On Liebster Award

I say a very deep and heartfelt thank you to Kathleen Kenna for recognizing and nominating my blog on the Liebster Award (http://stateofgrateful.wordpress.com/category/liebster-award/). And here, I’m overwhelmingly excited to answer thoughtful 11 questions that you posed for me. However, today, I’m going to answer only one of them. My answer is:

1. Why were you inspired to begin blogging?

My parents were illiterate. So to speak. My siblings were not widely read, not book smart. In short, I was brought up in a family (locality too) where the importance of literature was not known. It’s never encouraged though. But this passion of writing has been there in me, from then, since very young.

Who or what inspired me writing? How? I don’t know. More aptly, I don’t remember. Perhaps - my friends or my teachers or those books I read, or my resilient imagination. Maybe the locality – its simplicity, beauty and vigour - where I grew up. Or, it could be all.

To add one more thing - I’d scribble on everything. Always. Either on a piece of torn paper. On tree leaves. On walls. On floors. On tables. In my note books. Everything. Everywhere. I’d write down anything that comes out of my mind. The truth is that I was a shy young boy, an introvert. And this is how I talked, expressed myself and interacted with the world around me. Scribbling. Writing down.

Unlike other kids, I always used to pay a huge respect to all kinds of literary materials. I kept letters, school magazines, newspapers, books, autograph books, cards, diaries – all in my tiny wooden box. And I could do anything to protect them. I had never let them be used for wrapping doma. Even not let them plastered on the walls. It’s quite strange for my parents and siblings.

In school days, besides writing love letters for my friends, I’d contribute articles for the school magazines. And how thrilled was I to see my own articles published there. My parents couldn’t read, yet I’d run with the magazine to them, all happy, and unfold it to show my articles.

My mother would give a glance at it and smile back at me, proud. But my father would take the magazine from me and try reading it. Curious. He’d mumble a few first sentences, give up reading it and return the magazine to me. One day, he told me (I still remember his words), “Congratulations son! Keep writing…you can become lyonpo in future.” 

Back in my village, those days, our parents couldn’t wish more than their children becoming a civil servant, a minister too. Typical of my village though. My father’s wish was no exception. But deep inside me, I wanted to become a different person in life. I always wanted to live a humble life - reading lots of books and honing the skills of writing. Nothing more.

However, the year 2008 was the biggest crossroad of my life. My passion for writing even impeded in the job that I wanted to take up. In one hand, I wanted to join a good and secure job (civil service). On the other hand, I’ve this passion to protect and hone. I was – in a word – confused.

It’s absolutely for this passion that I joined a newspaper as a journalist. It did serve my passion, I was happy. Coz I was writing. And more importantly, writing for my living. But after a little over a year later, I quit the newspaper and decided to join the civil service. I don’t know why I did that. Sometimes, everything is just not fair. Isn’t it?

I regretted and grieved a lot over this decision. At that moment, at least. Because I thought it’d be the end of the thing I loved most – my passion for writing. And then, for better or worse (of course, it is for the better) I joined the civil service. This new job only asked me to do official write-ups, correspondence and implementing programs and projects. No creative writing. I was sad.

Two months into the civil service, July 2010, this blog was born. There are scores of people to thank for this. My friends. My colleagues. And a handful of Bhutanese bloggers. For their support, inspiration. Of course this blog lifted back my spirits immensely.

It’s been almost three years that I’ve been blogging; also working as a civil servant. Now I learned that anywhere I can practise this healthy act of writing – be it in the journalism, civil service, my village, school, college. Even as a kid, as a lover, as an adult, as a loner, as a humble person, as a novice thinker.

Today, at 29, I’m just a naïve writer still learning how to write. I’m still learning how to put everything into words. And I take out my camera out there, anywhere, and take pictures. Because at times my digital lens tell the stories better than my words. I feel what I’m doing is right for me. This is what I wanted in my life – a humble life and pursuing my passion of writing.  

Tulip in Bhutan

It’s a beautiful day, today, in Thimphu. A bright day. A few patches of clouds that scatter above the valley hide the sun. I ran towards my office, this morning, like always. But oh, I spotted tulips blooming in a garden above the road at Changangkha that I walk on.

