Drag me to Hell

Advice: If you truly believe in the existence of God, Heaven and Hell, please don’t read this post. 

I had this dream recently. A dream, understandably weird! But what I found out in this dream may surprise you! It surprised me! Read on, and you’ll see how.

I’ll pause briefly here. Sigh! For, you’re making an audacious step to listen to my bizarrely weird dream. Gain yourself a good composure. Cool!

After my death, well, the Lord of Death examined my merits and demerits. After ascertaining that I had led a responsible and compassionate life, He deservedly sends me to Heaven. Common! Don’t envy me. It’s just a dream, and a weird one, ha-ha. I told you already, na?

And who wouldn’t be so excited about being ascended to Heaven? Exactly! I am extremely joyful as my ultimate truthful wish has been fulfilled. Aha! I attain eternity of peace and happiness.

Now you must be wondering how the Heaven looks like? You want me to describe it for you? Hmm-mmm, so here it is.  Oh jeez! I stand awestricken by admirably beautiful landscapes of Heaven and serenely flowing brooks and staircases. Guess what? Heaven has streets of pure gold, gates of pearl, walls decorated with every manner of precious gemstones. It’s a city of pure gold, as pure as glass.

Listen here, nothing impure ever exists here and the residents live eternally in the presence of God. In short, it’s a place of joy, peace and love. A pair of angels, identical to each other, who guide me to the Heaven, gently whisper in my ears, “This is place only the righteous shall deserve to attain.” Negative terms connoting adversity, hunger, pain, famine, rejection and anger seem unseen and unheard. Everything is literally perfect!

However, a sudden pang of missing-kind-of-feeling yanked up deep inside me. Funny, right? I start missing my parents, my girlfriends, my beloved siblings and relatives, my friends and office colleagues. Funnier is that they are dead too but are sent to Hell. What’s the use of coming here when all of my beloved ones are sent to Hell, I moan. Or is it just the earthly attachment that I couldn’t renounce yet?

Here, my friends and neighbors are seemingly Rimpoches, monks, nuns, lamas, bishops, popes, priests, Christian fathers, Brahmans and sadujis. Every one, en masse, engross in marathon-spontaneous prayers their Holy Scriptures unfolded in front of them. I desperately want so far as to say that they don’t have time to greet their new arriving guest. No one has time for each other. I feel disregarded and shamed!

I forgot to tell you that a system of rules of conduct or method of practice in Heaven is purely based on Drig-lam Namzhag. Or bura math kaho, buro math dekho, bura math suno, bura math khao is the mere institutionalized way of life here. I must say, rather angrily, that the freedom of expression and basic human rights is utterly denied here. Several occasions, I fall in love with those extraordinarily ravishing female angels, but I can’t express my true love. If I do, I will be doomed forever. Sounds weird, right?

All time I have to stay cross-legged saying prayers. The prayers are for those sentient beings dwelling in the Purgatory and Hell, they reason on me. Oof! I am exhaustingly bored here. Perhaps these are the reasons why all Rimpoches and Lamas do not stay long in Heaven. They are reborn again and again, come back to earth as Truelkus.

Remember, it’s easy to go to Hell. Just have fun, party with your friends, freak out with hot girls, drink and eat. You be what you are and do what you want to. That’s all. Very simple. And go to Hell.

And I have this simple justification in my mind, though regretful. Like Rimpoches and Lamas, I want to go back to Hell, reborn as a human, or as a truelku or even as a beggar. So I return to the Lord of Death and request him to drag me to Hell, a place of torment but it’s also a place where my beloved ones are and where I have the world’s freedom and rights or be what I am.

When I opened my eyes, it was morning, in my bed. Is this Hell? Whatever, I will be having fun, partying with my friends, drinking and freaking out, my freedom and rights restored. And going to Hell is obvious.

It always hurts more to have and lose than to not have in the first place

Prologue: This is a true story narrated by my niece, Banira. It occurred at a remote village in Sarpang just a year before the anti-national protests in southern Bhutan. 

Maya was just 12 year-old when she was married off to a man of her father’s age. Her aging parents, poor, arranged her marriage, for this groom supported them financially. They had nothing to repay him, so they gave him their daughter’s hand.

