Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Of My Longingness


There's a deep longingness in me. 
Oh, sometimes I feel it aloud in my heart, reverberating like I just felt it now. 
That I should leave behind everything and go with my family to a faraway place. 
There, I would own a small house and lead a simple, quiet life. 
There, I would raise cattle and grow my own foods. 
There, I would read a lot of books and write my own stories. 
There, my wife and I would nurture my daughter well, so that she would become a good human. 
There, I would volunteer in a community school and impart my knowledge to the village children. 
This is my longingness, and ah, it's so simple!

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Travel to Trongsa

Last winter, I had traveled to Trongsa—to the land of the longest Dzong in Bhutan. So to say, all along my way, I was simply awestruck by the stunning landscapes, villages, the sky, people, and community schools. After every turning, or mountain, I was screaming and running to take pictures. 

The supposed to be five-hour-long drive took me almost seven hours to reach my destination. And you know why. 

That day, I was passing by a paradise!

Pic: Pelela
Pic: Rukubji
Pic: Pelela

Pic: Rukubji
Pic: Community Primary School
Pic: Yak

Pic: Trongsa Dzong 
Pic: Trongsa Dzong

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Let’s Fall In Love with Writing



So much of the time I had spent at Bhutan Children’s Writeshop on January 22, 2020, at Changangkha MSS in Thimphu, this group of aspiring young writers was brimming with enthusiasm and desire . . . to learn from me. All about writing.

And after quite a long time, oh goodness, I realized and felt it deep that I was in my rightful place, a little haven of the lovers of words, and where I was simply doing the right thing.

They, many of them, nudged me and said, “Sir, I read your book, ‘In Love with Butterflies and Other Stories’. And I loved it.”

A handful of others added, “I have your book at home. It’s nice.” And their “parents”, “brother”, and “sister” also loved the stories. So my co-writer, Sonam Tashi will also be happy to hear this. Some of them have also read my blog stories, Instagram and Facebook updates.

Such a blissful moment! At least for me!

As I interacted with them, I understood that there are bubbling writers in each of them, wanting to tell their own stories to the world. And while doing a writing activity, I was almost shrieking with excitement on my discovery. Their choice of words, their expression, their thoughts, and their aspirations that they have penned were surprising, astonishing. 

So, what this team of Bhutan Children’s Writeshop—fourteen team members and seven volunteers, mostly teachers on vacation—doing is remarkable, something to be admired and applauded. It’s a non-profit initiative that brings together children during the winter vacations to inspire budding writers. Volume 1, with the theme ‘Let’s fall in love with writing’, held from Jan 20-23, 2020 had hosted 83 children from 40 different schools.

And as I walked out of the hall, after my session, I couldn't help myself from dreaming . . . I was holding beautiful books by these children in my hands!

Thursday, November 21, 2019

Sporadic Sojourn



It was all because of one thing. One special thing though. My friend, Sonam’s wedding. And it was last week. In Phuentsholing.

We called it “Sporadic Sojourn”. For it truly was.  

We were five. Chencho Thinley, Karma T Samdrup, Pema, Sonam Tashi and I. The two days were breathtaking, enriching voyage. We put in the best hotel in town, dined together, drank leisurely, swam in the pool, walked around the streets, and drank chai and ate momo.  
We have been friends since our college days at Sherubtse—to put it more accurately, since the year 2005. It has been fourteen years now. Oh goodness, I can’t believe it; time flies. However, this sojourn was long pending; we wanted to go vacationing in Bangkok.

All along this sojourn, we laughed and made another memorable memory. We teased each other, poking at our weaknesses, silly deeds, and unusual behaviors. We justified that we can have fun in mid-thirties too. The fourteen years has changed nothing in us. Being employed and started earning, now married and fathers, and traveling abroad haven’t transformed us. Not even an inch. We are still the same old bunch of silly boys (Sorry, I should have said, ‘men’), except for our round healthy physiques and thinning hairlines. 

