Being Bad Boys

Boys are boys. Girls are girls. Nicely said.  Boys will remain boys, be in Bhutan, India, Arab countries, Africa, and whichever community that they belong to, boys are always boys.  There are no bars, no religions, no conformities when it comes to doing something. They are damned bad birds. They sleep the whole day and enjoy the whole night. They talk about sex and the only sex, no love, no affection of sorts. They watch ridiculous movies. They play loud music. They never go to class. They never wash dishes, etc and etc.

Very recently, a group of boys rented the upper floor flat. Four boys stayed there in three BHK. And it is very much the same with them. The same behavior, the same loud music, the same. They sometimes throw buckets of water down on the staircases. Crazy. Fully maniacs are those boys, and because of these, I feel boys are different species. They have no such thing as forbearance. They are animals sometimes. They have all qualities of donkeys, monkeys, horses, pigs.

In my class, we have one very mannered, up-to-date, perfectly well-disciplined boy, a kind of very studious boy. He was more than me. But when time ran, he has changed. We told him that he behaved like a girl. He changed now. He has now become crazier than any other fellow mates from the class. He bunks from the class, sleeps in the class, and fights with teachers. He has simply become a hopeless, mannerless person. He simply doesn’t have a future, I feel. In the distant land, there was a king. He wanted to find out where the language comes from. He worked for many many years. The crazy king asked all his ministries to do some research about it. He concluded and laughed himself declaring, “Language comes from the society.” So, it’s society-made. Boys aren’t made by society, I guess. They are borne tough and crazy by nature. And the polarity of boys is girls. Bet it, some girls are not that polar. They, however, are equally crazy or quite a lot than boys. Despite this, I do have not much knowledge of ducky’s world. We are in drake’s world.

I have encountered many boys belonging to different sets of religious groups. From the surface, these boys would look religiously inclined and would look at everything forbade by moral and ethical values or conformities of the society. They are not. They say something and do the opposite right away. For example, Muslims are so much bounded by a confirmed set of beliefs that they are not allowed to make any kind of adultery. But they do. I have seen, they drink, make girlfriends, sleep like pigs, and hardly ever prays. Because they are boys.

Me, I am a middle person, a kind of GNH follower. Not a fanatic in everything, and not so indifferent. I am on my way; doing all to assimilate and conform in life. That’s me.

Have I Voted?

There I stood;

In front of an Electronic Voting Machine

Unable to decide…

Three pictures on the EVM

Reflected me

Who am I?

Why should I press the button?

Why I am here? ...

Three pictures on the EVM smile

One, my father’s enemy

Second, my cousin brother

Third, I didn’t know;

He never visited my village.

The trios had done nothing as such to the village.

I closed my eyes;

Tried to study their past

It was too late to decide

I heard so many voices

For three days in the village, saying;

Mr. X is good,

Mr. Y is excellent

Mr. Z is outstanding.

Who knows who is good?

Or bad?

Politicians are the dirtiest species on the earth

Even you and I…if in their place

Unable to decide…

So be it

Right is the freedom to choose.

I came out;

Perplexed and saddened.

Have I cast a vote?

Somebody Nobody

Everybody is somebody

Somebody is nobody

That somebody is me

I am nobody

It’s me

Today

Everybody has somebody

Somebody has nobody

That somebody is me

I have nobody

It’s me

Today

Here in a distance place

I run to and fro sans pace

Looking for somebody

There awaits nobody

That’s me

It will only be me

Here I journeyed long

A heart sans a song

There I heard a gong

Life pongs

 With all wrongs

Baffled, I cry out

Thinking of lucks

Of some ducks

And me, dropout

Life pongs

Sometimes with all wrongs

Somebody will have everything

Some day

That somebody is me

Life is nothing

It is same everyday

Without you…or me

Coincidence (Story)

Life has many twists and turns, and these twists and turns are the facts and figures of realism. For every curve, there is a bending and for every bending, there is a curve. For every significant day, there is an insignificant day. Because of this so-called not important day, a notable day is there in our life. There are moments in life, there are thoughtless days in our life, and there are unforgettable days in our life.

Pema too has this moment; an unforgettable day.

Pema, the celebrator of the day is a brilliant boy of ten. Brilliant; yes, he is the topper from his class. Teachers gasp at his artwork. “What a beautiful drawing Pema?” And in a school drawing competition, the first prize is booked for him, always. And that is Pema. Pema Tashi.

He is ten now, but he would never forget the day that shaped his life forward, blissfully. That was when he was eight years old.