You can never guess how much I love this flower. They are open, striking red, and have delighted me with its exotic colours of glory. They really are the flowers of spring. The truth is that I didn’t expect Bhutanese people grow tulips here. Also, I didn’t know tulips would grow in Bhutan, that’s also in a garden, out in the open. I only heard about the tulip known as ‘Queen of Bhutan’ which was a gift by the Bhutan+partners to Her Majesty the Queen of Bhutan on the occasion of the Royal wedding in October 2011.

I took out my camera, marched above the road, and try taking its pictures. The garden is well fenced. I tried jumping over the fence, but a dog barked at me. I was scared. After hearing the dog’s bark, a beautiful woman sprinted out of the house. I looked back at her, gesturing that I loved her flowers and taking the pictures. She smiled back at me. Leaning over the fence, I took a few shots of the tulips.  

Phurba Thrinlay

He, indeed, needs no introduction. I’m talking about Phurba Thrinlay. Yes, the comedian king who is so hugely popular in Bhutan. Almost all of us know and love him, don’t we? He is, unanimously, known for his hilarious jokes and sidesplitting dialogues. You can instantly recognize him wherever he’d be – street, restaurant, stage, TV, radio. And at the mere sight of him, you would laugh hysterically.

Quite strangely, he is paid exceedingly higher and respected than any lead actors of the Bhutanese film industry. The truth is that most people go to watch movies only because he is in - to laugh non-stop at his jokes, to get amused with his facial expressions.

And here, I’ve a delicious news to all those Bhutanese cinema-goers and fans of Phurba Thrinlay! Wangchuk Talop, a prominent Bhutanese filmmaker is brining to you a feature film titled “Phurba Thrinlay’. Presented by Yangchen Pictures and camera by Chencho Dorji, it will be released soon at City Cinema in Thimphu. Intended to be comical and humorous, this film is an attempt to give Bhutanese people an ideal ironic and circumstantial comic sense. The film is titled “Phurba Thrinlay’ given the present status of Phurba Thrinlay as the living comic icon of the Bhutanese society. Given its name, Phurba Thrinlay himself is to be engaged in the role.

Let me narrate the storyline of this exciting film, shortly though. Phurba Thrinlay and Tandin (Tandin Wangchuk) are good friends. As artists, they are working together on a film project under a producer named Kado. Glamorous Yangdon (Tshering Zam) who has recently been crowned Miss Bhutan, 2012 joins the project as the female actor. Phurba Thrinlay falls in love with Yangdon. However, Tandin manages to win over Yangdon’s love despite Phurba Thrinlay earnestly pleading him to spare her for him.  Driven by pride and jealousy, Phurba Thrinlay resorts to mastering “Ga-nga” (a mantra cast on someone to lure his/her feelings and attraction) and successfully wins over Yangdon’s love by feeding her ga-tse.

It is known that when the spell is cast on a foodstuff, it becomes “ga-tse”, the food of attraction. And when the ‘ga-tse’ is given to and eaten by someone, one can lure his or her love and feelings.

The film gets into an unexpected climax. Now Yangdon is obsessed by the spell and gets sensationally attracted to Phurba Thrinlay.

And we worry…does Yangdon leave Tandin for Phurba Thrinlay? Will Tandin learn to dispel the hypnotic ga-nga over Yangdon? Will he win her love back? What will happen after that? Questions in your head go on and on. Now, there are so many things you would like to ask and curious about to know in this film.

However, this film has another striking twist. Should I talk about it here? No no. If I narrate the entire storyline of the film here, it’d bore when you to go to watch the film.

I don’t hesitate to say that this film can be the real cinematic treat for you this beautiful spring. It has all the technical elements to become one of the biggest blockbusters of the year. For surety, the comedian king, Phurba Thrinlay will keep you amused, gasped and entertained throughout the film never like before.          

