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 A few I contribute to flourishing print media, some goes into my open diary (blog), while others remain unpublished in my top-secret folder.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