Miti – friendship mightier than a blood relation

My house, back in my village, was unusually different that day. People of all walks of life in and around the village stopped their fieldwork, and arrived at my house. All of them wore their fresh clothes, neat hair.

The smell of delicious foods flooded everywhere, and the laughter of children simply filled the air. It was a breathlessly exciting day in the village, everyone around looked happy. By the way, it’s not wedding or any other pujas taking place in the house. A miti ceremony was taking place between my father and his friend. They have long known each other; were good friends.

However, that day they decided to become mit, a friend in Hindu culture that was considered way precious than a blood relation. It was widely practised in the southern Bhutan, but now gradually disappearing. And to become a mit with your friends, you had to undergo the miti ceremony, rather vigorously.

All the villagers, relatives and children crammed in a place where the ceremony was taking place. My father and his friend sat on the mats facing each other, all cheerful and a little bit nervous too. Their wives (and my own mothers) seated next to them.

The village elder began the ceremony, chanting a prayer. It had lots of rituals, in fact, to be followed solemnly. After the prayer was said and done, two friends were barred with a cloth piece, signifying that they were before strangers.

They prostrated to each other.

The cloth piece was removed, meaning that now they were no more strangers. Again, they prostrated. For the next bit of time, they exchanged khadars and gifts.

The village elder, once again, continued the prayer as the two friends exchanged rings. The prayer ended, the rings exchanged - eventually, they were pronounced as miti, precious friends.

The two friends, tied the miti knot, would remain as miti, for eternity. They would unfailingly show respect for each other and consider enormous support for each other, in any circumstances.

Then the two miti would go around the room, talking to the fellow-villagers. They would put tika on their foreheads and distribute money to each and every one. In return, they would receive blessings and prayers from all the villagers. 

Refreshments and alcohols were distributed to all the guests, young and old. After that, a feast was served, delicious shel roti and lunch.  

As the night fell on the day, more people gathered. It meant more foods, more drinks. Some would play cards. Young boys, neatly dressed, would court the village beauties. Others would drink and dance hard, all night, until the next dawn.

Note: I wrote this post only to record the miti ceremony. It was hugely practised in the past in southern Bhutan, but today gradually disintegrating. Also, it’s to remember the powerful legacy of my family, and place, what I am born into, what we pass down, and what we preserve. 

Pulling closer my beloved ones

 

I fell sick. Worst of all, I was bedridden. But quite amazingly, all my siblings and friends have attended to me. They rendered all kinds of supports they could do for me - taking me to the hospital, buying me medicines, cooking foods. All this really worked magic on me. Because today I’m recovered and doing all good.

I feel that I’m blessed.       

And so, going forward, I want to tell you how I had muddled my health. I hate to say it though. For the past six months, I was insanely lost in the busyness. I think I’ve to call it workaholic. I had become that person.

I didn’t know it’s a disease until I fell sick. This, in fact, is the ultimate effect of it. Isn’t it? Being a workaholic is the recipe for bad life, best I could tell. It didn’t permit me to enjoy the beauty of life. Always, I was caught in the busy and demanding situation of life.

Hard to say, but I had less or no time for what I loved to do. I didn’t read much. I didn’t write lots, too. I forgot to watch the sunset. I hardly visited my siblings, relatives and friends. And barely did I spend quality time with them, on them. In actuality, I was building wall against them, shunning myself away in my own work.

That being said, I missed a lot of things like that, big and little.        

However, this realization came early. Thank goodness. It’s all that my health couldn’t really tolerate it anymore. Oh, how fragile we are. How vulnerable we are. The world’s tremors and storms could easily maul us.

So all we have is who we have. Our beloved ones. When I was sick and when my own beloved ones were standing near, I felt way better. I feel safe and blessed when I’m surrounded by them.   

From right then, I started saying NO to many things. I resigned from Go Youth Go (GYG). And also I discontinued a few other projects and simply declining taking more.

