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