Maya was a shy girl and so courteous that she spoke in a voice barely higher than a whisper. Unaware of anything like man and marriage, she agreed upon what her parents had decided for her.

A couple of years later, Maya’s first child was miscarriage. She wailed like a child when the village elders wrapped the dead child in a piece of cotton cloth and took just a mile away. They hung it on a tree branch as their custom would have it that a miscarriage cannot be buried or burnt or given a proper funeral.

Her second child survived; a daughter identical to her. That evening her husband killed rooster for dinner as a humble celebration. And to protect this lovely child from evil or premature death, she and her husband gave her an ugly name, Kali.

When Maya was 20, she met with another misfortune. This time agonizingly horrific: her husband died from untreated malaria. The in-laws booted out her from the house as they called her a witch and accused her for causing untimely death of her husband. They ostracized her. Also, they deprived her of her own daughter.

She was left without any place to go. In a typical Hindu custom, a daughter cannot return to her parents and live with them after the marriage. It would be a disgrace to her parents.

She had a distant relative in the next village where she sought refuge. Her relative was helpful and protective, but she lived in an absolute loneliness.

Two autumns passed. One evening when she went out to fetch water from the spring, she met a handsome man. It was her love at first sight. Tshering was his name, and he was in late 20s. Dressed in black leather jacket and jeans pant, he wore side-pungs. She found him so charming that she started thinking of him every second. She dreamed to be with him, in the warmth of his embrace, longing to hear his sweet voice.

Secretly during night hours, she always went to meet him. They hid under a bush, under starry nights and shared infinite love notes and kisses. Each night she spent with him, she fell in love with him more intensely and more she needed him. She discovered Tshering was so caring, loving, dear to her who made her life complete.

One night, under the bush, Tshering asked her for the greatest treasure that Maya could ever give him. Obviously sex. She felt that this was the first time any man had asked her for that. As he entered her, she felt Tshering was the first man she ever made love. She never felt this before, though she had spent eight years with her late husband. 

What is love? What is romance? What is a kiss? What is a love bite? What is lovemaking? She never knew these until she met another man in her life.

Now she got everything that she wanted in her life: love, companion, affection and protection. She didn’t want to lose all this. So she decided to marry Tshering.

However, this happiness of her was short lived. One night, Tshering told her that he has to talk to his parents about their marriage and he went back to his village in eastern Bhutan. That night she cried as she missed him terribly and felt lonely. She didn’t feel this pain even on the day her husband or first child died or even when she separated from her parents.

She waited and waited for his come back to marry her. But Tshering never return. Several months conceded. She started panicking, once again feeling lonely, depressed and alienated.

After ten months, she heard from a neighbor that Tshering was a married man. Heartbroken, she fell on the ground and never rise. She died, betrothed and unheard.

Epilogue: But who knows her story? The person who gave the news about Tshering’s foul game to Maya is my niece who narrated this story to me.

Blind, but with a Vision

Amrith Bahadur Subba, 30-year old, a colleague of mine is visually impaired. He lost his eyesight to untreated red-eye epidemic that struck the vicinity when he was just nine.

Today he works as a counselor with Department of Youth and Sports, MoE in Thimphu. In addition to regular counseling, guidance and information services, he helps the management in administrative write-ups and organizing certain youth programmes.

Many people wonder how he, a blind person, works in his office. Let me mention here, I am also amazed at the way he works. Very professional in dealing his clients, he is also effective in all administrative works. If you’re seeing him working in his office for the first time, he would make you impressively awestruck.

In the office, most of the time he spends in front of his computer. Advanced technology has made it possible for him to work on the computer with the help of a screen-reading software called JAWS (Job Access With Speech) which reads anything that appears on the screen. Yes, he too is on facebook, Yahoo! Messenger, Skype and he too blogs. He uses HP printer and scanner without anyone’s help. He prepares his own presentation slides and uses the projector in a very proficient style. He can walk to and fro from his office to washroom without any escort. A good vocalist, he is very much interested composing songs. To his name, he produced an audio album in 2005.

