This World is Yours

The sun has the whole universe

And you too have all

In front of you a vast stage;

To play the game you have never played.

You have all;

Generosity, merriment, cry, hurt, love, care, good, bad, all.

It’s how you see…

How you go…

To me,

You are always joyful and have a piece of good heart!

You are optimistic as you are,

And powerful as a man needs.

And a person’s personality.

Shine through joys and goodness.

Good in all, to become best you try

And sometimes in life- independence

Bother not what others do

And bother what you do.

Let no one hurts you at last

Let others say well

Self-hope sometimes uplift you

You need that expectation.

Your future is as shiny as coral

As you have everything

That a man sometimes doesn’t have

Health, wealth, character, good rapport, confidence, persuasiveness

That will really win through the life

And may God bless you always

And my wish is the god’s wish, my son.

The Canned Dream

People care about the fruits, not how a tree is nurtured and taken care (I wrote a similar topic in this blog called ‘The Roots of a Seed’)

What do you feel when the most expected fruit comes as a disaster? Or worse, even so, axing the whole tree, or rooting out the tree from the soil.

The hope of life is the root and if the root is rooted out, there is no hopeless hope than this. Likewise, for someone, the most desirable thing in life comes as what many friends called as ‘killing the life,’ ‘demoting the life,’ ‘what is these?’ all blames, blames and more blames; blames to your life, blames to the people around you, blames to God!

A few of my friends time and again blurted out often, “I know everything, but what’s wrong with this result?” It’s like saying, ‘life is empty, but what’s this suffering?’ It’s almost time to complete courses, and for many dreamers, the end of the course will be the end of their lofty dreams. Not so. Never end. I tell myself, always. My house owner was once a rickshaw puller. He narrated it to me. Now he has twenty-seven buildings of his own. He eats gold, I think. No one can say life. Just dream and relax, and jump and hold tight when that dream knocks at the door. But my door always remains open to welcome dreams. I hope I have not missed the dream. Sometimes, the future, which seems illusory and out of reach, does not concern me at all.

Anyways, I mock those ‘canned dreamers’ and think to myself, ‘Nobody knows everything, only God knows.’ But deep in the heart, I ask many times, that how unequal is it, that God doesn’t know some people, (those people who deserve) but there is always ‘BUT’ in life. Why so contrast and comparison in this life. God is the one, say politicians. But if you ask any layman, he/she would say their god is the best, meaning others are false. That is a huge debate and to answer for an unseen thing like the god. I give up.

But, everything is unequal, and let me leave with George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ book, “All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.”

Sometimes

Sometimes, darkness can be too dark

Not having a single spark

Dingy, long unending days

Seems no light at the end

And all things look empty and vain

Things fall apart

There, I wish hope.

Sometimes, silence can be too silent

Without any rustle or any breath

In a lonely place, and alone

And feeling and sensing so down

Feeling so diffident and so forlorn

There, I wish love and joy.

Sometimes, stresses can be too stressful

Without any prospect of solution

When troubles are troubling

And things are all in a hotchpotch

There, I wish peace and homely beauty.

Sometimes, love can be so hurtful

When a wounded heart breaks into pieces

Spread; all round me everywhere

On the carpet, on the sofa, on the pillows, the beds

Everywhere

There, I wish a truelove

I wonder why I am the only one at fault

Alone, bearing all these pains

My mind goes over the brink

Where will I set the foot?

Where will I rest?

Why do I get sucked into this tunnel?

So often

So dark, so indistinguishable

I try to hide

But especially from myself……. DARKNESS.

Uniforms to Help Financial Crunch

In this what is called the financial crunch or crisis, one must be ever careful of the cash transaction. Money has become tight now. One must know what to buy. The boiling desires of want one has been reduced with the economic inflation in the country. With no increase in salary and slashing the government budget in all developmental activities, money has become really hard to get now. The real problem is rupee shortage against our Ngultrum. The government report shows a scary picture of taking some five or more years to recover from this financial crunch. Millions of debt are still to be cleared and on the other hand, millions of our paper are floated in bordering towns, now useless. I was told by one storeman in Jaigion that these papers were said to be eaten by rats inside their cupboards. That’s it. I don’t really understand. Now the cost of everything has skyrocketed. On the other hand, millions of the rupee are earned every day from power export.  It is difficult to comprehend the economic situation now.

At this juncture, some schools in Bhutan have come up with a good idea to help themselves, and to teach our people how awfully bad it is to spend our money across the border- buying more than what we need. Teachers' dress have widely become popular in schools for instance. Darla MSS is the living example; teachers have come up with wearing a dress during their working hours. Excellent! It helps; it helps not only individually but also financially. It helps one’s family, it helps society, and it helps the government. The help may be a tip of an iceberg, but it still makes difference. Our ladies workers have kiras comp. anywhere. They tend to buy very expensive kiras and tegos almost every month to show off to their friends. It is expensive. To curb these trends and not to have many kiras useless as one useful dress, this uniform, I think is a good idea. But there are again personal rights, freedom to choose, freedom to wear but that is another side of the coin. Our male workers are done with five or six ghos in a year, and they don’t need to dress as such. They have dresses already. Their ash-white or ash-black or blue ghos are enough. There is one Lopen in Darla, who always wears ash-white gho a whole year-round. That is too much. And there was one southern Bhutanese (my) math teacher in Jigme Sherubling HS, in Khaling who had just one whit-ash gho for two years. I remained there for only two years, I didn’t expect he would have continued with that one gho only, but I was really struck when I saw the school magazine of one of the schools (name withheld), seated in the middle with his old white-ash gho, that man has become principal! He is a sucking calculating man, I guess. He really understands plus and minus.

Hyped-up, I counted my ghos. I breathed; I have not been a real jerk on ghos. Within eight years of my earning, I have 16 ghos staffed inside the cupboard’s shelf. It barely filled the whole step of the shelf no. 1. Not so much I thought poor, I have given many old ghos to my people. I remember clearly, I have given almost seven or more of now. I am not a gho freak. I have only two very expensive ghos; one Lungserma, given by my parents, and Sershog gho forcefully bought to me by my wife. These two expensive ghos are staved and bedded inside the suitcase. I hope they wouldn’t lay eggs and double. The last time she gave a look at them, there were some bugs creeping in-between. Soon, they will make a home out of my precious, but useless ghos. Like all men, my favorite ghos are plain ash-blue, ash-white ghos made from across the borders. I have five or more ghos in these colors and I am afraid that some people may feel that I have learned from my math teacher of Khaling.