A Car Named Desire

Are you a mobile gadgets freak?  Do you change your mobile frequently?  How many mobiles do you have? Are some questions many people are asking these days.

Nobody would deny that this is an electronic age. We are living here. There are a lot of new things which have made our life so easy. Mobile phone is one of them which can be seen as the most used in the present-day phenomenon and in this fast-growing time. The mobile phone is a revolutionary step in the field of telecommunication.

Now there are many branded mobiles for people. There are different varieties of Nokia, you have Samsung, 

you have a blackberry, and you have iPhones - iPhone five-the latest.

Last time, my friend bought an iphone4, which was quite expensive but utterly useless to me, though it has so many facilities. I am not a kind of mobile freak. I don’t really like mobiles. We must remember this: Using cell phones too much is harmful to human health and can increase the risk of brain cancer. Not only that it harm eyes. There were many times, I didn’t even carry a mobile. Simple Nokia is enough for me. I can call with it anywhere around the world like apple phones with my Nokia. I have my laptop to use all facilities like mobile. Why need two when one is all that enough. Human desire is unlimited. The quick drop of an iPhone on the ground burns a year’s saving. Likewise, I never liked gold, silver, or whatever. Women love gold and jewelry. Human desire will go on if one never learns to cease. I never understand what the rationale behind people wearing gold is. There is no rationale as such for liking something and there is no reason to love; we simply love and like. I like cars; a very elegant and rich-looking cars. The car I bought in 2008, Hyundai Getz GVS was one of the nicest cars in that period but now it’s obsolete.

I love cars, but my Getz has bombarded; it has become quite expensive both in terms of fuel and maintenance. It’s now six years and I think I have fed him gallows of fuel. I was trying to sell him but it was difficult with new and cheap cars coming in. I like to buy a good BMW or Mercedes Ben, and for this, I think my family would have to have a piece of rice every meal. I wouldn’t do such a thing for personal desire, for personal happiness, for personal gains, etc. Now a thing is not only a thing. There are other things which mean a lot. One cannot deny the change in life with the change of time but when this change is over-exposed I think it’s pollution. I realize now that we must balance these two phenomena in order to create a healthy world.

My Getz GVS

Hatred

Turning things over in my mind—
And the more I do,
The worse I feel.

The rustling sounds bring tears,
Stirring terrible memories.

How can I turn away
From the darkness of rough times?

My thoughts always end up back at you.
Your presence lurks everywhere around me.

I simply hate today.

Time to Wag Tails Politicians

Now that the second-term election is only a few months away, people must have some qualifications of a right person in their minds. That’s good. Bhutan was in the middle of an enigma in 2008. There were instances of choosing the wrong person. Or was it because of the limited choice?

I write this because I am reminded of a bad example of how our government can be irresponsible in choosing the right ministers for a ministry. I am lifting an old example from The Journalist newspaper (13/6/10, page 5): the confession made by Health Minister Zanglay Drukpa. He said to the paper, “I came with an open mind since I knew nothing about health.” I laughed at his frankness but at the same time felt ashamed. From then on, I knew there was something artificial in the functioning of our system. There are many "hotch-potch Dashos" like him. It is like the right person for the wrong job. There are scores of others in the present batch of elected members who have joined politics for the love of power and money. Some of them have turned out to be worse than statues, stealthily filling their stomachs, as they don’t speak a word in the National Assembly. Others survive on lip service and fake promises.

Bhutan didn’t know that much of this would happen in the first election. Now people know; there are talks in every small gathering and the like about choosing a leader of good heart—someone responsible, capable, understanding, etc. Politicization is important, therefore. People must by now also know that an individual must not decide the candidate alone; rather, it is the responsibility of people coming together to decide on their representative. Democracy is sometimes described as communities of people coming together, and it imagines many voices pouring into a unified whole. Democracy should permeate the world beyond politics, making itself felt in the ways people think, speak, work, fight, and even make art. No nepotism, no relations, no bribery—nothing but selecting through collective decision would yield a good leader, because it is for the greater goodness and well-being of the whole, not for an individual.

