November 13, 2014

MY FIRST LOVE, my mother

She loves nail paints
She loves wine
She believes in holy saints,
O' she's just too fine.
 Every time I see her
I see ageless beauty
Every time i hug her

Fades all sad mysteries
How I wonder
If pens and papers' knowledge had she be
busy might have been
In office like a Queen bee.
I shall perish to live
Rest in her arm
I wish to sleep
forever in her womb so warm
I love you Ama
You be my first love
Of all that you gave
Of all that you are,
This is all I have,
You are my forever shining star.
How I wander,
with the lonely hands of time
sleepless in wander
To care you
To give you
All you want
All you wanted.
To see you grow old
Forever next to me
O', my most valued gold.

I love you Ama. I owe you more than my life.

ROARING SIXTY, a tribute to my king.

There showered happiness in the world, angels danced in glory, when you were born.

I’ve read of him
I’ve heard of him
I’ve seen him from far
A kind king to all hearts
All kings.
                                                                How I always slept and woke
                                                                 In my little world next to him.
                                                                 I always wanted to be him
                                                                 With time only to grow
                                                                  For such a dream
                                                                  Only a beautiful dream I shall always know.
 Thou were seventeen
To be our sire, our king,
Young enough, the world mayn’t have ever seen.
Ere, thou could even feel
The charm of youth
Thou made us grow in peace.
Gratitude sire, gratitude my handsome king.
                                                         Thee, my fair countrymen
                                                         And me myself,
                                                         Rise in gratitude, rise in glory
                                                         Thou art happy ‘cause of thy king
                                                          Because of his selfless story
                                                          And his loss of youthful spring.
                                                          Rise in happiness, rise in peace,
                                                          To thank our Lord, our almighty king.

Thou art my Simba
Thou art my Lion King
Thou art my emperor forever
For thou art the reason our nation sing.
I pray,
Thou shall roar forever in pride
And never dismay.
                                                         Sixty has come,
                                                         Seventy and million years are yet to be peaceful
                                                         For thou my king, shall forever rule in all hearts.
                                                         King of hearts, king of kings,
                                                         I salute thee, and rise forever in thy name,
                                                         I shall perish forever to be born to live for the king same.
Thank you your majesty
Thank you almighty.
Long live peace and prosperity,
Long live my king,
Jigme Singye Wangchuck.

This I write to celebrate the birthday of our fourth king who will be sixty this year. I have always adored him more than anyone in the world. He is my icon, inspiration and father to all the nations. I write this as a tribute to his youthful days, he couldn’t enjoy letting us enjoy. I write this to celebrate for having no king like him ever in history. I write this to rejoice for his good days he could live after his youth, and good days that are yet to come. I write this as a grateful citizen among many, I write this to pray God for his well being, to thank god for having him for us. Happy Sixtieth birthday your majesty.



