he kicks his football.

“And the four of them played football happily,” Mama ends the story.

“Good night,” Mama kisses Ninda.

“Seeep tight,” Ninda responds kissing Mama back.

P.S. This is a fun way of putting your little one to bed. Think of your own creative stories involving your little ones and the stuff they love.

Blue Moon NIght

Tomorrow night is a special one if one can rely on the authenticity of the news that floods on the facebook walls. It is supposed to be a BlueMoon night. Isn’t that cool! I’ve heard the cliché,”Once in a blue moon” but never actually thought that there indeed would exist a night such as this in reality.

Well, if not a blue moon, it would still be a full moon night. The full moon with all its shimmering beauty often makes me step out and just sit on the verandah, watching it but the fifteenth day of the sixth month of the lunar calendar has never been deemed beautiful since 2012. How can I bask in its beauty when it was on this day that my Ama chose to leave us? This year on this day, it would be my third year as an Orphan. I know I should not dare to call myself an orphan when I still have the blessings of my father who does more than his share of parenting even though I’ve become a parent myself. But no matter how many years I catch on, I’ll remain my mother’s baby.

Since I lost her on 2nd Aug, 2012 (which was the fifteenth day of the sixth month of the Lunar Calendar), I have known the black hole in my life that has been created by her physical absence from my life. The more I missed her each day; I found a change taking place in me.

Mothers are amazing miracles of life. They not just make you; they build you too!

What do I mean by this? Well the explanation is as simple as the line. Firstly, they make you by giving birth and physically bringing you into this world.

But They not just make you……

From the first word, the first step to the first instance of love, she has been the witness of the molding of you into the human being that you become.

So they build you……

You become the love she has sown into your infant heart. You become the faith that she has put you on your toddler feet. You become the hope she has yielded in your adolescent eyes. You become the dream she has harvested in your adult life. You become what she has made of you.

I don’t know how many of you would agree with me on this. I know we all have different kind of hearts although it is the same organ with the same functions implanted in our body. Coming back to what I was saying, I’m what I’m owing to what my mother has made me.

She gave birth to me: she is the mother.
She taught me love, hope and dreams: she is my mother.

But before she left me to go to the other realm, she made me believe in myself and planted the wings of dreams to put me to flight. I still remember that twinkle in her eyes as she read a piece of article I had concocted about our journey to Vellore from Chennai. I still hear the jingle of her laughter and I miss a heartbeat! If only she could have been here with me to read my maiden novel, “La Ama” she would know what she means to me! But I know, from where she is, she has read my feelings.I now fly with the wings of Dreams my mother has sewn on my heart before she left me. Along with the wings, she left a whisper, “I’m always here, right in your heart! My blessings are with you, right in your heart!”

So, on this Blue Moon night, I would dare to sit outside, unlike the past years I’ve shied away from the moon of this particular night, and maybe look for her in this special celestial body. People believe stars to be the ones they have lost in life, I’ll try my luck with the extraordinary Moon and fetch her there.

Questions! More Questions!

Questions, questions, questions….these days I’m bombarded with questions by my kids. “Mama, why…Mama what…mama where…mama how?” and it goes on from the moment they open their eyes till they finally close their eyes and surrender themselves to Goddess of sleep.

My two-year-old son is the first one to wake up. Well, the moment I slide out of the bed, he knows and he is up. He is the one with whom I spend the most time with and even in his limited vocabulary, he has learnt to tag “Ong? Ong?” becoming a "question master."

I tell him to sit and he will ask me, “Sit, ong?” then only sit.

I ask him to eat and he is like,” eat, ong?”

“No, ong?” “Yes,ong?” so many ‘ongs’ fill our busy day.

And if it is something he wants badly, in his cute tone, he adds,” Drikpay?”

The two of us land up going to the shop right across the road, everytime we walk in, he is like,” Juice, ong? Ong?” While I stand staring at me without any affirmations, he will add, “Drikpay?”with a hint of a pout and I land up buying whatever he asks for.