Happily married to a caring wife and fathered two children, when at home, mostly he spends his time cooking. I am enthralled each time I watch him chopping the vegetables and cooking it. And after half an hour or so, he readies delicious ema datshi, ezey and other Indian-style curries. He can even cook non-veg. Hey, trust me, this writer has tasted his foods many times. Awesome!

Unlike other careless Bhutanese men, he wears gho himself. That’s also very neatly.

To briefly account his achievements, Amrith is a gold medalist in BA English Literature from Bharatiyar University, Tamil Nadu. After he stood fourth in RCSC exams 2005, he did his PG in Public Administration for one year from Royal Institute of Management, Simtokha.

                                                            
He was considered one of the independent and very successful disabled persons in our country; however, an inevitable challenge had never stopped him from becoming completely independent. He couldn’t walk alone once he was out of his house and office-he always needed a person to escort him.

Many of you who know Amrith might have seen him every morning and evening being escorted to his office and back to his house. The person who has been escorting him is me. For the last one year, I helped him escorting as his wife had to stay home to babysit their young children. 

But a problem cropped up! There’s no one to escort him when I was away for tours, trainings or on leave. He became handicapped again!

It was in last April, a week-long Mobility Training for Disabled was conducted in Punakha. I encouraged him to participate in the training as it aimed to empower the disabled person through making them walk independently. Likewise, the training taught him the handling of the white cane (walking stick), finding shorelines of a road or footpath with the help of the cane, discovering landmarks (edge of a footpath) and how to walk on staircases.

However, even after the training he couldn’t walk alone as his house is half a mile away from the office. More difficult was that he has to cross two crowded traffics between Swimming Pool and Kelki School. But I had consistently encouraged him to make this audacious attempt.

Encouragement only was not enough. Everyday I had to train him on the route between his house and office. I escorted him, but this time mentioning him about shorelines of the footpaths, roads, traffics and landmarks of all the gates, fences, playgrounds and buildings. He studied, sensed and felt with his cane. From the third day, I made him walk on this route, unescorted. I would be behind him watching him walk with his cane and shouting at him if he had missed or overstepped the shorelines or landmarks. 

                                      
After one week of extensive training, I had to go for a fortnight-long training (resourced by NBCC, WHO) in Paro. One afternoon, when in Paro, I received a phone call from Amrith. It’s a good news, “Hey! I’ve become independent! Today I walked office alone. From now on, I can walk alone. Thank you, Rikku!”

As he was buoyed by his achievement, I also reveled in triumph and punched the air in celebration,

“Yesss!”     

When a Large Family participates in the Election Day

Before 2005, the role of our family had been insignificant. However, as soon as our country raced preparing for the Constitutional Democratic Monarchy since 2005, each member of our family felt that we are of importance in the making of democratic government.

During the General Election Campaign in late 2007 and early 2008, our family members unanimously received unexpected attention and favorable treatments from the contesting candidates for NC and NA. Any kind of favor and support have they offered us. And they were seen, unbelievably, being pleasant to our family members, very courteous and helpful.

Now as the Local Government Election is on the card, again our family is already on the receiving end of a good behavior from the Gup and Tshogpa candidatures. Frequenting our house, they always offer us with doma or buy beers for my father. The official works which used to be done in one month are now being done in a couple of days. Meet us anywhere, they smile and talk nicely. It’s incredibly strange. Why are they treating our family differently from other families in the village?

Just a month ago, the Election Commission of Bhutan (ECB) posted voter cards to us. And I just counted the number of registered and eligible voters in our family. There are 34 (out of 44) who can vote from our family in this Local Government Election Day. In my village, today there's a total of 260 eligible registered voters. That means 13.1 percent of the total voters are from our family.

However, this is a completely different and a huge responsibility on the shoulder of each member of our family-13.1 percent of all village responsibility yoked on our family. The decision of our family, right or wrong, is going to make a huge difference in this Election Day, in selecting the local leaders.

As a large family, having 13.1 percent of total votes in our hands, we remind ourselves solemnly that we should not be driven by the selfish inclination while voting for the candidates. When we mushroom together, especially during evening tea, the family members extensively discussed about the candidates. Keeping aside all the favoritism and good treatments that we receive every day, our family members are fueled by an unwavering oath to vote for the candidates who can benefit the whole village-who can answer the prevailing local concerns and issues, bring positive social changes in our village and strengthen the root of good governance.    