Meanwhile, we rode to Amochhu Bridge through the dusty road just to see and walk across that long suspension bridge beside the new, modern one. In the end, it was all worth it. It was tizzy, a simply fascinating experience being in the air, high up, just marching on the long iron bridge that swings as the afternoon wind blows. We were kids, running and frightening one another.  

We rode further up, towards a hill, Ngawang Ramtey, where tall green trees and cardamom plants surround it. Smiling school children and village folks along the road greeted us. Monkeys were jumping around, and goats grazing graciously. On the hill, next to a small stream, we sat and breathed fresh air. And we were all relaxed, reenergized. It inspired some of us to start spiritual, philosophical conversations. 

The sky was clear, deep blue. That’s what we valued the most about the day. And right there, right then I discovered that all of us have still changed; in fact, the last fourteen years have metamorphosed us. A lot.

We have become rooted, sober, soft, little wise, and hugely responsible. We like less about noise, crowds, dramas, phonies, and vanities. So to say, we appreciate more about love, spiritualism, literature, the Mother Nature, family, and friendship. And for the remaining sojourn, these were the heartbeats of our conversations.

And if you still wonder what has kept this friendship for the last fourteen years and is still going strong, it's all this!

Friday, November 30, 2018

Between Thimphu and Paro


I hadn’t explored much of the places along the highway between Thimphu and Paro. Usually, it was like… travelling straight to Paro, or back to the capital. However, last weekend, on my way to Paro, I stopped at several locations along the road, and I must tell you, I was pleasantly surprised. 

There are so many beautiful hills, villages filled with gorgeous chortens, prayer flags, human settlements, and cattle feeding around freely. And I couldn't stop myself from climbing the hills, up and down, and taking random pictures. Some of the pictures are here. 

Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Rays of Hope


There's so much in the winter lights.
I see beauty; 
And indefinitely, 
Infinite thin rays of hope.
  

Saturday, August 25, 2018

Resurrection of the Wangdue Dzong


Picture: Wangduephodrang Dzong

December of 2004 was the first time that I saw the Wangdue Phodrang Dzong in my life. Indeed, that winter was my first ever travel to the western Bhutan from Bumthang with my school friend, Thochu. 

As we entered Wangdue valley, my eyes so automatically, naturally feasted on the giant Dzong, as if my eyes and the fortress were like a piece of metal and magnet. And so to say, I was completely awestricken; my heart skipped a few beats. 

Then, I craned my neck from the window of bus to look attentively, carefully at the majestic Dzong built in 1638 by Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyel. The fortress sat on the commanding view of the valleys below, on top of a high ridge and between two rivers - one small fast flowing river and another big gentle river.

Surrounded by green trees and mud walls, it was a massive stunning structure with impressive elaborated paintings. The Dzong had illuminated the entire valley of Wangdue Phodrang with its position, power, symbolism and glory. It was like the moon in the sky.

How could the people of the fifteenth century build such structure? I wondered, as the bus ran down the hill from the Wangdue town and then on the bridge over Punatshangchhu. It was so majestic; it was so beautiful.

Then, unfortunately, in June 2012, a disaster rocked the Dzong. A deadly fire virtually razed it to the ground. My heart broke watching the news on the television; in fact, the entire nation grieved.

After that, every time I travelled to Wangdue or other places via Wangdue, I felt hollowness deep inside me. On a few occasions, I just took its pictures and looked at them feeling more aggrieved, agony. It seemed like, to me, something was missing, something was not right. The valley looked bruised, feeble. It just shed darkness in my heart…like a moonless night.

And last weekend, I visited Wangduephodrang. I was surprised - a pleasant surprise though. The Dzong has been rebuilt, substantially. I could see most of structure its being erected. And the good news is that it is targeted to be complete by 2021.

Out there, on the hill, I saw a handful of birds flying. It could be the ravens. And it could be perhaps sent by Zhabdrung to again bless the valley. Camera in my hand, as I looked at the Dzong, I could see its treasure being reinstated, its former glory being restored and its history being lived on.

Ah, my heart again was filled with joy and I could feel something auspicious about everything. Because there is the moon again.