Now I’m pulling my siblings and relatives even closer. To spend more time with them. To join and cherish the spontaneous laughter with them. They are the greatest gifts of all and all that.

Also, I’m spending much of my weeks in the company of my soul friends. We get better when we open our hearts to them. And a comforting hug, a sincere smile, a word of encouragement often makes our day a little happier and less hard.

Share your flowers, share happiness

I know my friend Tashi Namgay would be very proud to see this flower - blooming beautiful, red. What’s there for you bigger joy than seeing your own flower from your garden taken away by your friend and blooming now out there?

Two years back, I got this flower from Tashi’s house. A tiny sapling. Immediately, it sprouted into two. So I gave away another to my college friend. In fact, it’s the first flower I planted for my new house, then. And blooming, too. I also got others, but they withered, died.

Now this flower, stemmed into two big separated organs, really beautifies my apartment. Sometimes, it attracts humming bees, colourful dragonflies and even unknown insects. Everyday, I protect it from the wind and rain. 

It gives me boundless joy and happiness just to nurture it, water it, moreover, just to behold it.

Please share your flowers, share happiness. 

Photograph

I miss those times when I used to sit for hours and write for my blog. I do, really. Even I miss those times when I used to jump from one blog to another reading your wonderful posts. Eh, my blog has remained un-updated for almost two weeks now. I’ve a lame excuse here, though, I was busy. But dear readers, I’ve here photograph of a beautiful flower that I took it today in my office garden. Have a wonderful day!

She strums my heart's melody

The July rain was pouring down, and kept pouring. Endlessly. I sat in my veranda, sipping my coffee. And I watched the rain. I listened to its sound. There’s, ah, so much dance in the rain! So much joy!

It’s – in a word - magical.  

But in the midst of this overwhelming rain, I began to hear a song. Very faintly though. It flowed in, in my ears, from far afar. It, for surety, was not the sound of water, but of mortals. 

The mojo of my feeling was distorted, abruptly. For this song has enfolded me. Initially, in a warm, intimate mood. And then, it put me in a strange feeling. It’s like a kind of melancholic feeling. I can’t really bring myself to put it into words. 

I turned my gaze around, and looked for from where the song was coming. For in so doing, eventually, I caught sight of it. It’s just a handful yards away. She was a young lady, beautiful too. Seated in my next door neigbour’s veranda, she was strumming the guitar and singing. All alone.

As she played the guitar, she would close her eyes and shake her head to the melody of guitar. And she sang to her heart’s content,

When you touch me like this

And when you hold me like that

It was gone with the wind

But it's all coming back to me

It’s the Celine Dion’s ‘It's all coming back to me now’. I went on watching her play guitar, and sing. In awe. I could hear her, this time, much louder - it’s, I suppose, the rain slowed down.

In a little while, I felt a pang of utter sadness deep inside my heart. Was it because of her song? Was it because of the rain? Or, both?

I don’t know.

Because the truth is that I was so bewitched. Yes, by this young lady; more tellingly, by her song.

Then suddenly, something started cramming inside me. In an endless stream, though. My heart swelled with an endless downpour of heavy emotions. Like the rain outside.

To put it precisely, the lady’s song has really strummed in my heart. It stirred the core of my heart, and unknotted all its stitches. So my emotions unraveled, pouring down.

    

Some of my emotions carried a warm and affectionate feeling. Others were a chilling and dampen experience. They had been bruised and broken by the brutal thunder and lightning of life. Also, they are limned with loss of beloved ones, broken relationships and failures.

In each memory, there are parts of me back there, broken off and left with him or her or them or time or place. And I ached for them. I yearned for them. I cried.

So, going forward, I want to say this too. For years, I had forgotten all those moments, emotions and feelings. They had long remained dormant inside me.

However, what she had stirred in me was a part of my very self. My past, my feelings, my works, my personality, and my relationship with different people, place and things define who I am today. All this create me.

