Ghosts with dirty linen?

It was broad daylight outside but in the basement where I had put up, it was as dark as night could be. On Mondays all my roomates leave for work while I bury myself in either chatting in FB or reading a book. As usual, nobody was online in FB so I logged out and buried my nose in the world of Henry VIII and his numerous wives.
"Swish, swish,swish...." Was I dreaming? No, I wasn't even sleeping why would this be a dream? But what was the sound coming from the bathroom? It sounded like somebody was washing their clothes. Phew! I sighed with relief and immediately jolted back to the same fear,'nobody washes their clothes in the bathroom HERE!' My heart jumped out of my chest and it thud-thuded so loud, I couldn't  hear the usual ears blasting sirens of cars plying on the highway right under my window.
I closed my eyes and tried to close my ears too but my ears couldn't be closed. The scratching sound of a brush on a fabric echoed loud enough for my heart to thud with my ears and I thought I heard the water being poured out.
I remembered my days in boarding school where the ghosts doing their laundry was a common phenomenon. Many girls claimed to have heard the sound of somebody walking towards the toilets( which were located at the end of the long line of beds) and then the usual pouring of water and scrubbing sound of a brush.
I wonder why do these ghosts was their clothes all the time? I mean do they have no other means of scaring people than washing their dirty linen?hehehe, the thought made me laugh,'dirty linen!' Ghosts have dirty linen? Maybe they tread in the darkness of the night so much that the night sheds its darkness on their clothes,huh?
Whatever, I was too scared to even try to look towards the bathroom forget about going there to check. But the thought of the darkness of the night soiling their clothes had me amused. I found myself smiling meekly at my own little joke.

Ting tong, the doorbell alarmed me and I jumped out of my skins, well, not really, but I could have done that with the sensation I felt at that sound. Had the ghost finished his work in the bathroom and wanted to ask me where to dry his clothes? Half-witted I dragged myself to the door at the second ting tong.
It was the painter my landlord had called to paint our apartment. Whew! another deep breath of relief.
"I finished my work in the bathroom and now would like to......" Before he could conclude, I laughed. Couldn't help it! I had found my ghost! I just couldn't, I mean didn't want to conceal my laughter of relief, a big relief!

Why do I keep this blog?

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

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

A Doll house for my daughter

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