Saturday, June 22, 2013

Boon of blogging

It has been some time, a year or two, maybe three, I don't remember exactly since when I developed this daily impulse of logging into blogger dot com.
I don't visit the blog to post new posts, I rarely gather my thoughts and put into words. More importantly, thoughts comes rare and I am a bad writer to pen it into black and white. So my own blog wears a deserted look and there is nothing much to look into.
Still I am regular, rather a regular reader, infact an avid reader of blogs that I follow.
I have realized, the biggest benefit of being a part of blogging world is being able to follow and read numerous blogs. Humors, information, arguments, heart touching stories,wisdom and knowledge entertains and educates me daily through various blogs. They are original and I can relate to them quite often.This are few elements that keeps me logging into blogger dot com.
Despite my failure to update my blog regularly, I won't fail to read the blogs that entertains me.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012


Nature is in 'Labour' to give birth to a new day
Time for asleep to awaken
Those who are still to limber and move.

For a day awaits to break silence of the night 
Chirping birds and early buses are first
To start the symphony of the day
Glaring prayers from temple across the street
is faithfully on time too.

Behold! dawn is here
May peace flourish with new rays of light
that dispels darkness of the night
But, how many dawns will it be 
When last soul have received his ray of hope?
Whosoever keepeth the count of souls, knoweth it 

Silence is a close companion 
Which comes alive and speaks 

when one stops 

Whose language I am beginning to understand 
It feels it was never alien 
but your own language it speaks 

It speaks rather loudly
But hearken with ears closed
and behold its colors with closed eyes

Be regaled with its
Loudness and beauty

The purity with which it fountains

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Life's Summers of Hope

The heat is on
Rivers are turning brown
Children flock the bank and pools
Grasses are wild grown
Rain is catching it's rhythm
showing no signs of ceasing
Lo! Summer is nigh
Summer is here
Spring is gone
So did the bright skies
and white snow caps

Rangjung ( place where i spent nine summers) in Summer
Frogs have found their voice
So have crickets joined the orchestra
heralding the lively summer
the colorful summer 
The summer of opportunity

Moths hovers plenty
By the veranda light
Escaping the rain
But rain is welcome
For the farmers
It's time for plough
And oxen to tire
And extra hand to hire
For It's time to sow
Corn and grains

For it will be folly for a man
To seek to harvest
When he have sown none
Because barren land
Gives no fruit

courtesy; google, women transplanting rice

Plant ye, prepare your field
Seek extra labour
When your summer is at hand
For when summer is long gone
And there is nothing to glean
By the fall
Winter will torment your
Soul poor, left in despair
But more wise and awaiting
The Life's next summer of new hope
If only there are more summers in store?

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Growing Young with Football

The sky was overcast with blackening clouds as it got more and more saturated with water. Rain was to be expected and it was much awaited as it hadn't rained in Colombo for some time.The grasses had started to grow brown and heat was on rise. It was a perfect day for football. It would shield the heat.
As we got to the university ground, it seemed like all part of ground was occupied. There was Frisbee being played which covered most of the football pitch. Hockey at one side and cricket at the other end. It usually frustrates me when i see the pitch being occupied but we had no options than to compromise with what little space was available.
The attendance was quite impressive, we decided to play seven a side. The game was going for a stalemate when it started to drizzle. The rain caught up with its rhythm and started to increase in size. Hockey match had stopped but the Frisbee's were enjoying the rain as we were.
Colombo United 
Thanks for the rain, we could move to bigger pitch. The previous one was too crowded to score any goals. The bigger pitch gave enough space for more running and the goals started to rain. Our seven conceded most for much of the time, but we could catch up with brave comeback to put it mildly. It was observed we weren't clinical with our finishing at the mouth of the goal or they defended better.
The rain had ceased and sun peeked from the trees as it was setting with a red glow. But there was no stopping with the game. Though visibility was becoming more difficult, the game prevailed. This little moments with football are times we get to hang out together and unleash the youthful energy.
There are lots of emotions in the game, of triumphs, disappointments and resilience. There is splendid display of fighting spirit. The energy is commendable, it's fun to run around till you tire all your muscles.
There isn't anything worrying you when your adrenaline is running high. It is the same free spirit that reigned our childhood that is experienced.
Usually the game is played for a minimal wager and it is rarely paid. I was in teams which have lost for couple of times consecutively, i am guilty as charged for not respecting the deal.  But the opponent team weren't giving up today. After much debating we had to settle for a cup of coffee. This ends our ordeal with the game and we are back to our place soaked in rain and aching muscles. 

