New Bhutanese writers

I came across a handful of books by the Bhutanese at the Book Fair in Bajothang. I was very much surprised. Because that I’ve not heard of and read before about these books and authors. But those books are written and published by our fellow-Bhutanese, and they are there in the market for sale. More surprisingly, most of the writers are very young teachers. I’m very happy for them and have bought some of the books as personal copies. The books are: 

Photograph

"An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth."

                                                      - Bonnie Friedman

Creating a little more space

Not long ago, I wrote here about how thrilled I was to visit my friend Sonam’s apple orchard at Khasadrapchu to pluck apples there. Last Saturday, again, I visited this beautiful orchard along with my friends Pema and Sonam. This time, it’s not to pluck apples, but to nurture the orchard.

The entire noon, we weeded the orchard, and added manure and water to the plants. Like a group of peasants, we toiled in the orchard, digging and weeding. Our limbs were mud-stained; our faces profusely streaming with sweats.

Meanwhile, we whistled, in a rustic way, commanding the wind to bring us fresh air. As expected, a strong current of wind gusted around the valley. Magic works, ah, it really does! The apple plants started to bend and twist as if they were dancing to the song of the wind. As they danced, the flower petals of the plants were blown away in the air, over the valley. The bees, sucking nectars, were also brushed away. It all appeared to me so truly surreal.

Beneath a handsome tree, we lied down, talking and observing the loveliness of the countryside. We admired the lone farm road that climbs way up into a tiny settlement on mountaintop. We listened to the mysterious sound of the wind too; keenly observing its flow. We felt it deep inside, breathed it deeper. It’s very peaceful.   

We continued working. We continued talking. It’s all about our lives, our little aspirations, our ideologies, our beloved ones and families, and not so much about our works. After a while, we felt sublime, peaceful.  

However, the beauty is not that I could spend my weekend away from Thimphu, but it’s this small moment of working and sitting together with my friends in such a lovely place. I’m happy that I’m creating a little more space for them, my soul friends.

My little world, my writing

I feel very lucky to have found a love of writing. Here, on my blog. Quite surprisingly, this writing has become part of me, my daily life. As I spend a huge block of my time on writing here, almost everyday.

But I’m one person who often writes about my own little life - my world, activities, philosophies, hopes, and dreams. Because I feel that all other things are being written amply by pens far mightier than mine.

I absolutely love to write about these itsy-bitsy activities of my life. They are so little, tiny, mundane, small, and naïve. Yet, they are part of me. All this together make me, this very self.   

I live a simple life with a handful of friends. And what I’ve owned and done in my life is little. I know that no one else would ever write my story. So I write it myself, with thanks, as ever to e-blog.  

My stories, blog posts, are mostly about my home, my heart, my family and friends, my village, writing, good books I read, walks, photography, and nature. For, they are what I focus on the most in my life. For, they are my creative muse too.

And each post I write, there’s still more to write. That’s the indisposition of my little world, my writing. Insatiable. Never-ending. Writing here helps me to explore what life is all about, and I’m always delighted in the discovery and contentment.

So much wrong happen each day. But writing is transformative, peaceful. As I sit for a small moment thinking and writing, it’s like I put pause from the routine and busyness of my life. Sometimes, I put down my feelings and thoughts to get answer in my writing. 

  

Above all, I write to remember, and to be remembered. Through writing, I intend to relive each moment of my life on these pages, briefly, though it’s only about small things.

It’s through this blog that I hope to live on for a few generations after I die. When my friends, family members and readers go through this blog, I live on. When they read my stories of the memories I’ve made, I live on. When they remember my name, I live on.

I am not sure that I could ever write in the future. I don’t know. I don’t know what pages of my life would unfurl for me. I don’t know, at all. But I know this…that I am writing here! 

Pink Thimphu: Instagram pictures

I started loving Instagram so much, lately. It seems like this online photo-sharing and video-sharing social networking service has been designed especially for me. Seriously. For, photography is one of my favorite engagements in everyday life. So much so I love doing it that there isn’t a single day without my camera clicking pictures.  

What I like most about the Instagram is its photographic filters that we can apply to our images. And of course, it confines photos to a square shape. For a person like me who doesn’t use Photoshop, Instagram is simply comfortable and fun. Just capture a picture, choose a filter to transform its look and feel, use frames if you want to, and share it with my friends and family. It’s very simple, enjoyable, and beautiful.

