A thing of beauty!

I arrived at the Save the Children Program Office, Thimphu for Go Youth Go (GyG) Organizational Development Workshop 30 minutes before the scheduled time. Wow…30 minutes before the scheduled time! Moreover, it’s one Saturday morning; indeed, one day in week that I’d be snoring till noon. Usually, I’m one person, civil servant who reaches his office not before 10 am and avoids attending meetings, seminars and workshops with all kinds of excuses.

The rain hadn’t stopped, then, since a couple of days before. It’s still really beating down, so heavily. And this kind of rain, excessive showering, does feed to our mind. Not only hindrances our works, but also makes our mind gloomy and makes us sick-literally.   

The SCF office’s caretaker offered a coffee for me. And I nestled on a wooden bench, sipping a fantastic cup of coffee. Watching the rain falling on the ground, and listening to its light pitter-patter sound. Ah, I love the sound of rain.

There, right there, I spotted this beauty, this gorgeous bellflower. It was dancing gracefully, gently, like a bell in a monastery, droplets of rain falling on it. I stood, mesmerized, witnessing its beauty, the way round dew-shaped rain forming on its petals and slowly dropping on the ground.

And I bent and tipped forward, taking out my camera, and clicked a shot. I checked it in digital lens, instantaneously. Oho! I couldn’t believe that I took this picture. The photographer in me had blossomed to the fullest. He-he, no, no, it’s the object of this naïve artist. 

Chasing rainbows

The afternoon was nearing its end. And I’ve sat in my office, all day, not doing much work. Outside, east of Thimphu, the sky was painted in heavy colours of grey and leaking rain. But quite miraculously, the Sun, atop the west horizon, kept sparkling tantalizingly over Thimphu valley.

In a while, the rain started heavily beating down on Thimphu valley. Another wonder, it was. Sunshine, raining-all at once. It’s unlikely an autumn day though.

And over the rooftop of my office, I heard a young voice call out, “Hey, hey, look, there’s a rainbow!” Instantaneously, I barged out blindly, not caring where my feet fell. And I stumbled out, he-he.

Voila! Over the Thimphu City, a full rainbow was stretching, spectacular arch in shape like a bridge between heaven and earth. It’s sparkling beautiful, stunningly mesmeric. And monstrous in size. What a surprise in this year’s autumn welcome! I was excited, all happy.

Also, other people were lining up to witness the magical beauty in the sky that was spread out above us. Our calls of wonder were of “Oh My God!” and cries of “It’s adorable rainbow!”

A minute later, ah, another huge rainbow appeared right above it. Together, they started growing bigger, brighter, clearer, glorious. And the seven different colours emerged so vivid, striking. For a minute or two (I don’t know exactly how long), I stood there, awed, in sincere amazement. Viewing…feeling the presence of the wonder before me that existed beyond my logic.

Then, furiously, I fought my way past the rain taking pictures of this overwhelming beauty. I knew that pictures would never be taken again-not precisely, not ever. But, oh thank god, I took many furtive shots.  

Well, the downpour has stopped. The clouds cleared and the Sun started sparkling hard on us again. And I stood there, seeing the magical rainbows vanishing into the thin air. Oh, it’s almost painful to see it disappeared. The magic moment ended, so abruptly.

And I returned to my office, obviously, mourning at what was lost. But quite surprisingly, that beauty and magic of rainbows stood, reverberating, deep inside me. The rainbow, its beauty and colours, were mirrored in me, in my heart. Yes! Now, what the nature was whispering to me through the rainbows became more evident.

Listen la, I’ll tell you this. When I was young, I heard from my adults and learned from fairytales about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Still, today, I can remember running over the rice fields back in my village as a child trying to catch the end of the rainbow, always hoping that this time…this time I would find the pot of gold. And this belief had stayed with me for this many years-always chasing rainbows and never quite finding the pot of gold.

Only today, I realized and understood that the pot of gold or rainbow is within me. Rainbows, as symbol, only reminded us to look up and see the beauty and treasure which, in fact, is always within us. It shows that we can bloom and express our colours-our skills and talents that was inside of us all along-to harness the treasure, the pot of gold.

Dear readers, a wonderful holiday!