P.S: we call our team Colombo United. Football is our best pastime and it has been the window to outsource our energy and means to kill boredom. It gives us time to grow young and enjoy the bliss like our childhood.  

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Once, When I was Lost

Oh mamma, it was a bright sunny day
But enough trouble I did bring
That was the day I was lost
And that made you search
The neighborhood
And the small Zhemgang town
There was no sign of me to be found
You looked for me at the school
But I wasn't there
The school was up for the day
And all children were home
The night was setting in fast
I was at the uncle’s
With my cousins
A mile away from our home
That was a time a mile was a mile
Mobile we had none
Nor was automobile plenty
I didn’t know trouble I would bring
To my parents and myself
I knew my share
When a whip caught me by surprise
It was dad, and I saw his rage
Oh yeah! It was time to flee
I ran the road terrified
Looking closely for dad
Dad however gave up the chase
That spared me some whip
Mamma, was there to rescue
And the whole neighborhood
I was shielded by mamma
Until Dad seem fine
When we reminisce about the incident
It makes us laugh
The innocence of the little boy
Is long lost
But those little (mis)adventures
That colored my childhood
Is much cherished

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Amnesic Episodes

I hear footsteps pacing fast upstairs. It wakes me from the slumber. I knew it was my friend from downstairs and there is a water overflow, with the urgency of the strides. He opens my door and looks at me, dead still in bed (actually I was awake and pretending to be asleep).
He leaves me undisturbed and goes down. After a while I hear the footsteps with same urgency. This time, he pops up at my window and says “dost!” I looked at him and saw the frown painted on his face which otherwise is cheerful, usually. I saw the gloomy face, an angry face and thought I flooded his room this time. He said it’s too much and wanted to complain the two other occupants upstairs, who have (including me) often left the water pump on and overflowed the water into the rooms of the two friends downstairs. 
Today, it was me for the two others hadn’t arrived yet and their room was locked. I was wondering how that happened when I remember putting the switch off. Anyways I was the only the one home and by default the prime accuse.
It had flooded the rooms and wet the mattresses which were laid on the floor. When I went to his room after sometime, I saw him resting on the bed still with the frown but with lesser intensity. I took responsibility for the mistake and explained him, I remember putting off the switch and falling asleep thence. Anyway I had crossed the threshold today, I wet his mattress.
As I tried to work out how that happened, I am in doubt whether I actually put off the switch (water pump’s) which probably happened thus, I remember going to put off the switch but I forgot when I reached the bathroom. Then I took a nap rest assured I had put off the switch.
It is quite weird, I have been forgetting things. For instance I was going for the lecture hall second floor; I realized I was heading wrong way in the first floor when friends asked me where I was going. I constantly forget the messages to be passed onto the friends. In fact, it becomes stale by the time I remember to convey the message or he would have known by that time.
Once I was giving an account of what I had eaten in the local restaurant, I missed the yogurt. The man in the counter gave me a blank look and I asked what? Anything wrong? He answered politely rather with sarcasm in his tone, “I think you also had Yogurt”…oh yeah! I had one…I just broke into smiles…..that is much better than an instance where I was walking out without paying……
It is not unusual for small transactions to happen within friends, some lending and borrowing. I have failed many times to repay back owing to my forgetfulness. This should be a warning to my lenders to remind me constantly or lose the dollars….LOL…..
I had forgotten the name of one my roommates in school hostel despite trying hard to remember, my effort was futile. I thought it was the long duration since I last him but that ain’t a reasonable excuse. I am wondering if age has really caught up with me, but am in early twenties and that doesn’t make me an elderly. Many times I have forgotten to put the Rice cooker in cook mode or walk to shop without purse. Oh! Weirdo….that’s weird……probably I have forgotten many other incidences which of course didn’t trouble anyone like it did today to my friend downstairs who is drying his mattresses. But am relieved as I write this, I can hear him…it seems he is in good mood. While i hope my memory circuits not to wane it's vitality too early. I will need some of the memories to tell my grandchildren. 