But the most interesting questions comes from my little daughter. She is different from the other two. Most of the time, you will see her with a pencil and a book, asking me spellings of stuff that she writes about. She makes these cute drawings of the family members and friends and he writes stuff explaining those drawings.

Her question aren’t limited to the spellings she needs to fill in her page. It crosses all boundaries and subjects. The other day, two of us were seated across each other. She was, as usual, writing and drawing while I was flipping through an old album. I took out an old photograph of my husband and me and looked at it, not realizing that my little girls’s eyes were on me. She takes me by surprise by asking me, “Mama why did you marry papa?”

I smile and tell her, “because I fell in love with him.”

“But you won’t fall in love with him anymore, right?” she asks solemnly. I ask her why she thinks so and pat comes her reply, “Look at his fat belly, do you think you love that?”

Seriously!

I laugh and she returns to her drawing before I can draw her attention to my own chubby and aged body. I let it pass (lol).

The same night, as we say our good nights after the bed time reading is over, she asks me, “Mama is it only girls who give birth?”

“Yes!” I answer sleepily.

“and a boy marries and girl and girls give birth?” she continues. I nod, wishing she would just put her wild questions to rest and allow me to sleep.

“Mama, if a boy marries a boy, will that boy have baby?” she asks with her voice deep with concern.

“No!” I respond wondering where did that idea come from.

“What if a girl marries a girl?” “Nope!”

“I don’t think I want to have a baby!” she exclaims in the dark as I put off the reading lamp.

“Sleep. It’s way past your bed time!” I scold and kiss her good night.

I hardly get a chance to wonder why she said that as my eyelids come crashing down, heavy with sleep.

These are just few instances, there are many such ‘unfathomable for her age’ questions she can conjure up and leave you totally bemused.

Asking what about my elder daughter? Well, she has a lot of questions and it depends on a season of something she goes through. Currently she is in the “quiz season”. She would quiz you on thousand and one things.

All in all, I’m bracing myself for the wonders of these little ones and enjoying every moment God grants me to be with them.

Interruptive Ninda

It’s way past his bed-time. My little boy, who has to go to his bed at 9:30 exactly each night is bubbly and all awake.

Reason?

Well, the monsoon is here and with the bounty of showers from heaven, the water from the taps becomes a scarcity with the ‘pipes being washed away at the source’ (as my house owner claims). It’s been three days without water, so my family had the full audacity to barge uninvited to my sister’s place for dinner. And well, dinners are always a noisy affair, with lots of talk that runs way into the usual bed-time hour.

So, on our drive back home, my son had a few winks of sleep which eroded as we noisily got out of the car to back in the bed.

Let me not deviate; so, my boy is all wide-awake and I know it will take more than our normal nursery rhymes to put him to bed. So, I ask him, “Story?”

“So-ri?” (That’s his way of saying story) he grins in the dark. My eyes are drooping with sleep. But I put all my energy to tell him a story.

I begin telling him the story of “The Enormous Turnip”. As soon as I mention the Old man planting turnip seeds, he starts throwing the comforter and screaming, “Book….Book!”

Grudgingly, I get up to get that book from the pile we keep in our room. It isn’t there!

Reluctantly, I slip out of the room, knowing that I have to find that book if I’m to put him to sleep.

Luckily, I find it on Tatu’s study table. I happily dash back into the covers with the book.

“Nana (That’s what he likes calling himself) Porni!” (Nana will read) He snatches the book from me. I glare at him. He knows I’m not in a mood to play so sheepishly he returns the book to me.

“OlMan,ong? Ong?” he nudges me, kissing me, knowing that he has vexed me.

So, I begin from the Old Man planting the seeds. While I’m reading, he sees the mouse nibbling in the garden. “Mouse, Mama, Mouse!” he points in the page.

“Ong mouse,” I respond and continue with the story.