In the stillness and silence

I spend much of my week muddling through endless tasks. You say it and the list goes on: office works, attending meetings, incessant phone calls, doing household chores and clearing bills. I just wonder (at times) that I was set on for a rollercoaster ride - that simply goes on and on. Filled with constant ups and downs, tears and laughter, joy and sadness.

And you just can’t imagine how much I love weekends. Weekends, for me, are the perfect time to set myself on a predetermined task, un-dictated by time and circumstances around me. I’m much luckier, too, that I live here in Motithang. Because just a few minutes walk uphill I can step into the most serene and beautiful hill of Thimphu.

This is the place where every weekend I march into for a quick stroll. The hill overlooks the entire Thimphu City. It is, undeniably, an ideal escapism from the stresses of modern city life; yes, from the rollercoaster ride of life.

Like on all other weekends, last Saturday, I walked on a meandering footpath here breathing in the spring’s fresh fragrance. This footpath leads to somewhere faraway. I don’t know precisely where. And I’ve my hands shoved into my jacket’s pockets – whistling a song that I really don’t know.

I kept walking and walking with no precise destination in my mind. By the way, I was just enjoying the walk as much as those birds wheeling around the spring’s blossoms. I tell you that walking here is healing and all that, my mind at peace. I can’t explain you how, for it’s something I cannot put into words.

Should you aspire for a meditative mind or a peaceful moment after your stressful week, perhaps a walk here be proposed.

Remembering the first Happiness Day

I’m writing down this post to remember the first International Day of Happiness. And the way I celebrated it here in Thimphu. The day shone with a bright sunshine, only a few patches of clouds spread over the valley. It’s a beautiful day though.

I was undoubtedly happy - for one good reason – the government declared the day holiday, a national event to observe the day and to contemplate the importance of life. I didn’t plan anything for the day. Perhaps I was not sure what to do, how to celebrate the day. One of my colleagues remarked, “Happiness is very subjective. It shouldn’t be the national event.”

I too had mixed feelings about the day. The truth is that I was not a big fan of GNH. However, I was thinking to be home all day, reading book and going out for a stroll in the evening.

But later, at noon, I marched down towards the town. I was very surprised to see the street unusually spilled over with hundreds of people. There was not a single vehicle in the street. People of all walks of life were sumptuously walking by - all smiles on their faces and sharing laughter with their family members and friends.

A loud noise of songs and dances was blaring out from an entertainment centre, the Clock Tower. The place was overtly crowded. A row of food stalls around it served people with foods. And how sweet, scores of people were sitting around, so relaxed. And they were graciously having foods with their beloved ones. It gave me a cheerful feeling and the tint of my mind was all happy. It’s a real happiness day. Believe me.

Then, I went to GNH Centre where I was invited to attend a meditation session. Through mediation, I learned to relax my mind. The mindfulness training helped me to understand my mind and emotions. After that we watched a wonderful movie, ‘Life of Pi’.     

It was late afternoon when I walked back home. On the way, looking at children playing and laughing made me all happy. The world burst into bloom, and I admired it on notice things walk.

Back at home, I read a few chapters from J.K. Rowling’s Casual Vacancy. And I contemplated on the day, the first happiness day. It’s uncomfortably joyful day, enriching and happy. And yes, eventually, I realized the significance of the day.

I realized that how we’re lulled into “busy” humdrum of our lives every day. Remember that we hurry every time. We run after time, after scholarships, after appointments and after money. We run after people, conflicts and controversies. And the sad thing was that we hardly spare our time to contemplate on the most important aspect of our life i.e. happiness.

The Happiness Day, however, provides this opportunity for all Bhutanese people take a break from our busy life and to reflect on the importance of life in order to understand our life better, love ourselves better, and become wiser person, happy.

Finding beauty in everyday life

The most beautiful word in the English language is “Beauty”. For me, at least. This earth as we walk on, the beauty manifests or unfurls in a thousand different ways every moment, every single day. And I’ve fairly believed that we, humans, deserve all good things life has to offer us. And in order to notice and honour beauty around me in my everyday life, I named my blog, Finding beauty in everyday life.