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

The Encounter with Don Jerry

I planned to murder two unborn chickens in red shells,
worth  336 mg of cholesterol each for my supper. 
As I opened the door of my ill looking, so called kitchen,
which is more of an empty store with a sink and table for stoves.
I saw a rat, big enough to scare a cat.
I call it the city rat, the mafia kind.
Don Jerry would be a good name.
As it saw me with two chickens in my hand,
it was real surprised.
I caught the Don red handed.
I saw the glimpse of fear in its eye and I had a feeling to commit a real crime.
For missing tomatoes and tomatoes half nibbled had made me wait for the chance.
The Don Jerry was over powered with my human silhouette, it gave a flee.
The Don spun around the stove and made a leap.
It was a graceful leap I should say given the situation it was trapped in
With murder in my mind, it was worse.
But it leaped on my feet and gave me a leap.
It was swift and escape was a success story Don would tell
To the new recruits in his ‘Mafiadom’.
With the leap, I nearly slipped the chicken from my grip.
Before, the chickens reached the pan.
It would have been a bad fall for the chickens
And less cholesterol in my diet 

Friday, May 6, 2011

To All My Teachers

Hannah writes her gratitude and appreciation to all her teachers on Teacher's Day. Am very much apologetic on my failure to post on Teacher's Day. It could have meant more to Hannah but i am of a belief that there ain't one perfect time to gratify ones teachers;as anytime is the best time. we should be remembering our teachers always, not just a day.
Dear Teachers,
As I sit alone here in this new place and think about you all, I thought of writing to you all. For an instant I felt why I should for I don’t need to explain how much you all mean to me and I always have that gratitude in my heart. But I remembered something quoted by someone, “Silent gratitude isn’t much use to anyone.” So I brought all of you close to my heart and the words sprang out easily.
I thank you from the bottom of my heart and of course I feel it has no bottom for you all.
If John Keats could see the beauty in truth and Octavio Paz in the intelligence of Shahrazade,then I would find my beauty in you and your inspirational works. And I become a poet not to analyze your love and care but to feel, to bring you all close to my heart always. You are as great as or greater than the “lover of words, shaper of thoughts.”
I found guidance, friendship, love, inspiration and discipline in you all. You instilled hope against hope in me when I was really in need of it. My words are not like a message written on the sand by the beach which vanishes as the waves swallows it, to oblivion mere sands to the belly of ocean deep; but it is sculpted on my heart and reflected on my soul. I am who I am because of you all. I was and am fortunate to have the teachers like you all. Thank you once again for your positive influence, for your endurance and for being the touchstone  to my dreams. 
You all are always my inspiration and hope. I love You my Teachers.
Hannah Rai
Mongar HSS

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Letter to My Parents

note: writer is my cousin, Hannah who expresses her feelings for her parents in this letter.

Dear Papa and Mama,
You have your daughter who is remembering you in this piece of paper although it seems so worthless. It is worthless because you will not know what I’m writing here. It may look like the insects scattered here and there on the bright wall to you. But I know that you will smile when you gently pick the paper and bring near your nose tips. You will smell a fragrant of something which you won’t be able to describe what it is. Both of you will argue for a while mainly on what language I’ve used to write to you. And here I can see both of you vividly; papa dominating the argument,'mom'. Then ‘papa’ will call my brother in tenth grade and insist him to read for them. He will unfold  my paper with hesitancy and start to read them aloud, translating to which both of you will give a sigh of relief. Then he will explain my above words missing out most, exaggerating some and I am sure he will not read you this line. I know he will be burning inside while muttering the lines about him, but he won't realize how much I miss him. He then continues, this time with the easy smile and reads these lines.
Papa and mama will not be able to estimate how happy and sad I am when I’m writing you this. I’m happy as I am who I am because of you. And the sadness is just by thinking how you both are feeling now, when you are hearing what I say from someone else. And I’m very much sure that the cold feeling of regret visits your mind…the regret of not being able to write me back your love and consolations. But I feel I’m really lucky to be born from you, raised by a corrective father and protective mother engulfed with your profound love. I can’t tell how much papa and mama meant to me while growing up. I am so proud to be your daughter.
I can still remember your whippings papa. You have done it right papa, when other friends of mine melts on something small reason, I do not despite how great the problem is. It’s your countless sticks that have made me bold and stronger at heart. And you fulfilled what the king Solomon said, ’’Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him”. Dear mum,  you have sacrificed a lot to keep us safe. You would have some discussion with Papa as every husband and wife does…but you always remained  superior just to bring a peace at home. I know papa is also proud of you for having you in his life.
So when all my words are coming to an end, I only want to bind all my respects for both of you, that you sacrificed and you missed a lot of special things just to keep one thing-a perfect relationship between the children and the parents bounded by love and the God’s guidance. I know you couldn’t provide us a good house and we are not born with a silver spoon in our mouth but you gave us a home. I had these emotions since a long time back when you made me a person able to rationalize things, but I held it till now as you know I never express things directly. 
I love you, my dear parents. You are and always will be my inspiration.
Yours loving daughter

