The Reason Why I Write

First thing that I must admit is that I am not a writer. I am just a scribbler who scribbles everything that comes into my mind. I never expect anyone to read it too, after all it is just that I am filling up my open diary. I keep the record of just three occasions of my life: Happy, Sad, and Normal. For me, emotions are never complete until I put them into some visible words.  

With my narrow vocabulary and suspicious grammar, I always inscribe my random thoughts and uncertain experiences into at least 200 words a day. A few I contribute to flourishing print media, some goes into my open diary (blog), while others remain unpublished in my top-secret folder. The most dismal part of my selfish leisure pursuit is that, sometimes I write for the whole day only to delete everything at the end. I may not like my work, or I find it inhospitable for my chance audience who purposefully or inadvertently put their eyes on it. However, the satisfaction that I attain at the end of the day is never the different. As far as I am able to spend my time in writing, I am contented.  

I seldom refer encyclopedia, dictionary or internet to find some standard words or appealing ideas. It only impedes my creativity. For me my place of competence in language in the eye of my audience is least important. I just arrange whatever words that comes in my mind into most possible sweet ways. I value the sensation of sweetness that comes out of reading than the level of status that it illustrates.  

Further, I never sit and hunt for the topics to write, but it is topics that twist my arm to write. The only dilemma in my pastime is when I am left blind, unable to choose one from all. But, my personal phantasm often dominates my writing topics. For instance, sometimes, I immerse myself deep into some imaginative love stories. In my paradise of imagination, bashfulness and imperfectness notwithstanding, I am able to express my whole feelings in sweetest language. I am able to experience the complete sweetness of love only when I put my imaginings into words. 

Nature is my all time source of inspiration. As far as nature is alive, I will not go down. I will listen to the songs of nature, and make it echo visibly in my open diary. Still, I am not a writer, I am just a scribbler.

The rock speaks…

Facing the western sun, I have been still and desolately watching the habitual life of Paro from the time I was born. I cannot remember my own age exactly. But I still remember some weaken memories of infamous Paro Penlop Tshering Penjor and Agay Haap. As far as I remember, they are the most authoritative power that occupied the majestic Rinpung Dzong, only next to Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyel. Many historic facts of Paro and afar are spilling over from my memory, but will not interest you much, I guess so.

I have enjoyed the princely comfort of this world in my early days. I had several friends, mostly the naive monks of chief abode of Rinpung. They jog, run and play around me while I enjoy watching them mutely. The caring women of nearby villages visit me habitually and offer pure and spanking new foods. They clean my environs and paint my faces. The delicious aroma of their burning incense always pleases me. I use to be keen on the offerings of their new harvest in every fall. My desire are for eternity to keep the so called ‘The Rice Bowl of Bhutan’ be filled with rich grains. 

My status and morality has dropped down to ground during my teens. To my dismay, my part had been identified as a soil for capital punishment. I made countless prayers but all in vain. None of my God answered; or even listened to it. By then, loads of immoral men have been penalized to death here. Soon, many rumors have been born from the imaginary mind of innocent people. All fictitious stories of ghost have feared the people, and I am looked as an abode of treacherous spirit.         

Somehow, the stereotyped mindset of people has diminished since the ban of death penalty in Bhutan. Thank you, the peerless kings of Bhutan. 

Some years ago, the motor road had been constructed to connect the two at odds units of PCE (Paro College of Education). The neatness is maintained under the kind directives of the college. Now I belong to PCE. I smile to show my immense gratitude when I see PCE family moving to and fro, but still unseen. I am happy to be adopted by PCE, and seems like I will not be able thank enough in my life and living. 

Even though, I am terrifying dark rock for some weak hearts, I am helpful for many of my friends who pass by. I bless all the passer by, with knowledge and wisdom. I am dwelling for lovers and hiding site for suspicious minds. Irrespective of love or offense, I like people seeking refugee here. Some lovers swear to live together till their last breath while others just remain silent unable to utter a word. Some suspicious heart beats loud, while others remain in tranquil. I pray best for everyone who comes here. 

Recently, a group of good soul from PCE came and cleared all the dust that had been settled for about a decade on my face. They explored the sanctified alphabets and highlighted it with vibrant paints. I regained my beauty and holy in the eye of people around. Further, the other aspiring artist came together and made my face as bright as the goddess of beauty. I never even in my dream thought that such happiness will befall on me at this age. I never found a way to thank them, but their kind deeds will remain imprinted in my heart forever. 