He would care, recollect and muse over the day; the most important day of all his days in his life. It was a day when he heard that he had won a poetry writing competition at the National level. He got the news on 12/11/2004. He was cherished, and one of the happiest persons in the whole world. It was the most important - the turning point in his life. Because of that particular article, he became a recognized figure now. The enamored day had encouraged him to continue writing from the heart and from his hand. It was not only that winning, but on that day something bizarre, unexpected, special sort of things happened to him. It was greater than his winning.

On November 11/2004, he had a dream; he was trudging in a dangerous cragged of rocks and was sweating to cross over this, his whole body sweated, and a moment later, from nowhere, there came a bird- he couldn’t name that bird, it was a white bird. The bird got beneath him and carried him to his said to be home. It was such a beautiful home with the radiance of candles and butter lamps. In front of him was the Jampelyang- the god of wisdom. He bowed low. And soon, he was awoken by a piece of music. He couldn’t grasp the lines. That was just a dream! To hear the music, he slept again, but his sleep was gone. It was already dawn. Knocks were all that he could hear.

Pema opened the door. And he was surprised to see a bunch of friends near the door with newspapers with all smiles and claps from the morning. He was down –to the earth! What happened! Without any delayed, those friends told him, what he wouldn’t forget throughout his life. They showed him the newspaper; his poem and his name there. Last weekend, he had sent a poem to the newspaper for the Kids’ Poetry Competition. He wrote about a tree in the treeless land. How a tree had changed the lives of many people? How the tree had helped to shelter many lives? A single tree was it. He described the shape of the tree and the surrounding picture of land and weather conditions of the place. It was a good poem, he thought at least.

The poem was nominated as the best in the country. He had become a single lonely tree to be thronged by so many people within a short time. This day had changed him as his tree in the poem had changed many lives. In a struggle of his life, there came a white bird, this bird was his poem. He flew high. He was elated with the hived of life. The day was made more elated when his English teacher read his poem and set him as an example to his fellow students. Miss. Dema read it three times! His teachers were proud, his mates were proud. His school had something to be recognized. It was uplifted. Everyone congratulated him; the whole teachers, a bunch of friends, a bunch of girls. His mother, brothers, and sisters all were over the moon. His tree had brought changes too. His whole life had a U-turn. Life had no twist then, it moved straight; no crooked and no hooked. He was to stay here; writing and awards.

The day was swift, there was merriness everywhere, but one thing always hinged on his mind; his father's returns. He was said to have gone far for further studies or some sort of training in the USA. Pema had been waiting for him for more than six years. His father left him since he was two years old. His father sent letters. He sent photos. And it was only those photos, Pema had seen his father. His father sent love and hugs but never came. Pema’s mother expected him to return any time for his children, if not for her sack. “The hope of my papa will remain as my dream”, Pema said to his mother one day. She always made him think of other things than his father and always told him that he will come someday.

If Pema was to divide his mind into parts; about seventy percent of his mind was in a merry mood. He felt incomplete on that day. The sun was moving and was touching the tip of the mountain. His heart melted down with the sun. His happiness began to meltdown too. He was sitting in the entrance, reading his poem ‘Tree.’ Lost. There was a rush of wind and a sweet aroma from the door. Pema looked. He saw a gentleman, standing tall, looking at him, and smiling at him. It perfectly matched those photos. Behind the man, his mother beamed and came with a sudden outburst, “Here’s your father.”

Pema ran towards him, his happy tears ran down too. “What a coincidence of happiness,” Pema blurted out.

If his happiness was in volume, it would measure the whole space of the earth’s happiness.

From the long-awaited father, Pema had expected something from him; his expectation did come true on that day. His father gave him a white laptop from his black suitcase, where he could do more writing. Moreover, his father promised that he would stay his whole life with them. Pema had reached his happiness to the brimmed and that day had chosen him - the life had chosen him, the god had chosen him. He was the chosen one, the most important one, the most important one on that day, the day was unlike, and unlike was because of the series of momentous events of the day. Pema soon narrated his day’s events to his father and concluded with the remark, “This white bird is my white laptop.” The mother laughed out saying, “This white laptop is not a white bird.” And the father said, “This laptop is a white bird.” All laughed.

And that day was his important and the most colorful day in his life. If he ever had remote control of his life, he would rewind and pause for there to have a slow enjoyment. And he wondered if he had a better dream like the dreamt he had on that day, and one day he hoped that the white bird would take him to the real world and hear that beautiful music.