Of pleasure, purity and simplicity

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to pick my camera. I limped around my office, running randomly, not knowing where my feet fell. Stumbling a few times, he-he. But I ran clicking pictures of flowers, that’s unassumingly beautiful and irresistible. Photography is pleasure, pure and simple. 

Educating with heart

Early Learning Centre (ELC), a private elementary school in Thimphu, is doing something extraordinary-more than just providing academic learning. With its vision, Educating for universal happiness, this school has instituted a project called citizenship programme. Under this programme, ELC engages students in social activities. This, according to the school management, “is to civilize……educating with the heart!”

Recently, ELC has donated Nu 50,000 to Bhutan Kidney Foundation (BKF) in its attempt to collaborate with the Foundation to propagate and strengthen its citizenship programme. They proclaimed, “It's NOT charity but a social responsibility.”

Later, ELC students visit the Patient’s Guest House, JDWNRH, where 28 patients, mostly kidney failure patients who are under dialysis are sheltered. These patients are poor, homeless, orphans, without relatives in Thimphu and no good foods to eat. This visit was to make children have a direct personal connection with the beneficiaries of the citizenship programme/poor patients. The students talked to the patients, shared love, exchanged encouraging words and smiles, and contributed gifts and grocery to them.

This school’s visit has not only brought renewed mood of optimism and happiness to the patients. But more importantly, it helped the students learned about humanity. An increased concern for helping those less fortunate, heightened sense of love, the ability to communicate love, developed a great compassion, deeper understanding of life.  

Actually, I can never muster the right words to convey what ELC is doing. But as a member of the BKA for the good they have been doing, the way they’re educating their students, we place on them highest honour and always pray best wishes for this school. 

My birthday!

The sun is barely making it over the mountains. Its rays just start slanting tantalizingly over the Thimphu valley. And by the window, at home, this morning, I sit reverent, reflective. The cool morning breeze is gently gushing across my face. Ah, the loveliness of morning. Tenderness. So much beauty. But, today…umm…today’s my Birthday! I’m, uh, 29 now.

But unlike on my past birthdays, very surprisingly, today I sit here reminiscing and wondering how I had spent those 29 years. And now I keep turning pages of my life, one by one. It’s full of milestones though. And a very long journey. I had travelled, in 29 years, between childhood and adulthood, between innocence and knowledge, between love and hatred, between laughter and tears, between hopes and chaos. I still carry all those memories with me. Some forgotten, others partially distorted, and many reverberating in my mind. And of course, all those memories make my life. Me. 29-year old.

I’ll tell you that my life so far has been intense, always, overwhelming. I had lived a very alert and bright childhood, I could tell. But, I too turned lousy in the later stage of my life.

Like any one of you, my wallet had been thick and thin. Or more aptly, thin often. I had done wrong, been wrong. Dismayed, confused, and anxious. Along the way, I had stumbled so many times, even hitting my lowest point. But I too learned to find ways to adjust to difficult circumstances and times.

Also, I had loved a woman so madly. More than ever had I guts to admit. I lost her, by the way. All along after that, I searched for another woman to love again, whom, I thought, could make me complete. I chose partners and changed partners. But now I learned that it’s not about finding the woman of my dream. It’s, more importantly, about finding the endurance and happiness within myself. Self-discovery, that is.

This 29 years, oddly, wonderfully, has taught me to become more patient. For better or worse, I’ve also become more honest in my exchanges, more clear in my priorities, more focused in what I do or work and more open to new ideas. I’ve developed more hope, more capacity within. Now I can dance better, walk farther.

Yet, I still have lots more to do and achieve in life. To do my masters, buy a car, build a house, settle down, travel across the world, and write good books. But I’m getting older and I’ve been realizing this. And to think about this transition (getting older) in life is sad, at times scary. But nevertheless, it’s inevitable. Right?

And the funniest truth? I still feel that I don’t quite understand fully about life. Honestly. Not even today, on my 29^th birthday. He-he. But with every passing day I feel that I’m just beginning to understand the miracle of life, little by little. And that’s the way of life-enigmatic. There’s meaning and majesty in just living. And so, surprise. Joy. Glory.

Still here, I sit. By the window, looking way up in the sky painted all in glorious blue. Oh, the sunlight is shimmering all over the hill, illuminating light, warmth and life. My mind is clear and awakened; my heart is filled with warmth, goodness, and gratefulness.