“Abhi ong?” he asks as I flip the page. His tongue cannot pronounce ‘Old Woman’, Poor Nana!

My sleep is totally gone as I try to show him how the old couple labored to get the enormous turnip out. He likes going , “Uggh!!!!Uggghhhhhh” pretending to help root out the turnip.

Then on the page where the Old Woman is asking the boy to help them, he doesn’t listen to what I’m reading. He is busy eyeing the ball in the boy’s hand. “Ball! Ong?” he asks me.

“Nana Ball khelni!” (Nana wants to play ball!) At such ghastly hour of the night! No Nana, I reason out. To get him back in the story, I ask him, “ Who is this?”

“Girl!” he answers and beams, coming back to the story mood.

We reach the page where the boy is asking the girl to help them. He points out to the shoes of the boy, which is placed on the fence. “Boy bo! Boy Bo!” (the boy is going to fall) he says. I ignore him and try to turn the page. He slips his tiny finger and returns to the page saying, “Boy…drain…bo..”

“Gewala, Boy bo ni Nana?” I agree with him. Then I finally get to the last page where the whole team is eating the turnip for tea.

“Nana, Khaneee” (Nana wants to eat too!) This boy is too much I tell you!

I quickly put down the book, switch off the reading lamp and cuddle with him, “Ssshhhhh, Nana, Sleep!” I coax him.

“Seeping?” he asks innocently.

Well, those of you who have read the post earlier than this should know what commences then! ☺

Another Night and some more Nursery Rhymes.

Sometime in 2012, I remember writing a post titled “Nights and Nursery Rhymes” and since the time I posted about the Bloggers Meet I’ve this post dancing on my mind. I better get the post out on my blog before it breaks me up with it’s break dance moves. ☺

Coming back to Nights and Nursery Rhymes, when I posted that I was a young mother of just two daughters. Much has changed in my life since that post. The biggest change- my son! Who has come in our lives bringing in the gaiety we needed much.

Before his arrival, my nightly adventure of singing nursery rhymes ( I call it adventure ‘cause for somebody with my voice quality, it is an adventure, alright?) with my daughters duo had silently progressed to nightly reading cozy up time. Thanks to all these bedtime reading, my six year old can read unaided now.

But the Nursery rhyme chanting days have returned. I do it for my sonny boy while the daughters team wait for their daily dose of reading session.

I just realized that my boy’s pick of rhymes differs from his sisters and the length is very short compared to all the night-long singing my girls made me suffer into.

My boy just needs me to tug him in his beddings and then he turns towards my side and hugs me tight. Then he says, ”Seeping?”

That’s the cue! He actually wants me to sing, “ Are you sleeping?” He waits impatiently for me to finish the “ding…ding…dong!” Excited he kisses me on the lips and sheepishly grinning at the same time asks for “Donny Donny”.

I continue, ”Johnny Johnny, Yes Papa” and smile to his act of nodding and shaking his head to the song. But the best is the last part of this song when he goes, “Ha..ka…ka..” instead of “Ha…ha…ha..” He looks so adorable with his “Ha…Ka…ka..” so I nibble on his ears and he shoves me with a nasty,”Dumpy!”

So I start the ‘Dumpy’ song. Don’t know what it is? Never heard of it? It’s Humpty Dumpty silly. Caught You!

So I sing the "Humpty Dumpty" song. When that comes to an end, he asks, "Bag su?"

Well, his infant tongue can conjure up his own connotations. " Bag su", I assume comes from "...bags full" from the "Baa..Baa...Black Sheep."

I sing that too. He is a naughty little boy, my dear boy. He climbs on me and kisses me again and again till I threaten him that I will stop singing if he doesn't stop that. He instantly drops down to his spot on the bed.

"Moo...Moo Cow!" he orders. And I sing, "Old Mac Donald had a farm....Moo..moo..here and a moo...moo..there..."

Before I complete the song, he turns to the other side and he is snoring. Isn’t that cute?