(Dedicated to: Singye Dorji EPA, Kelzang HP and group)

         

 

       

Dreaming of a Better World

Photo Courtesy: Internet

In my boyhood, I often stare out of the classroom window, and get completely lost in a daydream. My friends and teachers use to bother me, but my outlook on daydream is never the same to theirs. For me, daydreaming is never a depletion of time, nor a hunter of happiness. It is indeed, only the daydream that is able to take me to the summit of contentment. Even today, I spend hours daydreaming on all the beauty beyond this world. The happiness that I obtain from the world of dream is always greater than the happiness that I obtain from the world I stand on.         

 

I would stare at the snowcapped mountains and fanaticize myself to be the princess of snow – the snow leopard. I live in the mountain paradise where my mind as pure as sparkling snows and my body as strapping as marble. Nothing melancholy in my mind perturbs my cheerfulness as long as I live with the shadows of gorgeous mountains. 

Every so often, I dream myself to be the singing bird high in the sky. Watching the splendor of every trees and grasses I can reach far and wide to the places I wish. I can sing the finest songs with the harmony of breeze and please all thoughtful inhabitants on the ground. As a bird, I can flee from all the insufferable miseries of this world, and live in the cloud nine forever.  

In some ascending nights, I watch the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, and wish my memorable past to appear again. The shafts of moon light evokes my cherished time when I was with my dearly loved ones in some beautiful moonlit night, walking through the woods and sharing words from our heart. For me, recalling some of my treasured times silently only brings double happiness.  

When the melancholies that befall in my life are relentless, I even dream of entering into the world of intoxication. A perfect world of phantasm blended with the beams of colors and echoes of music. Where I can forget the stern pain of my heart and relax in the world of fun.   

At this time, if I am ever asked to make one last prayers, I would ask my God to make this world as serene as I wish OR to keep me eternally in my dreamland. I would rather prefer to close my eyes forever and stay in my world of illusion than to endure such painful miseries of this perceptible world.          

My Lost Pigeon

Every evening, I spend some time in my veranda attending to the sweet echoes of nature. All the thing of beauty: the mountains, the streams, and the trees sing their finest tone for the loyal ears. Even the innocent mortals like birds exhibit some ideal human moral fiber, which is enthralling to watch and emotive to sense.  Now I feel that life is never perfect until you listen to the songs of nature. 

Autumn twilight presents the lively sight for the aspiring writers and visual artist. Even the meek and mild birds like pigeon flies out of their balmy nest to show homage to the descending beauty of mother of all nature – the sun.  

In the recent days, I was enjoying the cuteness of a lovely pigeon couple, who always saunter near me in the sundown. As if like a typical lover Romeio and Julet, the intensity of love and care that they share is beyond my mind's eye. Often lazy they spend a lot the day chilling out in trees and sharing the words from their heart, as if like they understand that love is never perfect until it is shared.  

Occasionally, they fool around like Tom and Jerry irritating each other. They press on, dart or scream and stay separately for some time, but they always come back together at the end. Seems like deep in their heart, they never wanted to lose each other. Until now, I never realized that the love that we witness is sometimes sweeter than the love that we experience. 

An hour before, I was out watching the heartrending sunset. The cold northern wind is strong enough to make the autumn leafs sing. The mountains are high as usual, and the streams flowing at a snail's pace. But the song of nature seems to be missing something today. Like never before, the rhythm of her every tune seems to be low down.

Most sorrowfully, one of my lovely pigeons – the cock has gone today. The hen was all alone, sitting forlornly on my windowsill. Her eyes are as red as a ground cherry, which visibly confirm that she shed a tear of blood for him. She was staring feebly to the available feathers of her love. The soreness in her heart is so perceptible and powerful to have me tearing up. I wish I can reprimand that pussy cat, which ruined the beautiful romance of blameless creature.    

Now, I will not visit my veranda any more. I don’t want to watch the sunset in the evening too, because it will only remind me of my lost lovely pigeon. Als! Sometimes, it is better not to recall our beautiful times. It only brings second loneliness in our heart. The song of nature is sweet, but its sorrow is bitterer.                

The Song of Nature

Photo Courtesy: Internet

Some lost nights; I just open my notebook, and stare around to decide on the several of topics that I aspire to inscribe. Writing keeps me so close to the beauty of nature, and thus keeps me away from the world of loneliness. The beauty of nature is invaluable, that not even the riches of this world can purchase, nor the power can be in command of. Yet, nature is an omnipresent companion for the people of all walks of life.  