Sunday, April 24, 2011

where the mind is without fear

As my blog title suggests, "Where the mind is without fear" i was inspired by the Rabinranath Tagore's poem of the same name. First time i came across the poem was when i was in middle secondary(grade ninth and tenth). Very moment, the message passed was very clear. " where the mind is without fear". Am totally not for  domestic/global divides that cultures, religions,caste et al  or to sum up ignorance brings in. Rabinranath Tagore have written a work that calls in the world where humanity and the presence of mind exists.

Rabindranath Tagore in Kolkata (probably 
taken in 1909, the year he was 
granted knighthood) wikipedia
Where the mind is without fear 

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake

 poet; Rabindranath Tagore 
Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941), sobriquet Gurudev, was a Bengali poet, novelistmusicianpainter and playwright who reshaped Bengali literature and music. As author of Gitanjali with its "profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse", he was the first non-European to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature(1913). His poetry in translation was viewed as spiritual, and this together with his mesmerizing persona gave him a prophet-like aura in the west. His "elegant prose and magical poetry" still remain largely unknown outside the confines of Bengal. source; wikipedia

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


Author: Kinzang Wangdi, second year med- student in colombo reflects his departure from his home. 

I can still feel exactly how i felt when i left my home back then. And this memory strikes episodes of flashbacks, especially when i am all alone or when i realize what the truth is. The truth is; i wouldn't be walking, bearing these pounds of remorses on my head had i been a little more caring to myself, a little more workaholic and a little more conscious of the way the time passed and passes.

The regrets (not really regrets; some sort of helplessness) come, not from what i couldn't do, but from what i didn't do. Never did i realize that it would make me go insane until today and when i realize it does, am far down the line. I know it surely will take me sometime to get over these thoughts. I never gave time, the value it has. On the last day i felt i was weak and shuddering under the fear that i will miss everyone so close to me.

It was the Blessed Rainy Day! i can say i had no pleasure however special the day was but i was at least happy that i had one more day with the ones i loved and cared. The ones with whom i wish my whole lifetime together. That was the time when i realized how much of a perfect fool i was.

It's true, time fleets very fast when we need it by our side. The night soon gave in. The morning was cold and still dark. My parents had made everything ready by the time i woke up. I was preparing to leave for the alien land again. Thoughts rushed through my mind: messy,mixed and unclear. Time drove and dragged me and i had to leave my home. I remember my mom shedding tears for her reckless son. The true meaning of parental love and care, departure and all sorts became crystal clear. ''if only i had studied a little more harder....'' 

Friday, April 8, 2011

Sometimes in April

note: Tshering Jamtsho, second year medical student in Colombo reflects of the April at his home with his family. This is his original writing published here with his due permission with mild changes but keeping the originality as far as possible.

After aging ten, he spent just one April with his family.
It's not that rainy always, cool and virgin. Everything grows green, birds singing, stream nearby is so gentle,
winds blows from northeast and the people are in their farmland. Fields softens to germinate seeds and the doves and pigeons are plenty. Catapult placed perfectly over left hand and pulled hard can make dozens of doves fly back.
He is not surprised to see people in the field, before the dawn till dusk had kissed the mountains. He understands it is simple way villagers live.His mom would tell, 'when those peach flowers blooms, it is best time for chicken egg to hatch'. Dad would say, 'we can compare the cleverness of boy by the sharpness of the sword he carries'.
He loved to spend his time in the forest with cattle. Leaves of Oak trees to the east alongside the main footway would grow from rat's ear to calf's ear. On free time, he goes to the chorten and watches his neighbours sat randomly drinking refreshment. When sun sets, he is relieved. He ties up the cattle and is happy to see the calfs grow cleaner and bulls getting thier neck thickened. Washing with the tap water pouring helplessly to wooden black trough, he would hear insects' sounds and  his little cute sister would be back from the school.
Four of them would mostly spent time together in kitchen. To the right of the white painted gigantic clay oven, his mom would cook typical Sharchop curry, more of soup which his father always preferred. On the left outlet of oven the maize would be distilled for Ara. To the left of the oven is his favourite place where he would play with the charcoal with his little cat. Father would  exhaustively  weave Bangchung and sister would sit on the carpet with wrinkled forehead with her homeworks.
He might have flown over the sea to cities, may be enjoying but is hardly happy. Sometimes in April he asks  'Do i miss those days at home?' and wonder who might be sitting in his favorite place.

author; Tshering Jamtsho alias KB among his friends circle.

chorten; a stupa. 
Sharchop: easterner. 
Ara: homemade Bhutanese wine. 
Bangchung: a cane made, intricately designed circular plate like container used especially for carrying and storing foods. 