So, beauty is the heartbeat of my writing, running through every post of my blog. And more eloquently, it also runs through my own life. My blog, my words, talk deliberately about the beauty that spreads around us, about the good things, and about the magical joy. Also, the photographs of what appealed to me, what intrigued me.

Everyday – for everything - I walk around, seeking out for beauty. I spare a small wedge of my time from the busy schedule and watch the sunset. And I’m constantly overcome by wonder.  I love witnessing the snowflakes, feeling magical. I feel like a fairy amidst the spring flowers and trees. I even try finding grace and comfort in our monotonous and mundane activity.

I admit that I’ve to fight the temptation not to look out for or write about the things that stress or offend me. Like anyone of you, my life too has a plenty of tears, struggling, frustration, and weariness.  But I always try to find and see the beauty and grace mixed in all this.

It’s more than that, too. The practice of writing here, on my blog, finding beauty in everyday life, has deeply changed the way I relate to and engage with the world and people around me. It sumptuously healed my wounded spirits - my negativity disarmed, my aggression dissolved, and my hatred and confusion slowly disappearing. I feel that I’ve discovered a greater talent for joy, a larger embrace of life. Maybe I am wrong. But I’m doing what feels right for me. Finding beauty in everyday life. Both internal and outside.

Today, right now, right here, as I walk outside, the brilliant green leaves and blossoms of the peach trees stir in the air. I watch them. I’m dazzled. Lo and behold, there’s a thing of beauty!   

A new beginning

Once again, the world around me blooms in fresh vagaries, the sun bright and stronger, and the air so cool. I see Thimphu turning into spring, all beautiful. But this reminds me one thing, common though, a new beginning. Students start their new academic session. Rustic farmers ready for the year ahead. Bureaucrats kick-start their new fiscal year.  Everything looks livelier and lovely here. Some pictures that I took in my mobile phone: 

Taking one day, one moment, at a time

This is a beautiful quote, isn’t it? It is. Oh, you have to agree with me, at least for this. A dear friend of mine mailed it to me last week. And I’m writing this post to tell her what she had done, what this quote meant to me.

The quote - decorated with all gorgeous words - is direct and punctuated with a simple meaning and logical truth. I relate myself to its each word. I read it, feeling elated and deeply at peace. I read it again. This time, nodding my head yes, yes, yes. For it stirred up my own thoughts. This is something that I’ve long felt and held dear, but I couldn’t grasp within myself and put into words.  

In actuality, it enriched me in my life’s walk. And we all know what life is. At least, we understand that life is a journey. A difficult long journey with its alternating ups and downs, and uneventful passing moments of joys and sorrows, challenges and successes, tears and laughter, ignorance and blessings.

But how everyday I was immersed in a series of life’s cycle. That my life became like a pendulum, swinging between two extremes – the past and the future.

I tend to cling to my past. Even worse…I tend to think that it was offering me comfort, feeding a balm to my loneliness. Sometimes the tint of my memory is happy, other times angry; but mostly, all of these recollections spread sadness, irretrievable loss, and grief.

Again, I’d be constantly looking for the details of a life that I wanted to live. Studying abroad, earning more money, buying classy cars, and owning tall buildings. And I’d live in fear – fear of failures, fear of truth and embarrassment, fear of being deceived and rejected, and fear of death.   

Today, I’m already 29. I’ve completed my university degree from a renowned college five years ago. And here, I work as a civil servant (the most sought-after job in Bhutan). I’ve wonderful and very supportive parents and siblings, and a bunch of lovely friends.

However, it seemed to me that my real life hasn’t yet begun. I felt that that it was about to begin. But all times, some difficulties appear: something to be achieved or do first, a problem to be solved, a credit to be cleared. And I was always striving to become better in life.

In fact, I was lost in between these two - past and future. And I was disengaged from the sight of the present moment. I disliked “present me”, “my present obstacles”, and “my present status”. This is the reason why I was preoccupied with my past and future.

But this beautiful quote alone gave me a pause for thought and helped me understand that these “obstacles”, “status” and “present me” were my life. It taught me to treasure every moment I’ve by taking one day, one moment, at a time.