When the song of nature is sweeter than ever before, I get completely lost in admiration. I forget the stern pain in my heart, fear of examination and brutality of weather. You may find me so forlorn, but I cannot be lonely as long as there is nature around me. It is possible for a person to be lonely in the crowd, and then it is also possible for a person to be cheerful all alone. For many, friends should be vigorous, but some prefers silent company of nature who can still touch each other’s heart.  

Sometimes, I remain around persistently till late night just to attend to the midnight songs of singing birds. The melodies that are heard in sunshine are sometimes negligible when compared to that of midnight songs. Sometimes, I even forget to respire when the harmony of her songs are sweet to my ears. Songs are the ordinary aural feast for the loving ears, but for me I feel its melody. Sometimes, I wish if the singing bird could recognize her earnest audience, who is so fond of her songs. 

My God almighty, I need my singing bird to be around me forever. Her songs have become my finest companion and now I cannot live without it. Beauty of friendship is sweet, but the pain of missing that follows are more severe.         

Dreaming of Jomolhari

Beyond White and Cold

Photo Courtesy: Internet

What we see white on the mountain tops in the chilly winter days are not merely a snow. Just as a nightingale for John Keats and loving heart for a love birds, sparkling of snow are the best view for the sightseers. Thousands of tourist visit highlands to watch the falling of snow from heaven to the earth in the winter days.          

Likewise, for the group at Ura, snow is more allied to their serious living than their leisure life. It has both its spiritual and secular significance. Thus, some snowfalls are distinguished even more than the Tibetan New Year at Ura. With its pure color and chill sensation, comes the luck and riches for the community – they believe.  

Just like in prophet Isaiah, snow signifies the purity; Ura’s mores cannot deny the fact the snow is the God of Harvest. Happiness in the mind of Uraps finds no bound when they see their village and its environs covered by the thick mantle of snow. Snow brings more hope for the farmers for the reason that the flat terrain crops like wheat, buckwheat and millets are directly associated with the water drops of the melting snow.

Photo Courtesy: Internet

For the spiritual monks high on the mountains, snow is the imagery of good luck. They foresee the days with the sun of happiness for the inhabitants living in his vicinity. The elderly people even rejoice the snowy day with all the yummy foods and vivid cloths. Furmity warmed with local egg is the prominent menu in the feast during the snowy day at Ura.

Beyond spiritual significance, snow also brings an immense excitement for the youths. Like in snowy country of New Zealand and Switzerland, the game of Snow-War is seen everywhere until the snow completely transform its appearance to Cristal runny. Some build snowman while others engage themselves fully in recording the finest scenes before the exquisiteness of snow is lost in the hand of scorching sun.         

Remembering My Apprenticeship

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The eight months of apprenticeship at Dechen Pelri Community Primary school has been rather triumphant for me. It was the thorniest experience in my days but at the same instance it was a great experience that I know I will never forget. I had learned to learn and teach but learned more from my students than what I taught to them.

As I gaze back at my apprentice teaching, I just feel humiliated and disgraced. I have wasted quite a lot of government’s money and my precious time just to blight a number of brilliant students of Dechen Pelri. And at this point I feel like saying sorry to my dear students. I had used a very traditional method of teaching which brought lots of confusion and suspicion to my students.

I feel so awful for Thinley Dorji of class IV for closing my eyes upon him throughout my apprenticeship. He is a mentally disadvantaged little boy and I thought that there won’t be alternative special way to educate him. I just let him to carry out whatsoever he likes. But at this moment I apprehended that I had done a grave mistake. I have left him alone behind and now I am concerned as to who will lend a hand for him to come up. Now I have learned that there is a modus operandi for each category of child to educate them.

I have controlled my students by demanding them to fold their little cute arms and to maintain a complete silence during my teaching. I in no way inquired for their views in my entire teaching, which at this time I feel is too odd; and a rather outdated teacher. I have just clogged the views of children which they fetched from home to share among their little classmates. I on no account had a notion that at times the child is creative, resourceful and artistic.  I had just obstructed my students from beautiful days ahead.    

To be forthright, I have utterly failed in the field of Measurement and Evaluation. I haven’t reserved any evidence of the continuous assessment; I haven’t set any criteria for marking a child’s progress but rather done a miscarriage of judgment. I have done a foul play with my smart little students.

