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Showing posts from May, 2012

Beautiful sights for beautiful eyes

Some two weeks ago, I was having dinner with my friend Pashi and Rakki at one of the restaurants in Thimphu. They had come on pilgrimage from Hong Kong and as a local dude; I became a reference guide for them. As a reference guide, I was required to answer many questions that they had in their mind. During the dinner, they talked of many beautiful places that they visited and their first hand experiences with Bhutanese Buddhism. I enjoyed the way Pashi described the beauty outside her alongside her own personal experience. As a student of literature, I have always marveled the Indian expression of “flute and the music”. I guess, beauty then has so much to do in our lives. A salary at the end of the month or just a roof and three meals a day no longer explains our necessity now. I think we also need beautiful things to see, soothing music to hear and peace of mind for our spirit to rise. All beautiful things inspire people both physically and spiritually. We all have daily struggles

The Rush

Well, I was supposed to be at Thimphu on 22nd . But I was all around Bhutan by 20th itself because BBS Dawa peeled few layers out of me during a live panel discussion on BBS related to housing and business problems in Phuentsholing. My six years old son thought I looked like a dumbo on the stage with sweats kneading down my chin. Even by 23rd noon, I was still in the office sorting my paper. I was desperate now. Maybe my fellow panelists from City Corporation needed to help me by sending a garbage truck and few people to clean my mess. It took me another hour to help me sort out everything before I could drive to Thimphu. That was about being an office-goer. There is this another side of me, a small part time writer. So this writer side of me had stolen some time between the lazy office time to write pieces of stories, poems and critical essays. Once in a while, this writer side of me gets some compliments by getting to travel and keep me off the work and this time too I was lucky

Farewell Deki...May you always shine among the stars

When I first heard that Deki passed away, I was numb. I didn’t know how to react. So I sat down on my office chair sipping as usual my cold coffee. Some twenty minutes later, I was fighting back the tears. While some people are simply living because it is illegal to kill them, there are others, whom despite being loved by everyone, completes their karmic cycle and fades into memories. Until the end, they had no idea what had ailed her. Her sister said, she had “Lymphoma.” The disease sounds like my grandpa’s name. I have never heard of such disease in whole of my lifetime. She fought so hard. She lived fighting the ghostly disease. She died with dignity and honor and now she is surrounded by loved ones, very far away and near. We will always cherish her. And hope someday when we walk along the same road, she will come showing us the way.

A Gift of Love

(After I posted Mrs. Thompson's story, I got lot of e-mails telling me how the readers were touched by the story. So I am inspired to post more of such story here. I hope this story would have the same magic to touch someone's life like Mrs. Thompson's story had.) "Can I see my baby?" the happy new mother asked. When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears. Time proved that the baby's hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother's arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. "A boy, a big boy...called me a freak." He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have b

One Colour More to Life

My friend Tshering Yangzom had just moved into a new house after divorcing her husband. She wanted me and other friend Thuji to help her shop for her new house. So Thuji and myself were there listening to her sad story and also carrying her baggage in sweltering Phuntsholing Sun. It was already past five hours that we shopped but there was no sign of Tshering ending her shopping spree nor her sad story. Like a camel in the desert, being dragged from one sand dune to another, I was following Tshering from one shop to another mutely until we reached a momo shop. I always call this place a “momo joint” because it was here that I nearly broke my knee joint last monsoon while falling down a slippery stair. Tshering and Thuji left me there with thousand abuses but it didn’t matter to me that time. What mattered to me now was a cold cup of coffee and some rest. As I sat there waiting for my orders, I crowed through a piece of newspaper left behind by another customer. I was lost trying to

Most Important Part of the Body

(My friend Rakki sent me this story.I enjoyed reading it. I hope the readers would love too...) My mother used to ask me what is the most important part of the body. Through the years I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct answer. When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to us as humans, so I said, "My ears, Mommy." She said, "No. Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon." Several years passed before she asked me again. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time I told her, "Mommy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes." She looked at me and told me, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind." Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge and over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No. But you are getting sm