Coming back to the right person for the right job: the subject matter is very important. Every job demands specialization in a specific subject. One cannot be a jack of all trades. An untrained person cannot suddenly declare himself a carpenter. An educationist cannot become a doctor. An accountant takes up their profession because it is professional. But when it comes to a society like ours, everyone wags their tail in front of money (and barks back nonsensically at their own people) and the post, not necessarily thinking about their area of responsibility and the outcome. As a result, our government becomes buoyant and susceptible, where everyone tries to make a bulb with no knowledge of how to light it, but nobody succeeds. Because of this, I think we had so many problems in the Health Ministry. This type of malfunction, which pulls our nation down, should not be repeated, as society depends upon them. And in turn, they depend on society.

The Moon on My Bed

Silently, silently in the night—
What am I doing?
So let down.

Lying on my bed,
I can only see the moon
Through my window pane.

You are far,
Yet the moon warms me.
But now it has slowly moved behind the clouds,
Leaving me alone. Alone.
Darkness ascends upon me.

How can this be night?
No night, no night.
No evening, no evening.
Yet it comes every time.

I am dying,
Thinking of visions—
The visions of you
On my bed.
Show me the moon.

I can't wake up in the morning.
This whole night I cannot sleep.
Days have become my nights.

What can be good?
What happened to me?
I have changed—
Because of the lack of love
That you show to me.

Why Are You Reminded After a Long Time?

People say you should take things as they come and that time is the only solution. I know this now. Sitting near my laptop, I feel as if some flickering parts of my life have shattered and darkness has ascended. A swamp of memories rushes in upon me—long struggles, my afflictions, my wasted life, my moments of loneliness. Now I feel very hurt, but I keep those bad memories and thoughts to myself. A shameful consciousness of my own person harasses me. I see myself as clownish, a pitiable guy in the reflection of a glance. But I have learned to shake myself free of it and continue to caress my life. And now I question why I was so different, so hesitant.

It was an awful, empty day. The days were the longest and saddest of my life. That was before she ditched me like a duster.

She was incredibly stunning. The center of bait for many people like me, who had fallen and become victims of love. I played a small role in her life. She fooled me by staying around all my life. I began to sink further into the bleakness of silent love. The more I watched, the more I despised my own weakness. She tormented my thinking, never let me sleep well—visions and images filled everything around me.

There were many students I could name who looked physically fine to my eyes, but her history told me that she had never accepted any of them. She was seen as an extravagant girl.

What happens when one loves someone? It was a kind of ambivalent feeling. I both hated and loved her. What more was there? She was charming and gracious. Love had nothing to do with wealth, fame, or beauty. It simply happened. Loving her would mean loving everything—if only I could have her.

I wonder how these beautiful ladies react when they receive too much attention and loving, sweet smiles. How do they take it in and feel about it? I guess they would be flying high in the sky. I knew that some ladies simply stab a heart with a sweet, poisoned knife, shatter green hearts, speak the cruelest words, break hearts into pieces, and then move away silently. And the guys dissolve into unpredictable acts—drinking, drugs, quarrels, going mad, attempting suicide, and more unspeakable things.

These were some of the reasons that made me petrified and regretful.

In college, I would wait, carefully timing the moment when I could pass her on the stairs and whisper, "Good morning." And she would answer cheerfully, "Good morning."

That was all that ever passed between us.

Women are like empty pots, waiting to be filled. They need three sweet, shallow reasons to fill them and make them feel wanted and happy.

Watching her everywhere—any place, anywhere—she would laugh with her friends and roam with many boyfriends. Her heaven was the space she occupied. But she—yes, she, the girl whom I loved so much—was ignorant of my presence. "Does she know if someone loves her?" I often asked that. The refusal was the most horrible drug. In my thoughts, I would have done everything with her. Je ne sais quoi she was.

My tortured soul told me, "Hold her in your arms now and never let go." But it wasn't worth it. She had to have a choice of her own, too. I was shilly-shallying.

"Will she ever choose a man who loves her very much?" I wondered. At all costs, I stayed away from her unless and until she wanted to see me. If not, I would only suffer.


Two years later, she came to meet me. I saw her again, looking sad and worried. My mouth opened wide when she greeted me lovingly. I broke into a sly smile. My mind said, "How many more years must she make me suffer? Anyway, not all love leads to married life. True love lasts forever—as long as you find another true love."