“I’m sorry”.
A mute shivering body drenched in red laid next to him. His hands shaking like the words he just uttered in turmoil. In a bit of distance that could have barely made ten steps stood a woman who calmed him with a blind mouth, and whose presence comforted his fear. Near her was a garden shovel. She stood there gazing at him in tears,and a long piece of cloth on her neck as if a thick thread worn like a like thin scarf, which might have been the edge piece of her dress that was torn from the bottom. In an illusion of darkness and red hands, fear and the random thoughts in mind, the woman started blurring in his eyes and in a while everything went dark.
“Gyatsho!Gyatsho!” a hastening ApDrukpa shook his sleeping son, “wake up! You are already late for school and me, for the court”. It was a Sunny Monday morning and the environment at the villa was quiet, unlike usual. GyatshoDrukpa, 17, the son of the richest man in the country turned left to see a plate of cheese sandwich and a steaming mug of suja. On the left beeped his alarm on snooze for the fourth time. He left the both, and got ready for school. His apa was there down blowing honks in the car.
“Get inside man. We are already late” ApDrukpa unlocked the car doors. Gyatsho opened the right door and went in followed by his mother inside, “Yeah apa. I’m sorry I’m late”. His mother patted his shoulder and closed her eyes to lean back to rest until school. His father pops up in a soft voice;
“Are you okay with school?”
“Of course I’m. I’ve got a lot of assignments and moreover the exams are already near. “
“Well, if you say so. That’s the spirit though. Work hard okay? After all, The Drukpas’ heir should be strong enough to give in things and face problems, and of course, intelligent, like you are.”
Gyatsho, although sick of his father’s usual ‘heir & business’ stories, he was also confused why his parents had no words to exchange. “Here you go study well”, waved a faintly smiling father. Gyatsho’s mother walked him to school, and she said she would wait for lunch. He was happy that his mother came along leaving her garden back. He kissed her on her fair skinned cold forehead only to see her for lunch.
Gyatsho walked in the class like a usual gentleman. The little world around him smiled him, consoling smiles everywhere. He smiled them back. Sun beams wrestled on the window pane, right at his seat. He looked out of the glass, and saw his mother throughout the morning at the fountain on the other side of the glass playing with the fishes in the pond.
“Ting tingting”, the bell jangled for lunch and he rushed out with his lunchbox at the park. He sat next to her and she smiled at him, “My son, grow up to be a charming man. Grow up to be kind and honest. Be selfless and generous to all”. She smiled at him again and watched him eating like a kid, smiling back to her as if he understood all that she said, although confused. “Ting tingting”, jangled the bell again. Gyatsho walked back to class seeing the same smiles again. He sat next to the window and saw his mother doing the same again. He smiled at himself seeing how beautiful his mother was, how kind she was.
School got over. It was cold outside and all the parents had come to pick their children, and when all left, a soft voice called Gyatsho, “let’s walk home. Apa must be busy”. He walked back holding his mother’s hand. They reached their home. Ap Drukpa was coming from the doorsteps towards his car, when Gyatsho rushed to him before he could leave for school.
“Oh, you are here. I’m so sorry son. I was really busy today. Even the driver was out of sight. I’ve got hearing tomorrow again. So you better hurry and wake up early tomorrow for school, so that the driver leaves you to school” Said a hasty father leaving some cash in his hands, “…and don’t wait up for me I may be late”. He drove away. Gyatsho turned back to see his mother in the garden. He rushed towards her and saw her weeding in her rose garden, on a plant that was already dead and wilted in the bed of fresh red roses. Gyatsho although confused seeing her do that, ignored it and asked her, ‘Have you talked to Apa?”. She turned to him and looked up with a cold smile, “No. Your apa and I had a fight. A bad fight indeed…” Before she could even complete, his head started to ache. His mother took him to his room. She laid him on is bed and the servant brought him some dinner in. she asked if he was alright and left the room. Gyatsho’s mother raised her hand and led it to his head and started making crawls, spins and whirls, singing a soft song leading him to sleep. The next day, he woke up and found his mother wasn’t there. He stood up and raised his curtains to welcome the golden beams of the morning star, and saw his mother again in her garden feeding the same dead rose. She was wearing the same dress again.
He had his breakfast and didn’t want to bother his mother. He got ready for class, and got inside the car, and suddenly his mother followed him again. She slept in calm till his school. The same thing happened like the day before, he went to class, the confusing smiles, and seeing his mother near the fountain, except for the driver has come to pick them up, who turned back to check on what he was blabbering about.
On reaching home, ApDrukpa wasn’t there at home. He was out busy with his lawyer for the final hearing for tomorrow. Gyatsho’s mother, on reaching home, rushed to the garden again. Gyatsho was confused to see her again with the dead rose amongst all the living beautiful roses. He called her aloud, “Ama! I’m sleeping. Goodnight. I love you.” She waved him back. He stretched his eyes from his room. His mother was really working hard on the dark rose. He went to sleep and woke the next day, and saw from the same window, to see her doing the same work in the garden she was doing the night before. She was wearing the same dress again.
Gyatsho prepared for school and the same happened again. This time on reaching home, Gyatsho’s father was waiting for him at the door. He rushed towards the car and hugged his son as the door flung open.
“I’m so happy today my son.” Cried ApDrukpa in joy.
“But what happened?” asked an unaware son to his father.
“I won the case.”
“The case at the court?” and as he said these his eyes caught his mother running towards the garden again and weeding the dead rose.
“Yes. The case at the court. I’ll be right back with my keys. We’ll have dinner outside tonight son.” Ap Drukpa rushed inside in joy, when Gyatsho rushed towards his mother at the garden. There was the same pain in his head like the night before again, as if something bad was going to happen. He was feeling apprehensive while walking towards his mother this time. He sat down next to her and started helping her. He tried to avoid his headache, and went on until, “Tock!” hit his fingers in the soil. He penetrated his hand in the soil, out got uprooted the plant and came a small brown box in his hand. He looked up to see her expression and saw she wasn’t there. He wondered where had she been, and then opened the box. He saw a small chit and opened it.
“Dear hubby…” it read. He went on to go on with something like his mother’s handwriting, “…how life has brought us to a stand we never imagined. It’s been 21 years of our marriage and you didn’t even think of our only son before doing this. What hurts me most is how you convinced him to leave my side when it was you who had an affair. How much I loved you and dreamt of days to grow old and see the world together. I wonder what Gyatsho must have had to say to his helpless mother if you hadn’t dragged him out tonight before you even gave me a chance to say. You humiliated me in front of my child. You could have given him to me at least. I didn’t ask you anything more than that, but you only wanted an heir. You never loved me. I was sure the amaent you wanted to leave me that I won’t be wanting to be your side anymore, but the amaent you took away my son, I was shattered and there is no reason for me to live anymore. In these years if you have ever loved me, do me a favor. Up bring him to be a charming man. Let himbe kind and honest, selfless and generous to all, unlike you…please. Thank you for all your love and tell my son his mother was never wrong.”
There was a sudden throb in his heart, a heartache so painful and hammer on his head when he finally read, “Wangmo” at the end.
Three days back, on Sunday night, WangmoDrukpa committed suicide with the cloth she tore from her dress when her husband accused her for a false affair to hide his extra marital affair. She hung herself in her room. She was beaten and was denied to have her son after divorce. To avoid her contact with her son before she convinces him her innocence, ApDrukpa takes him out of the house and returns late night.
Gyatsho’s head started to burst, and scary pictures came to his mind. He recalled that night of her unfair death. He was getting mad in the garden, reflecting his mother hung strangulated in her room that night. He couldn’t find her anywhere around anymore. He burst in tears and pain, loss and grief. His father came rushing after hearing him loud. Ap Drukpa saw the letter and the box in his hand. Gyatsho was already out of his mind. He seemed like a beast in the rose garden.
Before he could even utter another word, Gyatsho dropped the box and the letter and picked up the shovel which was the nearest he could see.
“Gyatsho! Gyatsho! Open your eyes.”, again came the illusions and blurring of his sight but this time it was bright. He saw his father with his head bandaged, sitting behind a person who seemed like a doctor. To be precise, he was a hypnotist, at the end when he said, “Gyatsho, you are sick. You have Schizophrenia.”

