Nothing small is ever small

I’ve been sitting in front of my PC, writing nearly all afternoon. And I can’t tell you precisely what a beautiful thing is this simple uninterrupted time. To write. There’re no friends of mine visiting my place who would insistently whisk me out for oodles of drinks. No dating, he-he; no such kinda thing happening in my life these days. And no phone calls from my parents and office.

I love this uninterrupted time to just write, ah. And as I write here, this afternoon, I get caught in a cycle of thinking that I felt off in any way. I’ve this urge, as I always do, to anticipate for something new, next big thing. A different job, a bigger income, achieve big things, a posh lifestyle, travel all over the world, meet new people, and settle down abroad. Yes, I’ve been anticipating for this next big thing for a long time. I wanted, always, something big to focus on up ahead as if to keep myself zestful and moving and to keep ordinary away.

But oddly, quite wondrously, my mornings start with the same beginnings. As usual, my alarm rings at 7:30 am. I run into the same kitchen and cook my breakfast-mostly tea and bread. After the wash-up, like always, I do my hair and wear gho. And the route I walk down my office greets me with familiar sights. The same road cleaners, the same trees and buildings, the rush of cars, and the same people marching towards their works. All day, in my office, I meet same colleagues, ring phones, and same works.

My days also end with the same closings. After 5 pm, I return home, drink coffee, watch TV, read books, cook dinner, and sleep. Also, there’re other everyday rituals which are purely mundane. I call my parents and friends, sometimes a brief talk; other times, a longer conversation, but mostly insignificant chat in particular. I check my mail, log on/log out of Facebook and Twitter, wash dishes, water flowers, and rummage my closet.

Always, it’s the same. Everyday. In fact, so inevitably, I get upset over all this mundane things I’ve to do every day. That’s why I anticipate (or more aptly, I aspire desperately) something different, something big, something that would change my life altogether.

But eventually, gradually, I’m learning that our life doesn’t have to be so full of big things, big change. Instead, I’m realizing that all this insignificant activities are part of me. These activities are so ordinary, yet offer deep sense of comfort and peace. All through my mundane routine, there’s an umbrella of comfort that accompanies me. It provides an overriding sense of belonging, comfort, and grace.

And any next big thing will just happen as a result of truly living those small things. Some days I even feel I could write a book on what I’ve been taught through all my mundane activities. I must say that nothing is really small anyway. That’s what I think, at least for now.

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.