Anyway, I continue the song and sing a final round of “Are you sleeping” just before switching on the reading lamp for my eagerly waiting daughters.

A story/ Book later, they too are in their dreams and finally I pick up my book and do my share of reading for the day.

Good night!

Blogger's Meet

All 34 of the bloggers who made it to the Bloggers Meet recently have blogged about it sharing the nostalgia of having met many wonderful people. And I seem to be the only one, left behind ( nothing Unusual!). As I type this, I'm reminded of some typical speeches we make during many such occasions. Take for instance, you are attending a farewell dinner and you just go there because you are required to. Suddenly, you find everybody taking turns in giving speeches and you are the next one in line. You go all red, thousand streams of hot blood shoot to your face and you go red! But they don't spare you, you got to make that speech. Well, if smart enough, you would clear your throat as if getting the words right out of your system and then making a solemn face you utter,"When hearts are full, words fail!so Safe Journey and we'll miss you!" There! You've done it! and done it efficiently, making the person whose farewell it is shed tears of sadness.

Coming to the point, well, I just couldn't hatch an alibi line like that and sit with nothing on it. To be brutally honest,I tend to be doing nothing but sitting on things now. But I had to get this Meet talked about in my blog too ( didn't I just attend a Blogger's Meet? So to qualify as one, I ought to! )

Shucks! This is not the reason I've started typing this. I'm doing it to celebrate all the wonderful souls I met. And I can't help but put down the list of people I connected with but mind you, the chronological order in which I mention each does not in anyway reflect the order of importance I'm placing on each individual.

First one ( seriously) I need to thank Rima Reyka for nudging me out of the shell I've cocooned myself in. From Singapore she writes to me,"Will you come for the Blogger's meet if I come all the way from here?" And she is in Bhutan already! How can I not go? So I finally click "going" button on the event's page.

But then after that I see my heart in a ballroom with many tiny fluttering butterflies whistling to nervous jingles. Do I qualify to be called a blogger? I hardly write substance! and Haven't written one in ages. I scroll through the list of people who have already signed in their attendance. I see Luzee, Kuenza, Rekha, Dasho Lingi and many others. I'm tempted. Like seriously tempted like a High School girl falling in love for the first time. I've read these people's write-ups and I wanted to know them personally so that I could flaunt to people that I know people of their like.

So, I pump in the air of a blogger ( although my heart yells at me, 'No, you aint!') and walk proudly out of the car. The first person I meet is Dawa Knight. This young lad, who blogs bluntly on many issues and deserves applause for the voice he is. "Dawa?" I offer my hand, "I'm Chador." I don't wait for him to mull on "Who Chador?" for long. I simply add, "This looks like the venue for our meeting, right?" Well, this ought to tell him I'm a fellow blogger too, atleast in attendance. :)

As I climb up the stairs, I meet up with Sonam Dema and Peky Samal (Cherished journalists from Bhutan Times times- I used to read their articles and envy their writing style). I'm atleast glad that I know Sonam Dema from our childhood, so with two of my soldiers to shield my nervous heart, I walk in with a pretentious boldness.

....Then on, it's like the curtain has been raised and all I could do is wander here and there hoping to catch hold of everyone in the room. I meet Kuenza, I land up telling her my whole geography and history. I sit with Rekha and before I glide onto others or she leaves me, I tell her how I've followed her blog and upon her book reviews been hitting the book stores to buy the books. I easily connect with Ata Tshering Dorji, I hope he remembers me now though! and Dasho Lingi.

Then I open up to whole bunch of people in the room. I met Amrith Sir of DYS, who is a walking Inspiration. Two Ghalleyni's whom I pulled into my circle of relationship. Langa Tenzin and Sogyel were like two acquaintances and talking to them didn't feel like it was the first time we were meeting.