It ain’t all my fault

I have a secret to tell you, dude. But, hey, promise me that you don’t tell my parent. It’s kinda crap thing. Perhaps this shit may arouse nauseating repugnance in you. But if you really want to hear this lousy thing of mine…ok! Lemme start! Umm…my name is Dorji Tobden Ningtob and a Class 12 student of Motithang HSS. I am just 16 now.

Well, it’s also pretty nice to tell you that what a lousy student I am, a student tagged “below average” by my teachers. My teachers quite expect me to do well in school-develop civic sense, score good in tests and exams, do homework sincerely and perform well in extra-curricular activities. And it’s quite stupid that each time I land up doing just opposite.  

Shit….that my parent also has huge expectations from me. It creaks like hell when they always demand me to get “high marks”, be “knowledgeable”, qualify to a good college and get a dignified job. They are sort of too much bothered about my growth and the foods I take and always want me to stay away from addictions and gang fights. Alright! To tell you frankly, my parents are very protective but they demean me each time they direct me like to a 6-year old kid. “Do this”, “Don’t do that”, “Good for you”, “Bad for you”. If there’s one thing to hate, it’s their goddamn advice.

And like crazy, often I take that crap “banned” stuffs called drugs and cigarette. All my friends are kind of “psycho” and troublesome, and I pretty love to do what they do and feel awesome to be in their company.

Oh, ya, the policymakers and the law of my country want me to inculcate GNH values, preserve our culture and be a productive and patriotic citizen. Oof! Man, see now, I am not as carefree and as useless as you think. I too have many wishful expectations from different stakeholders to uphold, and shit responsibilities that drag me nuts.

Hang on, man…I too have many things to bother about myself. Studies and good job are my top priority, but I am also equally concerned about my body image and sexuality. I love to look damn slim and tall and wear the trendiest clothes and look superb “cool”. Ha-ha!

You’re damn right if you’re thinking that I have a girlfriend. This is the fourth girlfriend of mine, the first one being when I was in Class III. My parents and teachers are “touchy” on this matter, but all time I am horsing around with girls. And of course I do carry condoms in my purse, but mostly land up having unprotected sex. I am damn careless!

Now, dude, you must have this judgment in your head that I am a lousy student, a bad son and irresponsible and unpatriotic young man. Huh! It ain’t all my fault. But tell me one thing, why the expectation of my parents, teachers and entire society juxtapose to what I think and do. Is it coz I don’t understand them or vice versa? Or value of conflict?

But, hey, I want to let you know that I have no dearth of problems and opinions that I can’t share with my parents and teachers. Yuck! Even if I do, they won’t take it seriously and understand my feelings. You know that at this knocker age, I undergo biological changes, it’s onset of my puberty. And I just fear what’s this coz my parent never talks openly with me. I swear to God, this is not even in the syllabus of my school textbooks. So how should I understand this? From whom?

Have you realized one thing about my parents from this shit talk? My parent always looks for my future but sadly they forget my present. They want me to do well in exam, get a good job and become a responsible man. What the heck! And it creaks like a bastard.

Actually, I want my parent to feel, understand and explore the difficulties I am experiencing now. I terribly want them to respect me as a unique individual. Darn! I don’t want them being judgmental, giving me advice, presumptive or assumptive and providing me ready made solutions. I want them to clarify my conflicting issue and help me discover alternative ways of managing myself and my crap situations, so that I can decide what course of action or behavior is helpful to me.

Here, my dad says that he grew up in a safe environment. In his time, he narrates, there was no TV and its influences, no gang culture and substance abuse, and no HIV/AIDS. Unlike him, I live in a damn changing world where I am virtually vulnerable. Now I am transiting into new roles in society. Next summer I will be joining college. I love to be a guitarist and want to join music school, but for Chrissake, my parents pressurized me like hell to join engineering college.

Tell me, dude, what I do now….

Being Ugly is a Terrible Curse?

