Words Alive

༉ དང་པ་ཕ་བཟང་གི་སྒོ་ལ་སྐྱེས་པའི་ང་། །ཆུང་དུས་བྱམས་བརྩེ་གི་ཕྱག་འཇམ་རྒྱུན་མ་ཆད། ། སྦོམ་དུས་དགོས་མཁོ་བ་ཐམས་ཅད་གང་ཞུ་གནང་། །རྒྱ་མཚོའི་སྤྱོད་བཟང་པོ་དབང་པོའི་སྔོན་དུ་སྟོན། ། དབང་པོར་སྐྱོན་མ་ཞུགས་གཞན་དང་མཉམ་པའི་ཕོ། །རང་གཤིས་ངན་ལམ་ལ་མ་གཡོ་ཕོ་བཟང་འགྱུར། ། ཤེས་ཡོན་སྦྱང་པའི་འབྲས་མགོ་འདྲོང་ཐུབ་པར་བཅོས། །དྲིན་ཆེན་ཡབ་ཡུམ་ལ་ཇི་བཞིན་བྱེད་ནའང་ཆུང་། ། ཕ་མས་ད་ཕུགས་གཉིས་སེམས་ནས་སྐྱོངས་བ་བཟང་། །ཅུང་ཙམ་བློ་ཆོས་ལ་ཡོད་པ་འདི་ལས་ཡིན། ། གུ་རུ་མཁྱེན་བརྩེའི་འོད་ཟེར་མཇལ་སྐལ་བྱུང་། །ལས་ངན་འདུལ་མཁས་ལ་་སྐྱབས་མགོན་ཡིན་པར་བསྟེན། ། སངས་རྒྱས་སྐུ་དངོས་ཡིན་སློབ་མས་སེམས་ན་ཡང། །འདི་ལྟར་མི་བཞུགས་ཅིང་ཕལ་པའི་ངང་ཚུལ་དུ། ། བློ་གསར་སློབ་ཕྲུག་ལ་སློབ་སྟོན་འབད་བཞིན་འཁྲིད། །ཕ་མས་ནད་བུ་ལ་ཕང་བཞིན་སྨན་ཆོས་གནང་། ། ད་ལྟའི་འགྲོ་མི་གིས་འཚོལ་བའི་བླ་མ་མཆོག །འཁོར་བའི་མི་ཡུལ་དུ་བྱོན་པ་ཡ་མཚན་ཆེ། ། བདེ་ཆེན་ཆོས་གླིང་ནས་འགྲོ་དོན་འཛམ་གླིང་ཁྱབ། །ཕྱོགས་བཅུའི་དད་ཅན་གྱིས་སྙིང་གི་གུས་ཕྱག་མཆོད། ། ཞལ་འཛུམ་མཚར་མི་མཚར་མོས་གུས་ཡིད་དཀྱིལ་ཤར། །གསུངས་སྙན་གོ་བ་ཞིག་སྐྱོ་ཤས་མིག་ཆུ་འབབ། ། སྐུ་གཟུགས་མཇལ་ཙམ་གྱིས་ཕལ་པའི་འཇིག་ཉེན་ཤེས། །

She is Sunshine -------- I know. She is Music ------- I know. She is Starry Sky ------ I know. She is an Angel -------- I know. I know lots and lots that she is life-breather for me. But, this is the world, a sidhpa (tibetan - Sridpa  སྲིད་པ). Anything happens because there are cause, conditions and effects. She is subject to this law; thus she isn't perfect, as much as I am. She, a straightforward and very sensitive soul, gets upset for some matters she placed expectations on. I am definite that she does her part to the extent of her might, and I too try to make things move as that of fluid. Yet even fluids suffer diversion, stagnation, and so on. Just that way, little things like incorrect words, unsound tone, selective hearing, sleepy answer or sometimes no answers, and the like happen. These all spoil her mood. And I feel sad - I don't want her to be feeling down a second, I cannot bear it. Yet, these all happen and she cannot but get irked. If distance isn't be