I didn't touch anyother drink than the Iced-tea I had carried to the room but I was drunk with the euphoria of meeting so many enthusiasm packed individual. Tharchen surely is such motivating force to reckon with. I feel sorry that there were still few left with whom I didn't get a chance to talk but I did smile at everybody and made a silent connection. It felt like such a familiar jaunt that I didn't flinch a bit while asking Dumcho Wangdi sir to reach me home. And Lobzang Nima, it didn't take us much effort to connect- Teachers that we are, I mean I "was". Hehe.

It was worth taking that journey to that Meet. And If you are asking me, no photographs? Well,this proves my nervousness-Ta..da! I forgot my phone in the car and my husband had driven it home after reaching me to the venue.

But next meet, I am not going to be nervous! I'm gonna be there with my phone and take a lot of pictures with the wonderful lot!


Passu and Nawang Sir are their usual, two men I always look up to.

Happy Birthday Ninda

Dear World,
Today my boy turns two and it has been terrific two years of journey we have had together. I didn’t realize what I was missing in life till he came in our lives. He is a bundle of energy and keeps our otherwise dull home filled with activities.

As we seal the second year, I want to list down what he has learnt and adopted:

To begin, before even learning to call out to us, his parents, he learnt to call out to his elder sister,”Angie”. But now he is more of “Tatu”, his other sister. There was a time, till few weeks ago, when he would throw all his naughty activities to Tatu. He got so good at pointing his acts to Tatu that there was a time he peed in his pants and while changing, I asked him who wet his pants,”Tatu” came the unabashed answer.
But he adores his sisters. Both. The cutest moment is when I find all three of them, groped in front of Angie’s laptop, watching One Direction Songs.

He is a big ONE DIRECTION fan, just like his sisters. “Mey…mo, mey….mo…ji” he sings along with his sisters. (That’s the best his infant tongue can make do of ‘midnight memories’). He recognizes ONE DIRECTION whenever they come on TV. “Mey..MO….Angie, Tatu, Mey..mo,” he points out to his sisters.

But the songs channel is on only after his sisters get home from school. Other times I’ve to keep the Norling channel on. He looveeess the advertisements of the Bhutanese movies. I secretly feel he has fallen head over heels in love with the ‘Seryang’ girl. You should see his adoration filled smiles whenever the Seryang movie Ad is on.

Not to forget, he is a big Ap Bokto fan. We even have Ap Bokto poster in our bedroom. ☺

He has graduated from his JCB books to Dr. Suess books. His favorite is the “fox in socks”. Ask him to show you any particular page from the book, he’ll show you exactly what you ask him. (Am I proud?) Currently he has embraced DORA book as his bed time favorite. “Dolo” he says, picking the book. Awww! He ‘s sooo cute. He identifies all the characters in the Dora book and never forgets to shake his little finger whenever we come on a page with Swiper on it. “Swiper no swiping,” I say it for him while he shakes his finger.

He loves playing “Temple Run” on his father’s phone and because I deleted all games from my phone, he simply uses it to take selfies. Oh my! You should see him pout for the camera.

Well, he has his favorite Pooh-bear bag, which he religiously carries while going to reach his sisters to school. Yes! Every morning he has to go to school,carrying that bagpack. Ain’t that sweet!

And a boy that he is, He can’t resist watching ‘Jostling’ (that’s his term for wrestling) whenever he sees it while surfing the channel on TV.

And he is biggest fan of all kinds of things that moves on wheels. He likes being taken on ride and points to every ,”Dozu”…..”Trak”….”Tacktey”….”baass” (Guess what are all these automobiles???? :0 )

But best of all, he simply loves turning towards me and taking me in his embrace whenever he is around me and people he is around me all the time. ;)

Happy Birthday dear boy! You are what keeps us alive!

Raising a Son

He came in our world on 31st March, 2013- my son! Friends who heard about his birth congratulated me and remarked,” Now your family is complete!” To them, I want to knock and ask,” Hello! What is your definition of complete?”

