Thursday, March 31, 2011

An Emotional Parting, but for good

I was rolling on my bed helplessly. My friend had long gone leaving behind a dreaded hangover as usual. It could have been around 3 O’clock. On my right was my wife in her deep slumber although our first baby in her womb rendered bit of discomfort that made her moan sometimes. 

How I reached my bed that night? I still don’t remember. Last I remember was holding a glass of Special Courier and chatting with Ata Tashi and other regular mates. I remember, it was in Shangrila Restaurant whose underground dungeon like bar offered a best place for my friends and I to hang out, with latest Bhutanese movie songs at full blast. 

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Pursuit of Spiritualism

Dimension: 230mm x305mm
"A painter paints his/her mind with brushes and colours. A writer paints his/her mind with eloquent words and phrases."  Let this piece of mine keep you all motivated to write more...

Pursuit of spiritualism: I don't know the place. I came across this background picture of a hermitage during one of my google searches. Its sanctity and serenity motivated me to come up with this painting (watercolor on paper). Solitary caves and hermitage are where spiritualism emanates. Therefore, I did a little bit of value addition by putting a monk in front of it - so the title, Pursuit of spiritualism.

Friday, March 25, 2011

I’m a teetotaler

In April this year I'll be entering my fifth year without liquor - not even a pin-drop of it. It was during Zhabdrung Kuchoe, April, 2007 that I decided to quit by taking vow at the Goenkhang of Lhuendruptse. 

Today when I reflect upon my past, I couldn't help myself jotting down these few lines. I hope my visitors would enjoy going through it. 
Right from childhood
To the mid of manhood.
When without wife,
Alcohol was my life.
Even with wife
It tried to be my life.
Quarrel got picked
Crockery got kicked.
There were brawls
and then growls.
It gave pains
And not much gains.
So was my life
Full of strife.
So I stopped,
Before it had me stopped.

Thursday, March 24, 2011


Disaster in the East,
And series of upheavals and conflicts in the West.
What a chaotic World it is!
Sorry and Prayers for Japan,
This is something unexpected and unstoppable.
But the crisis in the West,
Are there no other option, that's Best
Instead of Boom Boom
Blowing the lives of innocents.
Peace Ho...

Lingshing Rongme and His Tiger Son

A story of a hunter as narrated by Aum Sonam Wangchuk (my mother), Banjar, Tsamang, Monggar. 

“Meow…a a-ow…” an unusual sound along with cold breezes of early wintry morning alerts Lingshing Rongme, as he was about to swallow the last bite of his Khurra[1] along  with a gulp of water. At once he holds back his breath, with his last bite of Khurra tightly held up against palate by the tongue and with mouth half open, to ascertain the kind of noise and its location. He waits patiently for the next phase of signal.
Several days of combing thick temperate jungles with his quiver firmly held on his back, fully loaded with arrows laden with freshly processed aconite poisons, and holding a powerful bow in his left hand, his hunting spree was nearly going waste when suddenly, “Meow…a a-ow…” sound struck his eagerly sensitive ears once again.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Oie! She Calls Me

I have a proper name like any other humans do, both formal and informal. I wouldn’t mind if I’m called either way. But what is there in the name? For me it simply signifies my identity to which I’m bound to respond the moment someone sends in a stimulus. Almost every day, I hear my names (both formal and informal) being called in different tones and shapes. I’m used to it right from the day I was named that way. If my name is called from east I look east and if it comes from west, I turn west. This is how God wanted it to be; this is how I’m known to the society; and this is how I would love to hear.

Friday, March 11, 2011

My Artworks

Pencil Sketch of my daughter Rigzin done from a photograph. She fell asleep while using walker.

Rhododendron painted (watercolor) from a photograph taken during 16th SAARC Summit, Thimphu. Exact location: Minister's Enclave.

Tachho Zam painted in watercolor. Located on the way to Paro from Thimphu. This bridge is built from the chains of Drubthob Thangtong Gyalpo. Therefore, I call this a "Sacred Chains" or "Dharmic Chains".

Friday, March 4, 2011

A Tearful Phone Call

“Pep…pep!” a brand new land cruiser overtakes a Mahindra Bolero uphill as we were about to cross over the road to Tiny Toes – a nursery school at Changgedaphu. There were several cars parked on either side of the road, leaving little space for other plying vehicles. Thimphu has really become crowded with cars and if one isn’t careful, these cars particularly Taxis wouldn’t mind even dashing you. I was then, taking my daughter Dechog to nursery for the first time. Fearing any such mishap, I ensured her hand is held firmly with mine as we crossed the road.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

My way of the Middle Path

Try out once, twice and go for third if one is not satisfied. Thereafter, one should have known one's standpoint.
I shall not cry out for my failure for I know that my failure doesn't mean failure in everything; and
I shall not rejoice over my success for I know that my success would mean another person's failure.
Therefore, let this be my way of the Middle Path.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Farts for the Warmth

I could have been around five or six year old boy that time. I wasn’t going to school yet. It was always fun accompanying my mother at her works then. In summers when the crops start to ripen my mother had an additional responsibility of guarding maize fields from wildlife at night. One such night, as we got into a thin blanket my mother laughed and I asked, “Why?” Still laughing she said, “Tonight we will have to fart to keep ourselves warm.” I stared at her confused. The night was still and calm. There were no signs of wildlife encroachments. In the dimly lit temporary shelter my mother started a story thus, “Dangpo[1] Ap Dorji and his son…” I try to reconstruct her story of “Ap Dorji and his Son” as I heard from her about thirty years ago. So here it goes…

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Pencil Sketches!!


Pencil sketch of my elder daughter Dechog done from a photograph. She started to learn cycling (indoor) at the age of two and half. I was then serving my last year at Lhuentse Dzongkhag as Administrative Officer.

Dechog goes to Tiny-Toes (Nursery School):
As Bhutanese saying goes "Bu rog Dha Chha, Nor Rang Dha Chha" so must every child be sent away from their parents to be groomed as a responsible Human being. My three and half year old daughter Dechog started attending Tiny-Toes Nursery from 2nd March, 2011. For the first time in her life she gets an opportunity to interact and learn new things with friends of her age. So much of her excitement of the day has been promising and given me hope that one fine day my daughter will grow up as "Responsible Human Being." It'll be our (parent's) responsibility to ensure best of her education while rest is left upon "Kenchog Sum" to take care.