So today, I offer you some of the pictures that I took on Instagram this spring. These pictures are all the pink peach blooms of Thimphu. Enjoy much!   

In its own way, the nature’s way

It was already late evening. And that I was still in my office. But hey, I’m not an “over-sincere” civil servant. In fact, I was waiting and just hoping that the rain would stop so that I could walk home. But it didn’t.

So I pulled out my umbrella and marched into the downpour, toward my home, clutching my bag to my chest. The moment I started walking, the rain poured harder. Even the air became damper, chillier. To put it simply, the March rain is pretty uncomfortable. Because it retains the cold, that of the winter, unusual cold, isn’t it?    

It was almost instantly dark, starkly though. Actually Thimphu doesn’t become so dark this early in the spring. But that evening, it was. Maybe – just maybe – it could be because of the heavy downpour, or the dark clouds that hung so low and held the entire valley in its bosom. To me, it all appeared like the heaven was kissing the first spring blossom of the year.

The road that I walked was virtually empty. All shops closed and the people returned to their homes. And as I walked, I could feel the fresh aroma of the spring in the air, its fragrance all exuded, fluxed with the rain. I became so intoxicated. I felt as if I were in the company of a beautiful woman, walking together. Honestly speaking.   

The endless droplets of the rain splattered against my umbrella and against the road. Some drops big, others tiny. And they produced a rhythmic beating sound with different uneven beats. I stopped walking, abruptly; however, not to listen to the rain sound.

I started watching the rain tapping on the pink peach blooms and green leaves that was perfectly illuminated by the streetlamps. They met so gently, almost playfully. Ah, it looked so passionate, so sensual, and so surreal. Instantaneously, I was hit by a wave of something – a few questions though.

Is this how nature mates?

Does nature really make love?

Sorry readers, I’ve no idea what really aroused me to think about it, but there I was asking these questions. As I continued walking, the sound of the rain enfolded me and the darkness too. But deep inside me, it’s these questions that enfolded me overpoweringly.

As I write this post, right now, these questions still buzz beautifully in my head, my heart. I was and still am very much sure that I can’t get the answer, anyway; not even in my writing. But now I can, at least, console myself that all I could see was the mystery of wild, the wonder of nature. Perhaps heaven can make love with nature, in its own way, the nature’s way.

Written out in the spring

Last weekend, I borrowed a book, “Further Chronicles of Avonlea”, from my friend. The book, a collection of short stories by L. M. Montgomery, includes a number of stories relating to the inhabitants of the fictional Canadian village of Avonlea located on Prince Edward Island. One of the stories really touched me, coz it relates to the spring, my favorite season,

“It was in the spring that Josephine and I had first loved each other, or, at least, had first come into the full knowledge that we loved. I think that we must have loved each other all our lives, and that each succeeding spring was a word in the revelation of that love, not to be understood until, in the fullness of time, the whole sentence was written out in that most beautiful of all beautiful springs.”

Dear readers, walk around, open your eyes, and be awed by the timely coming of this year’s spring. Share love, share happiness. I hope you would have a wonderful springtime with your beloved ones!

Special little moments

It was lunchtime. Yesterday. As usual, I walked out of my office with some of colleagues to buy lunch at my office cafeteria. By the way, I don’t carry the packed lunch to office. It’s pretty sad - I know it very well - both for my health and saving.    

So then, I went straight to the counter and put my order. It’s simple one - roti with emadatshi. Tea too, because it’s still cold here in Thimphu, even at noon. After that I pushed myself towards right.

On the wall behind the counter, as always, I spotted a fresh quote. Every day, my office cafeteria puts up a new inspiring quote on the wall. It’s quite thoughtful of them, though. It could be, perhaps, this opportunity that I get to read new quote every noon that I don’t bring my lunch to office, he-he. 

And the quote is,      

Happiness comes from special little moments.

However, this particular quote touched me in a strange new way. It penetrated me deeply. I read the words, reread them. And I nodded, agreeing to what it has to say, so loyally.

Happiness is not tangible, we know that. But after reading the quote, I swear I could touch it. And here, as I type this post, I’m all smiling, still feeling that happiness.

Yes, happiness really comes from special little moments. Like this, to me, even from reading a simple quote, even from spending small time with my colleagues over the lunch. And you can never guess how happy I’m putting down small little moments of my life here on my blog.

A happy weekend, dear readers!