I cannot deny the fact that two years earlier, I never thought that my family was incomplete. But this definitely doesn’t mean that the birth of my son was no joyous moment.

My husband grinned the most upon learning that we had a son. “Phew! After eight years of being bullied around by three women, I badly needed a male partner!” he boomed with happiness (only time will tell whose side he is gonna be on ;) )

But there are reasons that called for celebratory reunions:
1. Three grand daughters later, he is the first grandson on my husband’s side. Well, another granddaughter has been added after him. So! Yippeee he is the star grandchild!
2. I don’t need to fret and fume about going to school. Which woman wouldn’t want to stay back home and giggle and bask in the glory of one’s home?
3. Finally, blues have come up in otherwise pink and purple clothes and things ( a welcome break!)

Now coming to the main debate: is raising a son different from raising a daughter?

Asking me? The answer is a big YES!!!

How? Here’s how?:
1. Physically you have to be wriggling around like a fish. A son is more physically active than daughters. Any guests coming in our house exclaims,” oh my! Even a fish doesn’t move around like your son does.” So you can imagine how much running around I’ve to do. Excuse me! Did you just ask me about my weight? Ahem! That’s owing to all the food I get to ingest only because I’ve the luxury to be home. ;)
2. Ever thought being caught in a traffic jam is the worst thing? Try a son! All the rooms in the house is blocked by countless numbers of bikes, monster trucks and cars. The whirring wheels of the Monster Trucks, the uninterrupted songs form the bikes, the screeching sounds of the racing cars…Real traffic is nothing, trust me!
3. Bye bye nap times. A son naps for shorter periods, keeping you on your toes all the time.
4. Boys are born with the need to climb and poke and break stuff. They’ll climb on the windows, on the TV stand, on dressers, well suffice it to say, everywhere. So, you need to be alert at all times.
5. There is more stomping and screaming in the house. The boy stomping all around and the girls screaming from these disturbances.

IT is different but beautiful all the same. A son or a daughter doesn’t matter, so long as you have kids at home, it lends a different mood to the house. Enjoy their childhood while you can ‘cause they grow up so fast!!!

P.S This is definitely my personal experience and not to be taken for serious research on the topic ;) :)

papa! We miss you.

The sun is an orange fireball
Castaway in the distant horizon.
"Sun" I point
To my son saddled on my shoulder.

"Papa?" He replies.

Eyes downcast, I walk
Fresh gravels grovel long under my feet.
"Stones" I pick it up
To my son saddled on my shoulder.

"Papa?" He asks again.

Tall arecanut trees stands
Stretching out their head to the sky.
"Doma" I show
To my son saddled on my shoulder.

"Papa?" He utters sadly.

Twittering birds hover in the sky
Dark specks flying back home.
"Birds" I yell out
To my son saddled on my shoulder.

"Papa?" He snivels.

A twitch in my heart
I yearn for his presence.
"Come" I bring him on my lap
My son who was saddled on my shoulder.

We sit, facing the Orange ball
Counting the small pebbles
Looking through the arecanut trees
With the birds flying back home.

"Papa!"we both utter together
Missing him the same.

(Written while vacationing in gelephu with my kids, while their papa toiled hard in the cold harsh winter of Thimphu. Our son Ninda loves him a lot!)

A dormant me waking up.

Well, due apologies to people who blared the wake up alarm to this dormant blogger( I wouldn't call myself that, seriously!)

But, Passu, just to let you know that my reverence to your existence and your persistence is real, I thought it was time to pen down something.

Well, you've asked me," is motherhood so bad that you had to delete your blog??"

My reaction to that," oh my god! How did you even think like that???" (I m smiling, so boss, it simply means I m just exaggerating this reaction ;-). )

But tell you what, this past one year has been more than a frenzied heights of craziness. Otherwise, what in the world would have made me leave the job I loved the most?

My friends yell at me," oh! You are so lucky, you get to stay at home and relax!"

Hello! When you live in a place like Thimphu with three kids, two of whom goes to private schools , your hole in the pocket can't be sealed by staying at home.