“We would be whipped and thrown into the basket of nettle plants in our birthday-suit. We would yelp out of pain. Our feverish puffed red body, as we walked out of the bamboo basket, would stagger. Your punishment is nothing, you are LUCKY!” As shared by elders to me about learning in school at their time, who were then dragged primary school student. Picturing the scene, it was gross and inhuman. It immediately attested that he was true while he said “you are LUCKY”. But when the next day dawns, though childish mind of playing “Am I right”, marble or walnut game would entice me to go to school, the thought that teacher would spank me drains away all the charm. However, I had to perfunctorily go. It seemed like Stick was the Answer to Everything: be there a disciplinary problem, a student who failed to submit his impositions or a reminder to be made, sticks would be used. Thus, though the elders saw me as a Lucky boy, when I actually entered the school campus, I knew

s ometimes, I would shy away from my teachers, I would even be afraid, and I wouldn’t be happy with them. I do these even today; I don’t actually want to do. I despise myself for that. Yet, these don’t gnaw off my respect and admiration for them. I love myself for this. However they may appear, they induced in me values even without classroom lessons. Their being around me itself shaped and framed my conscience. As everyone (though might not the orphans, but they too would agree) agrees, parents are my first and best teachers. A simple soft words clothed with warm smile would make me do what I won’t otherwise think I cannot, such a teacher is my lovely mom. Her fair and pretty face glowing with love and care would calm both heart and mind of mine. I wouldn’t think of any mischiefs because ‘would anyone want to bring tears to such a teacher’? My physically and mentally stout father, a teacher, is stringent with principles, indeed a disciplinarian he is. I am his best disciple, at

A week passed, and we are still on the road, at the same spot. She is somewhere far at an end of the road and me, here at this end. Not moved even an inch. “I miss you very much” and “miss u 2” were the farthest we could go. Only difference I made ( I wish I knew hers ) is that now, I can even start the chat with “I miss you very much”. I still haven’t figured out how she misses me. It somehow dawned upon me that all I have to care about was to be true to my frantic heart, expect less and be ready for any response. But still I want to know, know how she misses me. It’s lunch time. I am with my lunch in the dining hall, heading towards the door as to go into my room. My roommate Dawa snaps, “Hey, why don’t you stay here in the hall and eat with us?” My tan cheeks blush, I feel the heat. “Lately, I didn’t feel like to eat here.” I know it is the lamest of excuse but still I had to cling on. Man, I was not this timid before. Coz you are not telling them the truth

She is typing and then it appears “hi jigme” I curse at myself and “Hi”. “han cha?” She is asking “What are you doing?” Why care? I sense a twitch of indifference playing on my cheek. “Just had dinner.” “so did u miss me” What? Why? How? I mean, how come she knows that I have been waiting for her these two impatient days? My heart takes on a stomping race. I hear the lupp-dupp of my excited heart so loud. “No, I didn’t.” Soon, I feel bad; in fact, very bad. Why am I lying? What do I want? What about my feeling? Oh, I want the message not delivered to her. I swallow hard and hope there is a means to stop the message. So, I right click at the message. Suddenly, I have a lost feeling. The pop-up menu doesn’t have the menu that I would need; something that says “Detain the message”. I click again. Oh this must not happen! I click harder and incessantly. The pop-up menu appears the same. Damn it! I slouch and fall back hard against the chair. “h

Dee Chentd, blogger at  one SUN, many RAYS! , thanks for nominating me for the Leibster Award (For more info please visit  http://d33chentd.blogspot.com/2014/03/liebster-award-and-lil-more-about-myself.html ) . It was a surprise and I already feel a winner, for I now have a hard evidence of convincing at least you, a beautiful soul. The following are as answers for your questions. a) Why did you start your blog? World is big. Why? It’s because it is composed of small things. Without these "small" things, I won't have known this "big" world.  What I am trying to say is that "trifles are no trifles". There are literature enthusiasts, of least capability but true heart, like me. I wanted to see the bigger picture of the world through little that I know. There were lots of incidences where I met in virtual or real life with interest for literature, some successful at pouring while some were not.  Then I took this step of starting a blog

A lot of people will be there. A crowd of women will be much near to them. These women will be with what we call Tshogchang consisting of palang s of ara, banchang and singchang , bangchungs of Yuechoom  with pa and flasks of tea. With mountain of interest, they would shout as the men played archery match. Men with interest already in the game would be further encouraged by women’s presence and encouragement. Further below their archery ground would be young boys in their own range playing archery. Some men or boys would play even khuru, doego and soksom. I would have arrived at the range at least by 9 am eager to meet friends and enjoy the archery match. Parents made all this possible. They would wake me up at around 6 am and breakfast would be already ready: echoom rice with meat thukpa, suja, and khabzey. I loved thukpa so much. I would have it as much as I can dare. I even wished I could drink it like father. Then they would right away go to kitchen and prepare