The Truth Is

From Google

Dear my beloved

I asked you to care for me

But the truth is; I care about you more than 

anything in the world

I asked you to love me

But the truth is; I love you more than 

anything in the world

Dear, you are my all, my everything.

The Chuzom

Last time, on the way to Paro, I sneaked out from my car for some minutes to see the Chuzom. I was defiled to see these two rivers. Do they have clear-cut and clear-up times?  It’s, I would say, a big ‘NO’ and a small ‘yes’ because we humans are the tragic villains in their lives. Anyways, the Thimchu and Pachu are the Phochu and Mochu of Punakha. They are the plaything and beautiful design of God.

The Chuzom

Coming from the clear cavities

Glaciers of Tibet and Jomolhari

The calm Chus of Thimphu and Paro

Meet at Chuzom

Like lovers long decided.

I stand on Chuzom confluence

And asked what have you brought for your lover?

As they both come from the wealthiest Dzongkhags.

They tickle only a clatter

And move on;

Carrying the specter of urban decay and death

A stagnant slate of all sorts and sizes

Of unwanted items;

Plastics, papers, tins, rubbers, bones, vegetable covers,

All. Their faces were tainted with greases and oils

They move on uncomplaining

Oh…no…

Coming from the rich places

What have I to give you?

The two forces strengthen at Chuzom

and the zeal moves on;

Crossing violence and serenities without a sojourn

To the destination, they run together

Collecting what they required not,

Their only goal is to the limitless sky of the ocean

Like the grave is only for a man.

The Wonderla Trip

So far, I have made two short trips in Bangalore: One with my classmates on 12^th May - visited three legendary temples in Belur, Halebeedu, and Shravanabelagola about 222kms from Bangalore. These places were very impressive historical temples. (For more info click: http://saachad9.blogspot.in/2012/05/trip.html).

And another trip was on 23^rd August with some Bhutanese students to Wonderla. Wonderla is no wonder place to be if you are physically crippled and handicapped. Anyways, we were not so. We just paid re. 590/- as entry fees, and inside, all games are free! There are almost 60 different types of nerve-racking distractors, which are worth playing. It is really an amusement park with lots of entertainment, from land attractions to sky attractions. There are dungeon rides, wonder splash, insanity, carousal, wave pool, and a lazy river for active people to name a few.

I am posting some photos with some flippant descriptions.

Caution: If you want to use the images, please ask, don’t steal.

Journey to Wonderlaaa… a snapped from the car. Country road, take me home, to the place, where I …???

So it was the beginning… near the wonderla’s entrance. We took our first group photograph. That guy in a black shirt is looking for a cat. Ouch! And where is meee...? An old fox…at the extreme corner. Who is that man, he is up to necking in my three beloved!!!

Aahhaa…a singing lady pig!

Can you see a hanging monkey? Don’t hang around like the monkey, it’s just water. Water pendulum.

One of the high thrill rides. It is called Y-scream. It shakes you and mixes you like a blender. Do you know why it is called Y-scream? Because the clock is almost ticking to 12 below the sky wheel. It is the coming of the letter Z , the end!

Kwality or quality ice cream??? Foods in moving stalls. They say, they sell in MRP, but MRP has double once it has reached from the outside market. Cheee…aateeerrrrrsssss.

Coaster ride train tracks. This was the only game I liked the most; slow ride uphill and fast downhill ride- splashing. The journey of life is such; uphill and downhill. And this is the lesson I learned from there, uh, so early .

So this is the wonder splash--wooden train/boat.  Spot me...holding on tight. We used to make this type of boats-by chopping woods during cattle herding days. But I never thought it would come to life like this.



Two and two make-s…uhah…three?... Four? …No. Let me count from the very beginning. But I don't wanna see those boys' bums!



Azzai woy! The house of ghosts. Termite coaster and train inside, but there isn’t a single live termite inside. Then what type of termite is this? Just a human termite like me and the cement termite. Can you see that stomach piles coming out from the disfigured house? The piles were taken out from the Bhutanese girls. The fact is seen of a girl's bum slashing scathingly.

Look…look…LOOK…Here are monkeys. Who cares to look at these funky monkeys?

Crazy Wagon ready to chuff. See the barrels of vintage. All drivers would drink from the huge barrel and drive. No drink drive please!!!

Digestive systems like - water plus slides are called banded kraits. Looks like it’s made of balloons. But it's not.

Swisssshh…swisssshh. Fun racers and boomerang; it’s treacherous and double-edged. I didn’t play here. Everything fast doesn’t suit me at least. I’m a slow, steady…wins the race!!!



Do you know? In Bhutan, every year more than five people die from eating mushrooms? And these mushrooms would kill hundreds.

Wave pool where I spent most of the time here. You just need no energy; the waves lift you up and throw you here and there.

A bird’s eye view of wonderla. Suck wonderla, it’s the place for foxy foxes and mentally loose screws!

Come on boys. Let’s fight a cockfight? The show has end.  No, says Sonam. Let's see girls...