Following is a chat history between me and TsheYring, a postgraduate student (social works) in India. Also, she was one of the top three finalists at Miss Bhutan Beauty Pageant 2008. Very beautiful and generous with charismatic personality, she is actively involved in various social activities like counseling HIV/AIDS patients, helping orphans and poor at  various slums in Delhi. She blogs about issues related to women in Bhutan. She is also aiming her big dream of coming up with Cornea Association in Bhutan soon. In a chat below, she questioned the biased stereotype perception of men’s attraction towards beautiful girls to date.

TsheYring: Would you love the fragrance of flower or its color? 

Riku: Color! And both if given two options. But what trick’s here? 

TsheYring: No trick!

Riku: Then? I chose color…

TsheYring: OK! Now tell me one thing…

Riku: Sure

TsheYring: If you date a girl…umm…what would you look into that girl? You’ve just  seen that girl a couple of times

Riku: I go for looks of that girl, beauty first. But what attracts me afterwards is her personality, character

TsheYring: Tell me frankly la…honestly! So…You think firstly a girl has to be pretty to date. Is that what you want to say, right? And what is a beautiful girl to you?

Riku: Correct! A beautiful girl is a joy to behold. She is exciting, mesmerizing and is slim, spotless and stunning of form and of countenance.

TsheYring: Mmm…So you mean every girl needs to be pretty to go for date?

Riku: For me, it is must; the first criteria that I look for in a girl to date. But if this pretty girl appeared dumb, snobbish, immoral or full of vanity or has promising ego then I may lose interest in her. However, presentable looks can do

TsheYring: Don’t talk about that right now

Riku: OK! I promise

TsheYring: Mmmm…So now if I generalize all men want pretty girl for date nee? Can I interpret this way?

Riku: Don’t. This is my opinion, but, yeah, most men would rather date a beautiful girl than a less attractive girl. It is to impress their friends, I think.

TsheYring: Alright! Particularly for you the looks of a girl is must

Riku: Men go for pretty girl to date, but for serious relationship they usually go for the history or character of a girl

TsheYring: Ok, you are giving me two concepts. Now honestly tell me…

Riku: I will. Ask me, my opinion, not general

TsheYring: Would you love a deformed girl?

Riku: Ah! [I scratched my head] It’s conditional. Umm…[I murmured].

TsheYring: Tell me. Tell me!

Riku: I can give my love as a protector, parental one, but as a lover… Ha-ha!

TsheYring: She will be physically challenged, but has perfect character, pure, lovely and starkly clean history. Will you date and marry her?

Riku: Hey, I will relate you an incident. Suppose that I have a beautiful girlfriend or fiancee or wife but after a few years she meets a dreadful accident which paralyzes or deforms her. In this case, I will still accept her, love her as before

TsheYring: Listen to me! She will be untouched, very chaste. Would you accept her, love and live with her forever?

Riku: Ha-ha!

Tsheyring: You changed the situation now. So that means the priority is for pretty girls nee?

Riku: Hey, I can’t date a deformed girl and marry her even if she was chaste or kindhearted. I can’t. Never!

TsheYring: Tell me, why do you want to date pretty girls? That means love is only for pretty girls? Do you think in this world there’s space for only those pretty girls for love and happiness? Are they just worth?

Riku: Umm… Ugly girl is simply ugly, doesn’t have outward beauty. If she is beautiful, her beauty is within. What about you? You go for only good looking men to date?

TsheYring: Answer me, Riku! But mind you, the success of a relationship is not dependent on the physical appearance of a girl. What makes girl astounding is not her looks, it’s her overall outlooks on life. She has true beauty if she has beautiful heart. The truth is that outward beauty go stale with age. Whereas, inner beauty lasts forever. Ultimately, what matters is the joy and radiance she brings to your home and to your life.

Riku: Whatever, you have strikingly jabbed at me with this pertinent question. This question has to be asked to all men with such prejudiced perception about girls. However, I can partly blame our ancestors for prioritizing only those pretty girls. They should have treated all girls equally, with same respect despite diagnosing beauty and ugly. So that I wouldn’t have prioritized beautiful girl and feel disgusted at ugly.

TsheYring: Well, you’ve rightly pointed my next question. But first, ask yourself. What do you really want from out of the relationship? A home of happiness and success or a girl you can stare at all day for her beauty but who doesn’t have a clue how to make you happy or how to manage a home or simply unfaithful to you.