Karma might have had its way, but it did not come to me at that moment. When she put her hand on my shoulder and closed her eyes and asked, "Are you married?" I couldn't answer her, although my heart was brimming over with happiness. Just when I had been wishing for it so much, she had come to me of her own accord.

It was the best and the worst thing happening in my life.

"Why?" I asked.

"He left me. And he is dead now."

"Somebody you were in love with?" I asked her dryly. A wave of dull anger began to gather at the back of my mind.

"Yes. A year back, he left me and home because of some quarrels. On his way, his car went off the road. I think he died because of me."

Choking on sobs, she was overcome by her emotions and dropped down onto my knees.

Rage. A huge thunderstorm raced in my blood.

"Will you kill me too? Do you think I'm a fool—a spoiled brat? Do you think I'm your second man, to come and use whenever you like?" I said into the void. She didn't hear.

So she had had that romance in her life—a wealthy man who died because of her. It pained me to consider how poor a part I had played in her life. No, not a poor part. Perhaps the biggest role I played in her life was no role at all.

The lady I had longed for so many years vanished in just a second. On the other hand, her girlish beauty had almost gone. But my past feeling toward her cooled the thunderstorm raging inside me. One by one, they all became shades, then faded like the dying embers of a fire. Soon, generous tears filled my eyes. "Did she know what I went through all those longing years?"

I was modestly taken by love. It poisoned me—most probably by her beauty. I asked her happily, "Sorry. What can I do for you?"

"I knew you for so many years. I know that you wished to live with me," she said in a distant tone. "I am sorry I ignored you. But why didn't you tell me the day you loved me?"

The last sentence seemed to hurt. "Only I was diffident and could not approach her. That led to a story and a wasted life. I regret it." The words rang in my mind.

"Yes, now I shouldn't refuse you. I need you. I should not blame you, for it was the only love, Choden," I told her.

Trembling with a mixture of delight and sadness, I stood close to her. She put her hands on my shoulder, and with her sudden hug, I fell to her so easily.


But the story I have never asked my wife—now—is about that wealthy lover who died for her sake. How long will it continue like this? In fact, until our very last breath. Because if you dig up decayed stool, it smells a lot.

A Wise Voice

I may not look like the son of King Jigme Singye Wangchuck,
But I have some of his qualities—
And the power over my own soul.

I may not be the brightest bulb in the room,
But I can light the way
For us to walk together.

I may not have the heart of Lord Buddha,
But I have feelings and sympathies—
And a virtuous heart.

I may not speak as gracefully as you wish,
But I have a wise voice.
Listen to what I say, not how I say it.

I may not be strong like John Cena,
But I can hold you when you fall
And fight till I cannot move.

I may not have sumptuous three square meals,
But I have a heart that can be trusted,
A love that will keep us alive,
A smile to keep you happy.

I may do something you don't like.
I may have asked you to care for me.
But in the end,
I care for you more than anything in the world.

Happiness is the Gift of Life

We celebrated International Happiness Day on March 20th. To mark the occasion, my mother told me a very short story. I have written it down here.

In an urban center—let's say Thimphu—there lived two boys. One came from a rich family, and the other from a poor family. The one thing they shared was an undying friendship. They were true friends.

The rich boy had everything: a large house, fine clothes, plenty of food, and the latest gadgets. The poor boy had almost nothing—except his kind parents, two loving brothers, and a small, simple home. The rich boy also had parents and three brothers, but something was missing.

One day, the poor boy visited the rich boy's house. He had heard so much about it but had never been inside. When he entered, he was surprised. The house was big and full of things, but it was not a happy place.

The rich boy's eldest brother sat in a corner, glued to his computer, playing games. He did not look up or say hello. The mother was playing card games with a group of men, laughing loudly but not warmly. Two younger children were fighting over a toy, shouting and pulling at each other. The father was arguing with the mother in the next room. Their voices were sharp and angry.

The house was messy. Clothes lay on the floor. Dishes were piled in the sink. No one greeted the poor boy or asked him to sit down. No one offered him tea or even a smile. He stood there for a while, feeling invisible and uncomfortable.

After some time, he quietly left and walked back to his own home.

As he walked, his heart felt heavy. He had seen something that troubled him deeply. He had always thought that having more things meant being happier. But now he was not so sure.