Now I’m taking on my life in a different way. Working in my office. Visiting my friends. Admiring the aura of spring. Reading books. Writing stories for my blog. Being a bachelor, a man. This daily life of mine simply goes on and on like the present participle.

Similarly, I’ve realized that my life is not so much about my past or future, beginnings or endings, or about reaching my goals and destinations. It’s all about going on and on, and how to be sad or amazed by life, or maybe a little bit lost and stumble a few times.

Spring unfolds in Thimphu

“I glanced out the window at the signs of spring. The sky was almost blue, the trees were almost budding, the sun was almost bright.”

                                                                      ― Millard Kaufman, Bowl of Cherries

Photographs that I took around my office this afternoon. Dear readers, have a wonderful springtime!

Choosing my words

I’ve been sitting here at this computer since a long hour. My eyes are focused at my PC; albeit more eloquently, focusing nothing in particular. The truth is that I want to write something here, for my blog. But my mind goes all blank - exactly like the blank page right in front of me.

Yet, I sit. I wait more. And I wait for words to come. I want to fill the page, dress them with words and create my own story. I already have a few stories in my mind that I want to write here. One of them is about the arrival of spring in Bhutan and the joy it brings to me, which is to say, to my heart.

So, I scribble a few sentences. But all I get are wrong words, wrong story angles. I scratch my head, grumbling, I don’t mean to say it that way. I’m looking for another way to put it. And, I erase them immediately.  

Like this, every time, I struggle to find the words, to write stories. Writing is incredibly hard. Real hard, I admit. It’s a long, for me, arduous process. But you know what? I never fail to keep on believing that it’s possible – that if I’ve a little faith, my writings might one day be good. At least, for my fellow bloggers and friends.

I’m, it’s telling, addicted to the healthy act of writing. I’m being pulled by words, I can’t stop them. Story ideas burst open anywhere I go, anytime. And I’ve to just start writing even my ideas are boring, cliché, predictable.

Like me, I know, all other fellow bloggers find meaning and majesty in just writing words. We are lovers of words, aren’t we? You don’t have to tell me all about this. Because that I spend hours going through your blogs; one blog after another, one post after another.

And what intrigues me the most is the way you care passionately about writing, your insatiable curiosity and astute critical mind, your commitment to storytelling. Your stories make me laugh, cry, wince or even stand back in awe.

When you talk of particular thing, I feel goose bumps of familiarity and it feeds me similar sensation like you experience. I wonder, thrilled, you have pulled out all the contents of my own heart and put them on your blog, in words. But thank goodness, you make me feel that I am not alone. We share the same preoccupation with life and death, love and loss, happiness and heartache, and hope and apathy. After all, we all are walking this bumpy ride of life.

I’m telling you this – one thing more. Your comments make me giddy with pride and pleasure. And I hope it gives you the similar feelings. But more beautifully, it gives you a little nudge of encouragement to write down, more seriously. In the end, that’s what we need in our journey of writing.   

I’m going to say this though. Ahem…I envy those good bloggers, seriously, the way you maintain your blogs. I, quite strange, envy when you pick the freshest ideas and dress them with gorgeous words. I envy the way you effortlessly pour your heart out on your blog, so beautiful. But oddly, wonderfully, how I wish hanging out with you (over a cup of tea or walk) and feeling smarter than I was or ever will be.

Today, it has been two years and half that I’ve been blogging. And I can’t tell you what immense and ineffable joy it brings me to have written all these stories on my blog. Sometimes, I wonder: Did I really write all these stories? 

We all only have this very moment

Last week, I was in Phuentsholing. One late afternoon, I set out for walk, so in particular to watch the sunset. I don’t know precisely why, but I just love watching the sun turning into so magical, gorgeous as it sets. To put it politely, I feel the grace and glory in it; in fact, bigger than that.  

On the way, hundreds of Indian laborers were returning to their home after earning their daily wages. Ah, all smiles on their faces. A handful of elderly people were running and stretching out on the road; also, twirling the prayer beads.

