Words Alive

As said in songs beautiful, Happiness of a bird is, But all thanks to the kind tree. In line same, thank you My King You gave us a wonderland. The moment You were crowned, Subjects felt hope and courage, Your youthful age mattered not. A King, so esteemed, reigned From throne less, from heart more. Powers did You decentralize, For in unison power lied, Thus the low were empowered. Developments gained momentum But to You, these meant so less Lest it brought no happiness. Thus was born, the GNH, A north star for the nation, An alternative to world’s move, As balanced harmony it seeks. Bhutan, the name then flourished. To the voice You gave the people, Unasked, You gave the Best platform, Democracy in the Kingdom. And voluntarily You crowned Fifth King and you stepped back, All to the admiration of world. In foundation laid grand, Under reign of The People’s King, We enjoy Your legacy. No riches would ever befit To thank yo

“Arresting God in Kathmandu” is a book so written as to make the reader crave to complete it in a sitting. His mastery over language, expression, and simple ideas is impressive. Well paced, organized and clear narration enables visualizing the process of stories. Short stories in the book do not at all feel like short stories: on completion, it gives one a satisfaction of having read many novels at a go. Seasoned with philosophy, every sentence seems impregnated with knowledge. The most outstanding feature of the book is the magical blend of plots that have sharp contrast. His display of events in sudden twists despite the presence of seemingly perfect start, like the strong belief in one’s dream, brings out the truth of the world: the truth of uncertainty, need for its acceptance and the power therein. Personally, it felt like a document attesting these universal truths as stated by our Dharma and Bhutanese’ popular beliefs. Thus, reading Kathmandu was revisiting my homeland.

I don't think I like this word 'modernization'. It has with its tide submerged all the beauties of the past, letters being one. How I wished to open the red cylindrical post box hoping 'If I could get a letter from it'. It was desirable thing to see others receiving letters and reading it, then posting a reply. I actually used to wonder how a letter with a stamp on it could travel to distant places.  When I could write something sensible, I enjoyed writing letters and posting it as much as receiving it. I would imagine the sender of writing it with care, each word carrying their effort and sincerity.  I have chits from my father when I was in 7th or 8th standards. They are stored in my box given when I joined in Yadhi LSS (then), a boarding school. I even received a letter from him during my first year at Sherubtse College. He mentioned about how a son of Dzongkha language teacher should behave and also about keeping my hair short. I felt that the le

༉ 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