Words Alive

Nothing new than the usual menu was laid for the dinner. My youngest brother and sister were both asleep before having dinner. Father didn’t attend complaining about the nauseating (or revolting) feeling he was experiencing then. So we were just five: me, mom, grandma, younger brother and sister. Halfway through our dinner, grandma brought a topic into the gathering. She asked my mom, “You were not there some time in the afternoon, where were you?” My mother, being partially deaf, might have not heard her well but she at least might have seen her lips movements or noticed her eyes focused towards her. That I could say because my mom creased her face into an uneasy, confused smile. Grandma didn’t mind, she continued unaware, “Ama brought this spinach. Someone might have  given her when she was out.” It wasn’t important, not really, by the subject I was going to enquire. Yet I asked, “Ama, where did you get this spinach from? This one’s really delicious.” I was ...

It was during a chat conversation with my friend Phuntsho Wangdi that these warm words flowed. Thank you Amigo. Phuntsho                     Ma nye ya oi? Me:                    Nga nyewa gadhey nyetshu ba;                     choe zhelrey lekpi metog mey;                     Sung ngyenpa pchithki bungwa mey;                     Nga nowi dzamling namzum mey;                     Nga nyewa gadhey nyetshu ni? Phuntsho:                      Choe nyewa migto tsum bay nye,                       choe thong wa nyinlam zangpo thong,  ...

༉          སངས༌རྒྱས༌གཉིས༌པ༌ཨོ༌རྒྱན༌གུ༌རུ༌མཁྱེན།། འབྲུག༌མི༌ཡོངས༌ལས༌བཀའ༌དྲིན༌མན་ཌལ་འཕུལ།། ལྷན༌དུ༌སྐྱེ༌བའི༌དགེ༌བསྙེན༌སྡོམ༌པ༌འདི།། ཉེ༌རིང༌མེད༌པར༌ཐོབ༌པའི༌དངོས༌གྲུབ༌གནང༌།། ལེགས༌སོ༌ལེགས༌སོ༌སངས༌རྒྱས༌གཉིས༌པ༌ལུ།། དཔལ༌ལྡན༌འབྲུག༌པ༌རིན༌པོ༌ཆེ༌རང༌མཁྱེན།། འབྲུག༌གི༌བཀའ༌དྲིན༌འགྲན༌ཟླ༌མེད༌པ༌ཨིན།། ཐུན༌མོང༌མེན༌པའི༌བཟའ༌བཅའ༌འགྲོ༌གསུམ༌བཅས།། ངོ༌རྟགས༌ཅན༌གྱི༌སྒྲིག༌ལམ༌རྣམ༌གཞག༌གནང༌།། རྒྱལ༌དར༌གནམ༌ལུ༌འཕྱར༌བའི༌སྲོག༌ཤིང༌ཨིན།། རྒྱལ༌བརྒྱུད༌རིམ༌བྱོན༌རྣམས༌ལུ༌དགའ༌ཚོར༌ཞུ།། དམག༌འཁྲུགས༌ལང༌པའི༌དམྱལ༌བའི༌ཁམས༌ནང༌ལས།། ཕྱག༌བཤེད༌དཔའ༌རྟགས༌གུ༌ལུ༌སྐུ༌སྲོག༌བཞག། བདེ༌སྐྱིད༌ཕུན༌ཚོགས༌ཉི༌མ༌ཤར༌བཅུག༌སྟེ།། སྙན༌གྲགས༌ཕྱི༌ནང༌མེད༌པར༌འུར༌སྒྲ༌འདིར།། འཇིགས༌མེད༌འཕྲིན༌ལས།

My dear Valentine, How is my heart doing in yours? I am very much certain that it would be doing extremely well there because, for it, I am the best place only if you're excluded.  Now that you are taking care of it, heaven won't be any other place for it. My cute Valentine, let me reminisce the time I loved you the first time.  When I saw you, I knew that heaven is not in mind but in heart; not a place but a boundless happiness.  It wasn’t a strange feeling meeting you, rather it was like the dawning of new bright day: so familiar but always new. I felt a like to embrace you tight and let the hearts get even physically closer but I had to know the ambit then. I, anyway, didn't feel defeated because to be able to see you itself was my doubt. We even spent silent minutes watching deep into our eyes and that was the best thing I ever felt wonderful. When I was looking away from you, I felt your eyes softly touching my hair and leaning on my shoulder. It was...

Thousand hands pushed the door open. On the tidy marble laden cemented floor Slippers and shoes dragged on noisily. Garbage and dirt took ownership of it. Mr. Room saw his chairs being sat on And his tables leaned and slept upon. Chalks danced its life on the green board. Gallant lamps fought off the dark days While curtains shielded wind and sun. Lessons, talks and laughs hit the walls as Success, failure and emotion painted them. Odours, and fragrances teased the air. When the day took leave with sun, Used and angry, Mr. Room slept the night. He always had nightmares of things Being uncared and stolen or misused. He always woke up from the nightmares With thousand hands pushing its door. Suddenly, nothing happened in the room. Like it was no gas, even the air was still. Silence loudly gripped the room. Thus Deaf he became to know the world. The first few days though was peaceful, Peaceful then took the meaning of Dull. Darker than n...

I’m begging you; if you feel to read, read it till the end. If not, please don’t go even a step further, coz I will be misunderstood as you skip or stop halfway through it. I am experiencing rather an excruciating jolt in my heart as I pen down my truths. Yet, what can a man, already in torture, do if he is punished with only a choice? He has to tread that choice albeit his knowledge rings in him saying ‘Are you respecting the choice?’ A much similar situation is what I am drowned into now. To speak truth, as this truth burns down my tranquility, I had a lover a year ago, yeah a really loved girl. I lost her to someone, yet I managed with my belief on emptiness. I can’t hate her anyway, still I can’t do that. The happenings are like last night’s fantasy. I was living yesterday, though I loved living today. Then I saw you, a flower heading for the zenith of the full blossom and its radiance very dazzling. As your image frequented my eyes, it jerked my conscience to app...

ཧྲི༔ མགོན་པོ་ཚེ་དཔག་མེད་དང་པད་མ་འབྱུང་། །དབྱེར་མེད་གཅིག་འདུས་ངག་དབང་རྣམ་པར་རྒྱལ། །བཀའ་དྲིན་འཁོར་མེད་རྩ་བ་བླ་མ་ལ། །བདག་སོགས་རྩེ་གཅིག་གུས་པས་གསོལ་བ་འདེབས། ། ནམ་ཞིག་ཚེ་འདིའི་སྣང་བ་ནུབ་མ་ཐག །བདེ་བ་ཅན་དུ་སྐྱེ་བར་བྱིན་གྱིས་རློབས། ། ཨོཾ་ཨཿ གུ་རུ་ཝ་གིནྡྲ་བི་ཛ་ཡ་ཨ་ཡུརྫྙ་ན་སིདྡྷི་ཧུཾ། ཨོཾ་ཨ་ཧུཾ༔ བཛྲ་གུ་རུ་པད་མ་སིདྡྷི་ཧུཾ༔ ཨོཾ་ཨ་མ་ར་ནི་ཛི་བིནྟ་ཡེ་སྭ་ཧཱ༔ དགེ་བ་འདིའི་མྱུར་དུ་བདག །དཔལ་ལྡན་བླ་མར་འགྲུབ་འགྱུར་ནས། །འགྲོ་བ་གཅིག་ཀྱང་མ་ལུས་པར། །དེ་ཡི་ས་ལ་འགོད་པར་ཤོག །