 

Outside, it continued raining. At the veranda, this beautiful lady continued signing,

The flesh and the fantasies

All coming back to me

I can barely recall but it's all coming back to me now

Buddha Dordenma

I took this picture from Zilukha last weekend. The statue of Buddha Sakyamuni sitting high at Kuenselphodrang overlooking the Thimphu valley. 61 m tall, this bronze Buddha Dordenma is intended to propagate and bestow blessings, peace and happiness on earth.

Time goes by

The picture above is the place where I work, my office. The Department of Youth and Sports. In Thimphu. It’s one of the most beautiful and sophisticated government structures in Bhutan, I dare say. Lavished with all the modern and traditional amenities. And a few gorgeous parks, playgrounds and the swimming pool.

Today, it’s exactly three years and three months that I’ve been working here. As a youth worker, as a program officer. This office has groomed me as a project manager, youth worker and bureaucrat. It offered me a lot of opportunities and skills that I had dreamt, never possible for me. 

But I feel like that I’ve joined this office just a handful of days back. Honestly. Time goes by so fast. Isn’t it?

A walk with a fellow-blogger

 

I was leisurely walking on a road way above my house in Motithang. It’s a quiet and peaceful evening. So to say. And this road, stretching from Motithang to Zilukha above Thimphu City, is an incredibly amazing place to propose on a stroll in the evening.       

Like always, I squinted through my earpiece listening to music. And I walked on this road, alone. I didn’t talk to anybody. But to my surprise, on the road, at that moment, I met a blogger who was also out on the walk. Sangay Thinley who blogs at http://sangaycthinley.blogspot.com/.

It’s very interesting say that most of us, the fellow-bloggers, haven’t met in life. But quite wondrously, we know each other very well. Yes, through our blogs, our writings. And when we meet in person, we can easily recognize one another. Just amazing, isn’t it?

I greeted Sangay. In fact, we needed no introduction. So, we decided to walk together, along the road, since both of were out on the walk. The road has amazing views looking down at gorgeous Thimphu City. And as we walked, we talked so intently, becoming intoxicated by the variety of green trees and engulfing clouds that consumed the entire flat valley of Thimphu.

Once we started walking, we couldn’t stop. Once we started talking, we couldn’t stop. We kept on walking. We kept on talking. We talked about our nagging hunger for reading and writing. We shared, at length, which books that we read in the recent time and how they inspired us. He delighted me with his simplicity, astute critical mind and literary talents.

An avid reader of latest books, Sangay told me, “I love Khaled Hosseini and his books. I’m all eagerly waiting for his new book, ‘And the Mountains Echoed’.”

“I would love to read it too. If you found the book, please share it with me,” I requested him.

So we concentrated on talking, with hardly looking at the passerby and moving cars on the road. But the core of our conversation was something different. Far afar.  It’s about blogging, the bloggers. This is one topic that once I started talking about it, I can’t really stop.

And we talked about some of our bloggers who maintain their blogs so beautifully, so consistently. “I envy those bloggers. I salute them,” I said it, really meaning it. Then, we went on talking about a handful of those fantastic bloggers who had completely abandoned their blogs.

“It’s sad to see them abandoned their beautiful blogs,” we said, giving our heads a shake.

However, we consoled ourselves chatting about our upcoming new and young bloggers. “They are very enthusiastic and inspiring too,” Sangay remarked.

Then, we shared a small talk on how difficult it is to maintain a blog, especially if you are working and have a family. We agreed that it’s very difficult to find a fresh and original idea for our blog post. And filling in the page with words.

As the sun went down, we walked down the road in Motithang that followed the main town of Thimphu. And we marched into a small restaurant in Motithang. We sipped on a fantastic cup of tea as we continued our conversation.

There, I discovered that Sangay and I shared and walked the life’s same road. We’ve of the same reckoning with life. In this road - the long bumpy ride of life - both of were surprised by life, stumbled many times. Yet we could found our way back to love, to life, and still walking on this life’s road, ever stronger and wiser.