A few miles far north from the City, I stood on a handsome milestone, alone, watching the sun and feeling amazed, mesmerized. Sitting atop the west horizon, the sun was stark golden and feverishly beautiful. So were the sky, clouds and horizon. So to say, it never failed to throw me into a snapping, picture frenzy. My heart was exalted and triumphant, feeling blessed. 

A little while on, this beautiful sun slowly started going down, behind the horizon. Suddenly, I felt sad. I learned that after a little moment this beautiful sun would completely go behind the horizon, inevitably though. And the more I thought about it, my mind grew more and more restless. I became worried, distracted and irritated.

However, the beautiful sun was still there, shimmering mesmerizing. But it’s I who was so eaten and preoccupied by anxiety and grief. I was panicking (unnecessarily though) that the sun would be lost after a moment. Sad, I forgot to feel and enjoy the beauty and blessing of the present moment, the beautiful sunset.  

And watching this sunset, a realization seeped into my consciousness like a dose of thoughtfulness. I realized that we all only have this very moment. And this moment is our life. But often, fear, anxiety and preoccupation hampers it.

To be honest with you, I was a preoccupied and easily distractible person. I rarely engaged in just one activity. Often I was doing many things at a time, poorly though. When I went out for movies, I was never really there and I started thinking of my unpaid electricity and water bills. While holidaying, I thought of my unfinished office correspondences and returned to Thimphu in the middle of my holiday. Once I reached back here, I landed up doing nothing (except ruining my holiday).

While writing this post, many household activities (that were left undone) cropped up in my mind. I wanted to do my laundry, water flowers, do shopping, and also read a gorgeous book. And lo, I made this post a terrible one. Oh!

I was never really there in anything that I’d do. The truth is that I had missed my life. I had missed or wasted my life like the way I missed the beautiful sunset in front of me.  

The sun started setting, gradually, leaving behind deep-red pink glow. I stood watching it, but this time, paying all attention to it and enjoying the richness and fullness of the moment. It felt so different, to be engaged in my life, so much better.

The wonder of snowfall

Shakespeare’s Hamlet has one confusing question, “To love or not to love”. But in the early morning of last Saturday, I had two confusing questions, “To sleep or not to sleep” and “To experience the snow at night or not to experience it.”

I’m talking about the second snowfall that Thimphu has experienced this year. It was last Saturday, 2 am in the morning. I heard children screaming outside – quite unusual in the locality I live. I woke up from my bed, scrolled up the curtains. And wow, the entire valley was all dressed in gorgeous crisp white. The unassumingly big size lacy snowflakes tumbling fall down so fast.

I want to go out right now and experience the wonder of snowfall, I screamed at the white world, outside. I checked my camera, its battery was full charged. I pulled on my jackets, and laced up my shoes. On the other hand, other half of my mind (supposedly lazy one) started seeking for excuses. It insisted on,

It’s too early, still dark. Hey, stupid man, better you go back to sleep. Huh…experience the snow in the morning.

Confused, I stayed like that for almost a handful of minutes - To sleep or not to sleep; To experience the snow at night or not to experience it.

Eventually, I decided to out to experience the wonder of snowfall. When I reached outside, the magical white world wowed me. The showering of snow flakes, large in size (almost the size of a plum), was so fast, so mesmerizing. The thickness of the snow is almost 30 cm. 

I started running excitedly, playing with snow, like a child, he-he. And taking random pictures. I went to the town, alone, like a ghost. It looked starkly beautiful, all decked in white, so different, so beauitful. The otherwise barren trees were dressed in snow, appearing even more wonderful to look at.

It’s 6 in the morning that I returned home. The snow already stopped falling, and more and more people coming out to play snow. I was completely drenched in snow water and meanwhile started shivering in extreme cold.

By the way, due to this cold, I suffered from high fever and sore throat and was bedridden for two days. But I don’t regret, at all. Because I had witnessed and experienced the wonder of nature at its best, at its best bloom.   

And here, I offer you some photographs that I took that morning. 

Pictures say all about Thimphu City

In the last few months I took many pictures from around Thimphu City. And these pictures say lots about the City. Have a look!

A rich man's life.

Western or K-Pop culture emerging.

Uncontrollable traffic.

Gang culture still exist despite "disbanded".