Financial holes, let's not discuss it!

But emotionally too, the year was packed with so much of statics. There were times, I cried like a worthless buffoon. There were times I cursed my existence. There were times I compared myself with my friends and felt hopelessly unlucky.

The most difficult time would be, when people would ask me," where do you work?" Shamelessly, I would reply," I m a teacher!" The next question would follow," which school?" Putting a huge boulder of strength on my heart, corking the ready made tears, I would reply," I WAS a teacher, now I stay at home."

Yet! Each time I sat, nursing my sick kids, I would cry out aloud," boy! Am I glad I am home! How else could I've lived this phase? Which organization would grant me the luxury of leave?"

Every time, I noticed my helper leave the dishes not properly cleaned and cooked food not palatable for my kids, I felt good that I had chosen to stay at home and cooked meals for my family myself.

Seeing that my house was personally cleaned made me triumph over the fact that I m indeed building a true home for my family, in this rented flat.

So, now I no longer grieve over financial issues or not having a proud "work place tag" to show off to people. I flaunt the fact that I stay at home to take the reins of my family's daily affairs.

Jobs will come, let me get my sonny boy big enough for kindergarten first! :) :) :)

Rape! Who is to be blamed?

Early in the morning, Facebook serves as my alarm clock. I scroll through my Facebook page to truly wake up my opened eyes.

Indeed this habit does bring in wakeful moments for my soul. I read about things happening in and around and the first thing I do is a quick click click click on the like buttons.

But there are moments like this morning when time halts and I start to ponder. Normally I don't think much beyond my kids and the books I'm reading. But, there are some moments when the dumbo in me stirs with a vengeance and I begin to think seriously.

This morning, I saw a post by a journalist about a rape victim in the Thai pavilion area. I had heard about the incident in BBS last night. I shook my head and empathized with the journalist for the call she was making.

I scrolled further down to read the many comments that had poured in. While some agreed with the post, there were many who condemned the rape victim instead of the accused. And a cold discomfort ran down my spine. People had started questioning the victim because she was supposedly a married girl ( I intentionally call her a girl cos she is only 19).
"Why was she not with her husband?" And so many other questions in that line have been raised. These questions irked me to the bone. A girl has been abused in such ugly manner and the question that arises is "why was a married woman out at that hour (10:30 pm)?

I remembered few politicians in our neighboring country who were found blaming the girls for such horrendous incidences. Another laughable report was about a police officer, who came out with a list of "what not to do" for the girls and women in the society to prevent such cases. And very little has been questioned about the men who are the bigger prey that needs attention.

Now, the same opinions are reflected by our very own Bhutanese folk too. It is such a shame.

Instead of questioning why the victim was with that man, at that hour, she should have been with her husband and other details, can't we question the brutal acts of those men? why can't people see what the girl has been through, the physical pain will be passed out as she was intoxicated by some but what of the humiliation? What of her emotional pain? Should her pains be superseded by the fact that she was a married woman out with another man?

Babies, barely one year old, have been raped. Angays, as old as seventy plus have been raped. Daughters have been raped by fathers and step fathers. Little girls have been raped by neighbors. Teenagers have been raped by their lovers. Unknown strangers rape the innocent village girls. Rape is a crime very much happening right under our noses. What are we waiting for? And why is it always the womenfolk who are under the radar whenever such incidences are reported? Why do we need to question what the girl was wearing?

Why can't we have laws that will provide a safe zone for our girls without putting curfew on the girls or questioning what they should wear. If the perpetrators receive dreadful punishment, I think that should take care of the issue itself. The predator should be the one in the clutches of the law, questioned and grilled not the innocent victims who are grilled and robbed, firstly by the heinous act of rape and later by the people questioning her integrity. Every time a rape victim is questioned of her integrity, I feel its like double rape.

But this is just a single opinion of a mother who fears for her growing up daughters.