June 03, 2014

Folk Literature, subject to learn!

     ´According to MacEdward Leach (SDFML 1984:401-402), “Folklore is the generic term designate the customs, beliefs, traditions, tales, magical practices. Proverbs, songs etc.,;

        Tales have been taken over by movies and animations today. But, on the other side of the region where there are no buildings and fresh green grasses breathe, orature- an art of passing down tales from word to mouth is practiced. 
The first man to narrate. Amazing man indeed!
      Folk literature is a module or subject we learn here in Sherubtse, Kanglung. It is about discovering and learning about old stuffs like, Folktales and folk materials. It might sound antique at first but it is not as the course proceeds. The class begins with defining and understanding terms like, Folklore, folkloristics, etc which are also the key words of this subject. When these get over, we A.K Ramanujan and our very own Aum Kunzang Choden with their beautiful works on collections of folktales. We try to relate culture and traditions, customs and beliefs of different countries through their tales. 
        In this, we also went for filed studies collecting folk materials and tales. Now, when I say folk materials here, keeping in mind that folk has been fading in urban regions and is growing in rural areas, we decided to go and visit villages. It's about old songs and stories that for now we have not seen documented anywhere yet. It is also about legends and myths as told or narrated by the people we go and meet. These stories, legends, myths and songs mean a lot to us because, these inform us about our own culture and tradition. Not only that, these take us back to our own people but in a previous generation, in some way or the other.  
Narration of old days
         These subject helps us connect ourselves with our own culture and custom in a detailed way. It not only helps us with our own module, but asking older people to narrate, makes us realize that there are unheard people who wants to be listened to and who has observed the transition in a better way. They have a lot to say, and a lot to inform. 
      There are a lot to be told in this big piece of land. There are people waiting to tell you stories, stories of how life would have been without these comforts of advancement, stories of world before this. They have a narration to narrate not about batman or superman, but real warrior, real heroes who saved countries and lives 
His only entertainment is to listen to his grandma narrate him stories.

June 02, 2014

Friendship, in verse

High School days
I have seen pearls and diamonds
And other precious stones as well.
I possess each one of them!
I am that Excalibur
Studded with the most precious gems.
Nay, I am not a body of stones
That of stones filled-thrown to Soraya,
I am a happy man.
I am as sharp as an Excalibur
And I am rich of gems.
Ay, my friends!
Thee and thy company
Shall be more than the most precious stones on earth,
 But nothing today is precious
As stones that people love today.
And I have these to compare with you
With more yet to say!

One fine happy day!

I have seen beauty bid farewell.
So does the same,
A strong man’s health.
But no an old friendship
Nor does a new one!
It shall give me smiles,
It shall tickle my heart now and always.
Thank you dear friends for today,
And thank you I shall say from a lot of years from now
For memories never fade
And for smile that I would wear
Each time I recall you,
And the sunny days we lived.
Thank you my beloved friends!


Class of 2012

Class of Year I media students, Shercol '13

Friends and happiness




And I never get bored with Uma


High school Days

That has a lot to give

Super best friend, Ugyen WD

And takes nothing in return! :)

High School days