The City never sleeps

Sex is must.

A contrast standard of modern and traditional architectures

Protecting one's property...not with one lock, but many. 

Severe cold though, but alcohol keeps him warm in the open street.

Dogs taking a nap in the morning after all-night-barking labour.

And yet Thimphu City is beautiful.

Of growing-up, accepting what simply is

It was like any other ordinary days. As usual, so to say, after the office I returned home. After taking a cup of hot coffee, I engaged in one of my own assignments – to write diary. This is the time when my phone rang.

My hand phone’s screen read unknown number.

I answered the phone call, inattentively. The caller is a woman, and presumably educated one. And she sounds familiar to me, remotely though.

“Riku, guess…who am I?” she asked me.

Scratching my head, I told her that I can’t. “This is crazy, um, I can’t la,” I went blank. But she persisted that I know her, and I was insisted on again and again to guess who she is.

“Give me some clues?” I demanded, with an ounce of irritation.

She explained, “We studied together in a same school in 1995.”

I named one girl. She isn’t the one, huh. I called out another name. Oh my god, she is the one. So true, we studied together. It was almost 18 years back from now.

I was studying in Class III at Norbuling Primary School in Gelephu. And those days I was an unkempt and unruly tiny boy. I only knew playing marbles and run-rounding my village and school, causing constant troubles to girls. No kidding la.

But this girl was uncommonly a bright student. Dark haired, dimpled face and fair skin, she – I still remember – was starkly beautiful and adorable. She, of course, was the beauty queen of our school.    

“Can I ask you one thing?” she said in a low voice, as if what she has to say is top-secret information. I assured her, “Sure, you can ask la.”

“Do you remember the time that you wrote a love letter to me?” she asked me as she gave out a little laugh. Eh…? This gave me real goose-chill-bumps. I was surprised, flabbergasted, and more tellingly ashamed – all at once.   

“Umm…uh, yes, when? I, uh, remember it now. Ah, I do remember,” I agreed laughing back at her, nervously.

I admitted to her that I used to ‘admire’ her. “That’s why I couldn’t help myself from writing a love letter to you,” I clarified to her.

We kept on talking about this tiny moment away. To put it politely, I was nodding my head as I talked to her. For, I also remembered everything. And it seemed to go all the way back to those delicious days.

I don’t know precisely whether it’s love at first sight or love at all. Does love happens at this age? Maybe infatuation. I don’t know. But allow me to be honest with you. I’d go weak in my knees when I see her and always try to steal her glimpse.

My friends would kid at me, “You’ll never get her in your life. Imagine where you’re and where she is. There’s a difference of sha dha nam.” But I remained resolute, and in one fine evening I wrote a love letter to her. In fact, it was my first love letter to a girl. And I still remember what I wrote. It goes like this,

My Sweetheart,

In the garden of flowers, there are hundreds of beautiful flowers. But for me, you’re the most beautiful. From the first day I saw you I started adoring you and always wanted to pluck you to make you mine for ever. I love you so desperately. Will you be my love?

Yours would be,

Riku Dhan Subba,

Class III ‘C’.

By the way, my big brother helped me writing this letter, he-he. The next morning I earnestly prayed, “God, this is my life’s first time. Please…please…help me making her mine!” And through one of her friends, I sent the letter.

I anxiously waited for the reply the next day. It didn’t come. Even weeks passed and month too. Alas, no reply. Then, I knew I was ‘rejected’. My friends started teasing me, embarrassingly, calling out at me ‘poenlop’ (a term used for a boy rejected by girl).   

I just felt overall rejected and insulted. From then, I was always hiding or running away from her, and avoiding humiliating remarks from my friends.  

After that incident, it had been 18 years we haven’t met until she called me that evening. But as we talked, every word we exchanged is direct, punctuated with honesty. And what surprised me was her memory - she too remembers all this.

So to say, she taught me an important aspect of life. It wasn’t that she called me; it wasn’t that she reminded me about the past, it was something else. It’s a growing-up in courage, truth-telling, becoming mature and radiantly accepting what simply is. 

Second photo: unknown source