Why do I keep this blog?

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

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

A Doll house for my daughter

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

Am I Religious?

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