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


Almighty Lord, how beautiful is this universe
So work manly made, wonderful design it is
The mathematical precision none can match
Trusty an Engineer art thou, thy creation works smooth

Grasses green, trees majestic, mountains high
Plains vast, rivers perennial and oceans deep
Magnificent   beauty to behold
All singing thy praise in one accord

 You have multiplied the seed of men
Unto the numbers of sand by the riverbank
Living soul
have thou given them
And a mother to keep their watch

Blessed are the women who bear the fruit of mankind
They are benevolent; no one would love their child like they does
Their hands are tender; loving care runs in their every vessels
They would weep one weeps and the joy of laughter they would share

They are our mother; who labored to see us smile
The first word that we utter would bring in much joy
She is one woman I would not stop loving
She is my mom, I salute her deepest regard
source :

None can rival her love; words are less
Diamonds are less precious
Sky is less wide and oceans shallow
I thank mighty one for giving me a wonderful mom
Most beautiful of thy creations grand
Thank you Lord, I have seen you in her 

One Surviving Silver Oak: a Wise Pride?

The tabloids, televisions and radios are filled with the news of Climate changes and destructions. The news of earthquakes, floods, melting glaciers and disappearing islands are not uncommon these days. The alarmed decision makers (whom we have trusted would make best decisions for generation now and future) are meeting in more numbers in flashy hotels at mountains, sands and smoggy cities with agendas to better the policies and initiatives to conserve the remnant of natural environment natural and reduce the further human (inhumane in nature) insults on life supporting earth. Either it be failed Copenhagen summit or more successful efforts elsewhere, to live in a natural earth is main cause at heart.

Reduction of factory emissions, emissions from vehicles, proper management of garbage, recycle of wastes, conservation of natural reserves, parks and fauna are some of the best efforts talked and energy devoted to. But with ever increasing population and their demands for better living conditions and comfort. The factories need to equate the demands with supplies. To meet the needs of the market factories has to burn more fuels and people has to drive more cars and make more wastes. The stress on nature is immensely multiplied. Nature has to give its way, it can’t hold any further like people losing their cool when they have to stand in a cue for time more than expected. I am no vicar to escape that. It is very instinctive or put it in other words ‘natural’. This is fine example of how natural things cannot remain natural forever. It certainly justifies the havocs we see around. That’s not so pleasant to learn. We are bearing fruits of our wayward shopping spree with nature.

Some days are dedicated to please the nature like World Environment Day on June 5th or Social Foresty Day on June 2nd in Bhutan. That looks a decent effort. I remember how enthusiastic we were as a primary school kid about planting our own sapling on June 2nd. Our seniors in school would pride about how tall their plant is. My sister had a eucalyptus by the roadside on our way to home. I would look at greening leaves and widening branch and would say to my peers that’s my sister’s plant and wish I would one day have my own plant to pride about. I think about it and I am always assured it was a wise pride.

One June I was one of the students entitled to saplings, I had a pine and was deemed old enough to take care of the sapling I was given. I dug a hole near cliff as recommended, tore the black plastic that wrapped the sapling and planted the pine amongst black soil and cow dung manure. And a fence to guard from the animals was secured around it. I would watch my plant every morning during the social work. Sometimes I would prune the weeds or water if I found a decent container. Plants of my friends grew green and tall. Mine of course survived the summer and the fall. Next spring when our school reopened I went to see my plant for last time. It wasn’t green and tall, a dried stalk was what was left. I thought winter chill ate my plant. It was a failure to make my school clean and green and a serious dent to my pride of owning a big tree one day. Next June I got more saplings but only one silver oak survived to grow tall and green. It is beautiful plant with tapering end and silvery leafs. That’s only pride I can be proud of when I recall of my effort to keep earth green and happy.

If we do the math, it would be 7 billion saplings we will be adding if we plant a sapling for each living person every year. This certainly shows working in one accord towards conserving the nature would yield us fewer woes. It is our earth and our obligation to keep it clean and happy. Let’s contribute with our little efforts every day.  Save nature to save ourselves for non can escape nature's fury.........can we?......