Brief History of Garab Wangchuk- Local Deity of Trongsa and Trashigang

Continuing on the history of local deities, I have today Garab Wangchuk. He is revered and feared in Trongsa and Trashigang as much as Phola Mansang Chungdud in Haa and Jomo and Dangling in Merak, Sakteng and Khaling. The history of Garab Wangchuk dates back to the days of Buddha himself. When Buddha was about to gain enlightenment, he faced great many obstructors. Out of these obstructors, there were four chief obstructers, referred as Maras. Each was further supported by some twenty thousand smaller obstructers….what I call as Mini Obstructors (it sounds like instructors!). Altogether, there were some eighty thousand types of obstructers. These army of obstructors attacked Buddha in many ways. Some splashed rain, while others created storms and flashfloods, earthquakes, meteors and lightening. They also caused as many as eighty thousand types of diseases and disturbing emotions. Yet, Buddha overcame all these obstructers and got enlightened. The chief of all these obstructers was

Damsang Gyelpo

(This story is dedicated to Mr. Lyonsang Tamsang, a writer, educationalist and specialist on Lepcha culture. Mr. Lyonsang Tamsang is currently the President of Lepcha Community in Kalimpong. He runs around 40 schools from his own resources to keep Lepcha language and culture alive. He publishes quarterly magazine called "Achuley" in English and Lepcha language. Lyonsang Tamsang is highly respected in his community and he has very high regard for Bhutanese people. This research is a tribute to Mr. Tamsang for commitment to research and his effort to keep the dying culture alive. I met Mr. Tamsang in 2011 when I went to New Delhi to present my writings and I would like to dedicate this Bhutanese version of the story called Damsang Gyelpo to him and his people) Damsang Gyelpo is a deity being appeased by the lepchas of Sikkim, Kalimpong and Himalayan regions. Sharing the frontier along the western border, many battles were fought between the Sikkimese and the Bhutanese in t

The Rose Within is being said that a man planted a rose and watered it faithfully and before it blossomed, he examined it. He saw the bud that would soon blossom, but noticed thorns upon the stem and he thought, "How can any beautiful flower come from a plant burdened with so many sharp thorns? Saddened by this thought, he neglected to water the rose, and just before it was ready to bloom... it died. So it is with many people. Within every soul there is a rose. The God-like qualities planted in us at birth, grow amid the thorns of our faults. Many of us look at ourselves and see only the thorns, the defects. We despair, thinking that nothing good can possibly come from us. We neglect to water the good within us, and eventually it dies. We never realize our potential. Some people do not see the rose within themselves; someone else must show it to them. One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is to be able to reach past the thorns of another, and find the rose within them.


(This is a tribute to my friend Tshering Pem) My husband is an Engineer by profession, I love him for his steady nature, and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders. Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I would have to admit, that I am getting tired of it. The reasons of me loving him before, has now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness. I am a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to a relationship and my feelings, I yearn for the romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband is my complete opposite, his lack of sensitivity, and the inability of bringing romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love. One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision, that I wanted a divorce. "Why?" he asked, shocked. "I am tired; there are no reasons for everything in the world!" I answered. He kept silent the whole night, seems to be in deep thought with

The Littlest Firefighter ( I love this story….tshering)

Stories are one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards, let's continue to uplift one another. The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dreams to come true. She took her son's hand and asked, Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life? “Mommy, I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up." Mom smiled back and said, Let's see if we can make your wish come true." Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son' final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six-year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for the whole d

The Praying Hands

( As soon as I posted Mrs. Thomson's story, I got numerous calls from my friends to post the story about Durers Praying Hands. It was also sent to me by a friend. I would like to dedicate the story to Euden, who struggles everyday to balance life at home and school.I hope this story would be told and retold to every student so that they are inspired to do better in life) Below is a touching story about DURERS Praying Hands that is circulated widely. It tells of DURER doing his creation in appreciation of a brother who went to work in the mines to support Albrecht's education. Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrech

Mrs. Thompson’s Story

( A friend of mine sent me this story. I hope all teachers get to read this story and be touched with it. Wishing every teacher a "Happy Teacher's day.") Her name was Mrs. Thompson. As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers. At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review eac