Today, after 3 years of intensive training, I comprehended all those sorry state of affairs. At the moment not just from my lips but from the inner part of my heart, I would like to plead sorry for suchlike erroneous deeds I’ve done for Dechen Pelri community. Never the less, here I would like to express gratitude to the Principal, teachers, students and parents of Dechen Pelri for lending their hand for making my days of apprentice beautiful and memorable.

If I could acquire an alternative to serve another time, I’ll give my word to be the driving force for the youth of Dechen Pelri.

A Picturesque Glimpse of Pangkhar

The Last Surviving Prayer Wheel

Ta Mani -

The Long Prayer Wheel

Gigantic Stone Bridge Built by Dung Nakpo

The Last Surviving Watermill 

The Ruin of Prayer Wheel  

Missing You Mom: A Letter

                                                                                    Dear Mom,

The beautiful peaks of Paro are now covered with sparkling snow, and I can feel the chilliness of the wintry northern wind. The entire scenery is looking just like Bumthang, and it is making me feel even more melancholy. I am missing my cherished childhood life, playing with my innocent friends in the marvelous snow meadows of Ura.

Mom, most of the singing birds of Paro has migrated to escape from the frosty winter days, leaving me all alone. Yet, I can see some pity birds around, and when I attend to their melodies, I cannot stop tears rolling through my cheeks. I miss seeing your beautiful smile and the echoes of your melodic voice.     

This is the moment, when the farmers of Paro are busy in their golden paddy fields reaping the fruit of their hard work. And when I see the pitiful farmers stressed under the scorching winder sun, I just cannot stop thinking about you. Mom, you must be suffering in the fields and pastures with selfless hope to make our living more blissful. I am a little stronger now and I wish I were with you, so that I can help you with everything. I am really missing the warmth of your gentle hug, mom.

The vegetation of Paro is much similar to Ura’s surroundings. All the trees and grasses are now falling the victim of morning frost: leafs descending down and grasses changing their colour. Mom, are the strawberries still blooming in our garden? I still remember you offering me strawberry mixed with water during my early days. I know that you must be mourning to the falling leafs and drying blossoms at this time, because you are a little emotional. Mom, I am missing you with each passing days.

Sometimes I see your face in my dreams at night. Your emergence even in the dream is always kind and sweet. Although you are not with me at this time, I feel the warmth of your love and care. Mom, I am missing you desperately, please come always in my dreams!

Yours Loving Son

Sangay Phuntsho
 

Sunshine is not always brighter - From the autobiography of the King of Melody

Your dazzling smile and the magnificent beauty invited me but not by your heart and soul. Everything within you stands out with excellence; however you lack something significant: sympathy for an underprivileged heart. I remember how optimistically saw you for the first time in my life. I have seen perfectness in you regardless of empathy. 

My soul zoomed away from home in search of a tranquil and divine place to reside, but, in vain. I have never experienced such pain before; perhaps I’m sick for the first time and likely to prolong forever. Others might have hold your hand and said “I love you” but I will hug your heart and say “I’m in love with you”.  

I would have asked you for a short walk but I dare not, for the reason that I don’t want you to walk reluctantly beside me; it won’t fetch me pleasure, instead it will be so embarrassing on my part. Now, I am feeling lonely in the crowd, for the reasons that are beyond my imagination. Everything that had happened has passed and it was bearable till date, but I fear a lot that I’m going to miss something really in next to no time; something that doesn’t belong to me but that had imprinted in my heart.

At instance, I sense stupidity within me the each time I think of you. I make no match to you. It was merely like looking at a star hanging high up in the sky. Though I sense the foolishness I can’t stop loving you. In fact that’s how I exist. From the very day I saw you, I made no good decisions and right choices. All I dream is about you. I was lost with the thoughts and my mind wonders from places to places seeking helps to get space in your heart.  

Tomorrow will be the only day that I will see you, because you will be different person even if we meet in future. If I have the authority over the phenomenon of time and the natural world, I will reset it and fix to never-ending today, so that I can see you forever.  

The summer days are so attractive and green everywhere until the fading autumn signals the cold and dry winter. I really enjoyed the rays of your shines with my interest, although I don’t deserve the warmth of your shower. Very soon the sun of my heart will set from my world and I will be left in realm of darkness. 

By: Jampa Tenzin