And now, right now, right here, on my 29^th birthday, I learn that we’ve to accept all this transitions in life. Let go of things which are irretrievable. And I’ve to ready myself for the next stage of my life, which I’m sure, will be full of great moments, realizations and wisdom.

Me and my Afro

The post below is written by Karma Palden, a freelance writer and it was published in the K2. I knew Karma since college. I have been very much amused with his hair since then. And this article has all explanations. Read it below:

It was a winter.  I was travelling to Phuentsholing in a bus.  While stopping over at Gedu for a break, an elderly man, who was hard of hearing, asked me with such sincerity in his tone if I could tell him where I bought my wig.

“I’m planning to get one,” he said.

This wasn’t my first encounter of this kind.  People usually presume it’s a wig I am wearing, and I can’t blame them either.  My hair is big, with tight curls, resembling an Afro.  It’s a mass shaped like a halo, a dark one, around my head.

“It’s not a wig; it’s real hair,” I said.

But he didn’t hear, I suppose, for he kept asking how much it cost and other things.  So when the bus started I was glad.

My hair has always been curly.  But it was in college I started experimenting.  It sat so well with ‘back to basics’ and ‘nature culture’ I was so fond of, that I started keeping it.

And often people took it for a wig.  Whenever I said it was real, they’d touch it and sometimes yank in disbelief.

I do steal a lot of amusing and disapproving stares from toddlers to elderly people, which I dually return with a fitting glance.  But it can be nauseating at times when you are low and down in spirits.  Some youngsters think it is cool, while some break into sudden laughter.

On occasion, some people take me for a wayward person and justifiably, since our society has their granted say on outlandish ways and behaviour.

There are even instances when people keep stakes and of course I have won many bets.  There are others, who inquire the technique to get this big unscrupulous hair.  Well, I have no answer to that, since it is natural and a gene(uine) case with me.

In dark alleys, I’ve often spooked others, not intentionally.  I just happened to be passing by.

My friends usually have chunks of such jokes to heap on me.

It’s been seven years now, and it has become part of who I am.  To me, it means no style statement or whatsoever; it is just that I am comfortable and confident.  It helps in being me; to be precise, it could be perfectly surmised in the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”

I am trying …

Giving

I sat by the window of a bus at the Phuentsholing Bus Station. I stared out the window the rain falling on the ground with a light pitter-patter sound. The sound of rain, oh! I adored rain and always had, mostly for their sound. And I sat there, in my own imagination, watching and hearing it, reverent.

A woman, presumably in her 50s, arrived with eight sacks of litchi. She looked humble, apparently illiterate. This woman started loading her litchi in a bus all by herself, under the rain. Let me help her, I thought. Subsequently, I dashed out and helped her in dragging and pushing the sack after sack of litchi on the bus top. It took almost a dozen of minutes. And I sweated, the downpour soaked me too.

I sprinted back to the bus, in my seat. The droplets of rain kept splattering against the glass. Bus passengers arrived one after another, and once again I sat watching the rain pouring down, hearing its sound. But this time, also wondering about my journey. You know all this…summer means not just hot weather and rain, but also erosion, flashfloods, roadblocks and road accidents. And I was praying, indeed earnestly, let there be no road blocks.

In a while the driver arrived. He prayed, rather ritualistically, and then started the engine. We had to halt several times and wait for hours at box-cutting (check spelling yourself, he-he) and road clearing areas. However, non-stop Bhutanese rigsar songs made this traveling not boring. Ugyen Pandey’s songs were much played. They were about our Kings, country, friendship, love and the melancholy mysteries of life. I loved and lived by many of his songs. I bought his albums. I know the lyrics.

The sun had already disappeared when we reached Thimphu. At the Lungtenzampa Bus Station crowd, I started looking for a cab after collecting my luggage.

“Kota! Kota!” I heard a voice of woman. I stared back. There, quite unexpectedly, was the woman whom I helped loading her litchi. She ran towards me and took out a bunch of litchi for me. I was not sure how to react. I denied. Once. Twice. Thrice. But she, her smile beautiful, insisted on to take it. She pushed that litchi in my bag and left.