Riku: But it will be a difficult for the 21st Century men to change this mentality. It’s ingrained in our minds.

TsheYring: How do you define ugly? What is ugly for you? Ha-ha! You know what we called this in social term?

Riku: Not exactly

TsheYring: Those people who have such biased perception are known as the people who have VESTED INTEREST

Riku: Oh! And it also didn’t spare me. I too profess this belief. Ha-ha! And I see myself as a victim of this prejudiced perception

TsheYring: Exactly! You know we people are really hypocrite. We speak good, act generous, impartial, yet deviant nature or crooked intention lies within us. 

Riku: Right. We really need to change our attitude towards life and society

TsheYring: We are choosy and hypocrite. We are not what we portray to other. That’s why we are known as human beings.

Gelephu Town: Resurrected in a Different Shape

Giri, a teacher from Rangia, India who visited Gelephu after 20 years with his family was astounded when he found comparatively less crowds and shops in Gelephu. He couldn’t digest the fact the Gelephu Town had become so deserted, lost its past glory. He went around desperately and asked some shopkeepers about the crowds and businesses of the town which had disappeared so abruptly.

                                                        Pic: Deserted Gelephu Town

The 52-year-old Gelephu Town had disappointed many hearts. The town wasn’t the way it is now. It was a busiest business hub in our country just a half decade ago and of course a core commercial centre for the businessmen from Bumthang, Trongsa, Dagana, and Tsirang.

“People from all parts of the central Bhutan would come loaded with sacks of cardamom, pears, orange, ginger, and forest products and sell them here. In return, they would take back home salt, sugar, oil, and clothes,” reminisced 70-year-old Bontiq Majji, one of the oldest shopkeepers of the town.

He added, “They would even hold night and enjoy watching films and mela and spend all their left over money on drinking and shopping spree. Even people from as far as Thimphu and Trashigang used to come here to experience the thrill the town used to offer them.”

Ugyen, 34, recollects how agitated he and his friends would be just going shopping at Gelephu Town. The town was always lively with activities and huge crowd. “The other great activity that would create even more excitement was the Losal Cinema Hall. People from all over would gather here and it was fun to watch the Hindi films and the crowd too,” Ugyen said.

Beside Bhutanese, people from the border towns of Dhatghari and Bongaigoan would depend on Gelephu Town for daily supplies of clothes and edibles. Traders and businessmen would come from India and install business in Gelephu because business was profitable here.

The town started disfiguring its past glory since 1990. Since then Gelephu was in the news for all the wrong reasons. The insurgent of southern problem in 1990, the troubled situation in the neighboring Indian State of Assam, the outburst of bombs in 2003, the war in 2004 with ULFA and armed men across the border robbing the residents disgraced the Town ruthlessly.

Deeply troubled by the frequent violence, people knew life in Gelephu would be a dangerous and they abandoned it. Only people with land, buildings, and official duty stayed back.

Many young ones were pushed away when all the factories (match factory, sugar factory, bricks factory, and poultry farms) which had generated a lot of employment were shut down consecutively. Unsure of their future, young people started boarding the buses to other dzongkhags in search of employment and a safer place of education.

Then the business also shifted to Dhatghari, the border town of India. Many other Bhutanese businessmen shifted their business elsewhere. The vegetable market which used to be very jam-packed remains less than half filled today.

For the past 20 years Gelephu Town has shown no improvement. However, the dreary town has now acquired a new, positive image. Gelephu has triumphantly conquered its infamous past and resurrected in a different form.

With lighter population density and of course lesser young people, the town is free of drug abusers, sex workers, and violence. “It is safer for the women and old people to go out on a walk around or on the streets till late night,” 62-year-old retiree said proudly.

Monthly town cleaning campaign organized by Sarpang Dzongkhag Administration brightens the town month after month reducing the malaria and TB patients’ mortality rate.

Apart from the coming up domestic airport, the new multi-million town planning is sprucing up the town in a new look making it the second National City in the country.

“Unlike other towns of our country, Gelephu is less polluted and noisy. Now people started purchasing land and constructing buildings. Gelephu shows bright hope,” a resident told me.