When he reached his own small house, the door was open. His mother was stirring a pot over the fire, humming a song. His father was mending a broken chair and smiling. His two brothers were sweeping the floor together, laughing about something silly. The house was small, but it was clean. The walls were plain, but they felt warm.

"Come, son, sit with us," his mother said. "Supper is almost ready."

They ate together—just a simple meal of rice and vegetables—but they shared it from one plate, talking and laughing. No one was fighting. No one was ignoring anyone. There was care in every word and love in every look.

That night, the poor boy understood something important. His family had no money, no big house, no fancy things. But they had something far greater: happiness. It was a gift, given by life or by God, and it cost nothing at all.

He realized then that happiness does not come from what you own. It comes from how you live, how you love, and how you treat the people around you. There is nothing better in life than true happiness—and unlike money or possessions, it is something no one can ever take away.

Songing Heart

The best music touches deep into our hearts. It keeps alive—and kicks—the sorrows and depressions of life. Sometimes it kicks a little too hard, but that's what friends and volume buttons are for.

I love blues music. Real blues songs—the kind that feels like a warm hug from a sad person. Sentimental and jazzy. Pure music: no hip-hop, no big bang, no sharp pop that hurts my aging ears. I am a simple guy who came from an "Aamo Chi lay" backdrop. That's village talk for "I used to chase chickens for fun."

But to be frank, some music didn't fascinate me. It sounded like two people talking over each other at a busy tea shop. Back in the 1990s, radio was the main source of music. I knew all the timings of radio shows—BBS, AIR, VOI, BBC, Shillong broadcast, and others. I had a mental schedule more accurate than a train timetable. Then, my brother gave me his tape recorder. That was life-changing. I started buying audio cassettes and listening until the batteries gave up—usually right in the middle of the best song. Elton John, Savage Garden, Ronan Keating—the list goes on.

I also love singing. I used to pick up my bass guitar and rock on the stage, most of the time unprepared. I vividly remember singing "Tears in Heaven" for my late brother, Sonam, as well as "If Tomorrow Never Comes" and others. But now, I sing in the toilet. Nobody would listen to a husky old voice these days.

It's ME, singing "If Tomorrow Never Comes." Tomorrow comes if you believe...

So I have listened to most English songs worth listening to. The Beatles—"Let It Be" is one of my favorites. The Eagles' "Love Will Keep Us Alive" (spoiler: it does, but tea helps too). George Michael's "Careless Whisper" (I still can't play the sax solo, but I try—in my head). Bryan Adams, The Police, Celine Dion (yes, I admit it), the Spice Girls (tell me you didn't zig-a-zig-ah), Mariah Carey (I can't hit those notes, but neither can anyone else), Stevie Wonder's "I Just Called to Say I Love You" (he called. I listened.), Josh Groban's "You Raise Me Up" (I feel raised, then immediately lowered when I try to sing along), Elton John, Savage Garden, Ronan Keating, the Backstreet Boys—I could go on, but you get the idea. I was musically fed.

I also love singing. I used to pick up my bass guitar and rock on stage—most of the time unprepared. That's called "confidence"—or poor planning. I vividly remember singing "Tears in Heaven" for my late brother, Sonam, and "If Tomorrow Never Comes" for... well, just in case.

But now? Now I sing in the toilet. Nobody wants to hear a husky old voice these days. The walls don't complain. The mirror doesn't judge. The toilet tank even provides a little reverb. It's my concert hall now—small, private, and well-ventilated. So yes, it's ME, singing "If Tomorrow Never Comes." Tomorrow comes if you believe. And if you don't, it comes anyway—just with more bills.

I remember the first album I bought was by Modern Talking. Their songs still keep me high and alive today. This German duo is my favorite. Don't laugh. They were kings of synthpop before you were born. Songs like "You Can Win If You Want," "You're My Heart, You're My Soul," "Cheri Cheri Lady," "Brother Louie," and "Give Me Peace of Love" still keep me mesmerized and humming—sometimes in the shower, sometimes in traffic, sometimes during staff meetings (silently, of course).

They are the best songs I have ever had in my life. The song "You Can Win If You Want" keeps me moving forward. Whenever life pushes me down, I hear that synth intro in my head and suddenly feel like I can conquer the world—or at least finish my grading. I think this song is a story about our lives: the journey we make where nobody knows the destination. Try listening to them. They are the best—though yes, a little bit synthpop, a little bit cheesy, a little bit 1980s haircut. But it's worthwhile and melodious. Their music teaches so many good things about life: empathy, love, care—and quite heart-rendering songs, as I call them (they render my heart useless for hours).

