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.

Remembering my Ama

Two years! How do I count it? Do I use my fingers and toes to calculate it in terms of months and weeks? Or do I use calculator to calculate the exact number of hours since you left us in that pre-dawn darkness.

No, I don’t want to count the days that’s gone by. Nor do I want to remind myself of that unfaithful hour that robbed me off.

All the people I talk to, tell me, they understand my grief. But only my heart knows that no amount of understanding can actually wade deep into the gorge of my grief.

Some might say a prayer or perhaps offer butterlamp but no prayers will mend my broken soul nor any butter lamp dispel the darkness I’m in.

Many frightful dreams I shudder in, wallowing in whirlpool of remorse. If only I had kept my heart open. If only I had looked closely at your fragmented spirit rather than basking in your youthful radiant skin. If only I had seen through the fake wall of strength you had build around us.

Many ‘ifs’ remain. I can’t offer any ‘buts’ in return. Many questions remain. I don’t have any answers.

So I sit in solitude, scrolling down the contact numbers in my phone.Your number is still right on the top of the list. But I’ve stopped dialing your number now. I don’t like that computerized sound reminding me that you no longer exist in this world.
But what do this voice know? You have not ceased to exist. Never. You’ve evaporated into every cell of my soul. How can you not exist then?

I’ve those,” I miss you terribly ama” moments. I shed silent tears. But every time a drop trickles down, I remind myself of the strength with which you carried yourself around even when things were all wrong with you. Then I stop crying. I know you would never want me to be a weakling, for you never were one!

I fight a battle each new day. A battle with my spirit. And I think I am winning ama. Yes, indeed. I see myself stronger, way more confident and above all so sure of where I’m headed in life. And I know this is possible only because your soul has transgressed into my being.

Often times, I rebuke my weak heart and lo! I find your strong heart sitting next to it and that makes all the difference to my existence.

So you see ama, you are not gone. Then why am I counting the days and saying that today it will be two years since you left me? You’ve not left me, for you are very much alive in my soul.