Eat poison, but sprout stronger, beautiful like a peacock

Apprehensive about the voodoo of unending depression that I was undergoing, Sonam Tashi, a friend of mine (senior journalist working with Bhutan Times) wrote a letter of consolation to me, a prodigy in its disposition. This letter was timely that helped me throw away the depression that has blanketed me in recent time. Read it below, the best letter I have ever received in my life: 

Dear Rikku,

A rendezvous of two lovers, once a joyous place, has now turned to a graveyard. With the tall grasses in Kanglung, his pains are growing within. He had never dreamt or imagined that the face of his love could change within a flick of time. Here, another great man fell in love and now I see him sinking in the sea of betrayal and heartbroken.

I have a message for you and a story to share, my friend. Maybe it can help to bring back your spirit of life.

It was a beautiful April night, back at Sherubtse college, when I too fell in love. Like in a maxim that says a pure love takes years to sprout in our hearts or like the roses outside my classroom, my love for my ladylove bloomed big and deep. You know it very well man. As you too were there, then. This was the time when I started singing incomplete love songs of 'The Beatles'. That time I flew with the colorful butterflies and slept on the ocean of dreams.

Every time I kissed her, I felt like I was experiencing the joy of the Heaven, that of cosmic atmosphere. Without a taste of her sweet lips, I couldn’t go to sleep. Such was my love for my ladylove that I didn’t mind waiting for her hours outside her hostel room, braving monsoon rain and summer heat. Such was my love for her that I could run without meals for days to keep her happy, and such was my love for her that even I dared to sacrifice my life for her without regret. Perhaps it was too much, I realized now, but the truth is that I loved her wholeheartedly, unconditionally.

My friend, you know that the day when she showed me her back, it was disheartening, devastating. Really devastating! Thousand bells rang in my ears and I felt a very painful experience of my soul leaving my body. Then, horrific darkness embraced me completely.

I didn’t know whom to blame. Certainly, she was the first person to be accused for no man has a heart to take love for granted and she betrayed a heart that loves her unconditionally. Indeed, the guy who played a dirty game between us was also be blamed for he tricked the two harmonious lovebirds deliberately though he could not hold her for long. For she wasn’t of his type, mentally. But the huge blame came back to me like a boomerang for I gave my heart unconditionally, selflessly.

"There's something wrong in me," I contemplated recklessly. Why me of the whole world? Why me? The fate punished me for giving my heart to her, I reasoned it as unfair treatment from God.

You know my friend, down along the Viewpoint road at several nights, I used to walk alone talking and of course consoling my ravaged heart, “Hey! Why are you crying? It's OK man. You will build a new life, oblivion of your infamous past.” But my heart kept crying uncontrollably like an infant whose mom had left him alone in adversity.

Up above Khangma, I used to strolled solitary like a ghostly figure, brushing against gentle wind whispering to it to carry my earnest message to my ladylove: “Your heart was not so bad but your mind is. Why suddenly and why didn’t you tell me before so that I would have been prepared?”

And I believed the gentle wind did convey my message to her but she never came back to me. For years, I waited for her.

Hey, but it is also true that with the changing seasons, she started fading away slowly from my memory. And my heart no longer craves for her. Today, I hardly remember her and her once sweet smiles.

For these long years, more than half a decade, I had been single. Every time I see women from that angle, I remember those sleepless nights, crying all time, suffering. Today, my mood hardly swings because I have no love life to bother me and I am happy to be single. Seriously, now, I can focus on my works and excel my interest.

You asked me how I could forget her completely. Ask me? It wasn’t easy, though. I had recalled all those bad things that she did unto me when we were together. It is always not easy to forget if you flashback all those good things she did for you. The moment she came on my mind, I used to recall those pricking words that she used to uttered to me and her awkward gestures.

Thus, slowly, I could forget her. Today as she is no more with me, I sometimes smile in sheer fondness recollecting how she used to cry when I failed to meet her or forgot to gift her with a rose on the Rose Day.

Friend, if you still cannot forget her, spend your time with your friends. They will cheer you up. We have a nice, supportive bunch of friends.

Seriously, life is beautiful with or without women. It depends upon one’s take. For me, it’s more beautiful without women but I am also prepared to spend my life with a decent woman.

Cheers!!!