I often listen now and cry out, remembering my past days. The good ones. The bad ones. The ones where I had hair. Modern Talking still talks to me. And I answer—usually off-key, usually in the toilet, but always from the heart.

Modern Talking (google images)

Kidnapping is a Huge Business in Sarpang

No wonder everything happens for money. One would sell one's father, mother, brother, sister—anyone—for money. One would kill, murder, and transform one's beliefs for money. Never wonder: one could do everything under the sun just for money. Because of all this, I have begun to lose trust, and I am now a tough person to convince. I seldom believe anyone easily enough to let the cat out of the bag. And it is very hard to count on people like that sometimes. Anyway, people have become evil now. There is an old Buddhist saying: the world does not change; it is the people who change. Time tells us so.

The Sarpang kidnapping cases have become quite alarming. Within a short span of time—three months—four kidnappings were carried out. And they were executed very badly, almost casually, as if kidnapping had become easy. A taxi driver was dragged from the main road and held for more than three weeks. An old man, around sixty years old—like my father—was beaten and pulled out of his house in the evening, also held for three weeks. And very recently, a student was kidnapped from a bar in broad daylight in Sarpang town. The good thing was that everyone saw the act, but nobody even dared to fart. As for the police… everyone knows police work is to chase dogs. During this student's kidnapping, the police may have been snoring, with their unloaded guns pointed toward their own two big eggs.

Not so much to worry about, they say. The deals will be made very soon, and the victims will be returned—though mentally tortured and with an illness that will exhaust them for the rest of their lives. The ransom price for that taxi driver was a bit lower than for the old man. And I think there will be a price hike for that boy. There is no fixed price as such. Inflation and deflation keep going. The last price for an old man was Nu. 500,000. Five lakhs is so much for a poor student now. I hope our government negotiates the price and brings the boy back home safely.

But seriously, border areas have become unsafe places to live in. Commodities may come cheap, but one has to risk one's life to live there. Sarpang, Phuntsholing, Samtse, Samdrup Jongkhar, and Ngalam—all bordering India—have become dangerous places to live. People have no peace of mind; nobody knows who the next victim will be. Some media reports show how worried people are about their security. Last time, some officials from Assam visited Sarpang and promised that such incidents would not be repeated. Despite that assurance, the violence continues. How shameful is that? Can we believe people now? I bet you—don't believe it so easily.

Now, stop playing the blame game. Every one of us must be alert. Carry a patang or a knife inside your gho. Or learn taekwondo or martial arts. Be in groups of trusted people. Travel together with people you know. Above all, our government must do something very quickly. That something could be higher and tighter security alerts, secret agents placed in different areas, and tighter border security.

Our border with India is very porous, making it easy for many goondas to escape after creating enough trouble inside. Even a single mosquito shouldn't pass through our borders. But according to the police, from the apprehended lists last time, some mosquitoes are already in our land. They have formed a kind of partnership business with their Indian counterparts. Business is business, after all. The sons of the Kingdom of Bhutan want to abduct their own people. There is a Dzongkha saying: "Zayang bangchung nang za, awa tang yang bangchung nang tang." A rough adaptation could be: "Eat from the plate and defecate on the same plate." So here we are. You don't have to go far in search of the soul—the soul is very much within you. The deadliest enemy comes from the most known and friendliest people. In Bhutan, it is our own people, and that is a real shame for all of us. We believe in good. Our farmers are humble and happy. We trust each other. But what makes them turn their world upside down? I think it is money. Don't crave too much. We are a GNH country. No wonder.

Pronounce These Words and See How Good You Are

Read this poem by B. Shaw. And if you can correctly pronounce every word in this poem, you will be speaking English is better than 90% of the native English speakers in the world. After trying the verses, a Frenchman said he’d prefer six months of hard labour to read six lines aloud. Try them yourself.

c'est la fin

Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.
I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.
Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written.)
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation’s OK
When you correctly say croquet,
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.
Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.
Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.
Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.
Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.
Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.
Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.
Pronunciation (think of Psyche!)
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?
It’s a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!

- B. Shaw