A volume of happiness erupted in me, so automatically. It made my heart melt with love and admiration for her gorgeous heart. She was a peasant, uneducated and apparently without ambition. But I felt sheer smallness of my life in front of her. Even little thing like a bunch of litchi can bring you a joy so vast. And she taught me this. I burst in tears. I didn’t know precisely why-perhaps my happiness was expressed in the form of tears.

I caught a cab and left for home so, so grateful for this caring and thoughtful woman. I left wishing her about the best that life has to offer her. 

Inner Sanctum of a Temple

We set off walking uphill, on our way to renovate a vandalized chorten on the way to Phajodhing. It was mid-morning, a month ago. Sunny day. Bright. We, 12 of Go Youth Go members, carried a load each of lime, paint, sacks, spade, knife, packed lunch and some drinks.   

After almost an hour-in fact, sweated-we reached the spot. Wow, we were into the interior of the forest, all surrounded by beautiful green trees. The air, so clean and cool and pure. I was delighted beyond words. In some ways, this was a great relief for me. Away from the intense, cramped and noisy Thimphu City.

But, eh, in one corner of the hill, sat the chorten abandoned and despised, in sullen silence. It looked bruised, dispirited, looted. Oh, the mere sight of it pained me, provoked such an ache of my heart.

Immediately, we deployed ourselves in rebuilding the chorten. With real gusto though. Responsibilities were divided among us. I received a bucket to fetch water from the stream about a hundred yards downhill. A couple of others got a sack each and spade to ferry clay. Others went onto collect pine needle and made a fire to burn incense and pine needle as was the ritual. Strong boys from the group gathered stones. Two boys, who had good knowledge about architecture, put back the treasures and refilled damaged areas. And of course, a few brought their great humours.

In no time at all, the required materials were gathered. Water. Clay. Pine needle. Stones. It was, in fact, all about teamwork and teambuilding among the group members. Then, we started rebuilding the chorten, so uninterruptedly, so determinedly.

After a while, there’s torrential rain beating down on us, and it’s ferocious.  The rain water mixed with girls’ black mascara, eyeliner and foundation. Boys’ gell streaming down, all milky white. Our clothes wet, our hands and legs muddied.

But no one complained about the downpour. We kept on working, feeling much stronger, against the onslaughts of the pouring rain and cold. We admired work of art, architecture and the efforts our ancestors had invested building this chorten.

In the lunch, we shared our packed lunches. Three had brought rice. A few others, emadatsi. One brought ezey. Others had brought vegetables curries. Even it’s teamwork in having lunch and more importantly, all about sharing.

The lunch warm in our bellies, we resumed our work. And this time, recharged with a commendable spirit and determination. As we worked, we too conversed, laughed, played, tussled and tangled. In fact, sweating profusely.

But the clouds up in the sky never cleared. The downpour never stopped and soaking us. And, oddly, wonderfully, it opened my eyes to the radiance of a deep sense of grace and glow to my heart. Like this rain water, like this sweats and this mud which had dissolved every particle of worldly dust from our body, the effect of laboring rebuilding of the chorten cleansed our tainted souls. Anger, desolation, apathy, weariness and despair-all flushed down. And only the positive feelings had been illuminated in our heart. And a growing belief in a spiritual dimension, developed compassion and heightened sense of love.

And the dispirited, bruised, looted chorten resurrected in its glory. Its treasures restored, its grace returned. Once again, it stood incomparably beautiful, shining in bliss, plentitude. And illuminating in a halo of lights of beauty, love, spiritualism, compassion and protection. This is one plain empirical truth, I had discovered. The chorten like a mirror reflected our own image, inner sanctum of our temple.  

The afternoon was nearing its end when we complete rebuilding the chorten. The rain stopped. Ah, miraculously, the setting sun stood feverishly beautiful in the west as we packed our things and headed our way home downhill-muddy and slippery. Flurries of birds were swirling around us twittering and chirping as if they were thanking us. Fresh wild flowers budded full, supposedly, in enormous gratitude and a sense of homage for us. Rustling leaves waved us farewell.

And downhill, we clambered, with a smile of satisfaction and love. Our heart exalted. Because not only did we resurrect one chorten, but our own negative feelings cleansed and heroically restored with compassion, love, happiness.

Note: Go Youth Go (GyG) is a membership-based community group of highly motivated young people which is committed to bring positive social change in Bhutan. It has over 160 active members. GyG is on Facebook: www.facebook.com/GoYouthGo