And girls... Beautiful ladies in wonderland. I envy them. I almost had a crush on a lady. If they know that I have a crush on them, I would be crushed into pieces. Because I was never a lady's man, I am dumbfounded dummy in front of them and they would mistake me as dazed and daft, who would go on staring and staring to the wrong place, hehe…

And it ends with the song, a very traditional old Bhutanese song. Aeeayaa Gasalamya Singyee Choe… and the mike, you know, see the hands, f**k you!

Cautionary note again: If you want to use the images, please ask, don’t steal.

The Long Boredom

Silently, silently in the night

What am I doing?

Lying on my bed

I can only see the moon

Through my pan

You are far

but still warms me.

Now the moon has slowly moved behind the clouds

Leaving me alone, alone

How can be the night?

No night, no night

No evening, no evening

I am dying

When it comes every time

Thinking of visions

The faces of you

On my bed.

Show me the moon again.

My Agay’s Happiness

A happy person has a happy life.  A happy person is one who has fulfilled his unfulfilled dreams.  A happy person has fewer wants and he honorably stops his desire at one point.

The best example of a happy person was my late Agay. I didn’t see my Agay but I learned from my father that my Agay was a happy person. He had nothing but cheerful smiles on his lips, always.

“What makes him put a smile on his face every time?” I asked my father.

“It is nothing but happiness,” my father said.

One morning, my young Agay went to his neighbor’s house with his white teeth visible even from another hill.  What nonsense is my Agay to smile himself! And guessed what he did inside the neighbor’s home, he comforted the sad girl with his smiles. He won the love of the girl through his smile. And my Agay was the happiest person to beget her.

During my school days, I wrote many essays on a happy person. “The men who live happily make others happy. They are kind and friendly with others. They never hurt others and think bad about others. They don’t push their time back or forth, they exist in the present with lots of vigor, energy, contentment and peace. Those who are rich are not happy because their want and need are more. They always live in tenses and problems… and blah blah.”

Looking to some of my points above, now, my Agay fitted in very much or largely there. My Agay did the right in the right order to his future wife. I can imagine my Agay in his best positive values. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he behaved, would have always impressed others. He would have been called a laughing Buddha. Besides, he also sang distorted religious hymns that would distract his wife with laughter every so often. His face would have been always bright and would have never shown the darker slices of life. His truthfulness was the weapon behind the smile. His choices were less. He took less and gave more to his wife, I suppose.

“There was happiness in the past then?” I asked my father, who looked grim comparing his life with his father’s life.

“Now everybody is happy, and no time for unhappiness for myself. This GNH sucks!” My father covetously said.

Anyway, there is a truth in this Alexander Pope’s words, “Happy the man whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air in his own ground.” And such was my Agay’s life, hard but happy. 

Buncoing Buyers

Bangalore is said to be the most expensive metropolis in India and is the home of millions. It’s a hustle and bustle city. Everything is lively, and there is no dearth of everything. You name it and you’ll get it. What matters is money? There is no dearth of anything, and people want it all; goods, transports, multi-cuisines, cheaters(Indian cheaters/buncos-- difficult to trust any Indian; be it poor or rich, low or high – they only want money) fruits, everything. People want it and they get it all. Anytime, anywhere.

Here in Bangalore, everything sells like hotcakes. You may go to the smallest shop and you will get surprised to see the shop buzzing with customers, and the climax of the story is in the big malls, dashing and pushing that make shopping lucrative. A little bit of monkey business is everybody, every day’s cup of tea. Today, I bought 1 kg of mango for rs.40. This is the season of mangos here-different types of mangos; round, small, big, sweet, sour, etc…you name it, there itis. I don’t care the name of mangos but their lushness/sweetness is all I mind. After buying a kg, I went to next vendors, which he willingly offered me the same size and the same brand for rs.30. I was buncoed. Such a gig. They would sell out everything for money.

The reason why things sell like hot cakes in Bangalore is because of the large population. Mind that in rush hours, people look like ants. Besides this, there are so many mixed populations from around the world. One thing I notice is that merchants are very lazy in Bangalore; the reason may be too many customers that keep them kind of fed up with works.

Back in Bhutan, my sister has a small shop. It’s located in Denchi, Pema Gatshel. She told me that she bought things for sale only to be expired. There is no buyer. And recently, losing hope, she shifted her shop from Denchi to her village. “Is it better?” I asked. “I am hoping, but now it’s worst than the previous,” she told me worriedly. I mentioned to her that this hope and expectation will lead you to poverty. I hope she understands it.

In Bhutan, we have dearth of people and thereby having fewer buyers. Our population is scattered and separated by valleys and mountains, and some handful of people live there and most of them are self-sufficient. Good, self-sufficient. If not, we produce nothing, and if we depend on shops like Bangalorien, there is little source to get money.

Money Speak the Truth

Money speak and it tell tales of anyone really loud. Who says that money can’t buy happiness? I have seen people dousing in without money and sadeness was all that they have. I have seen lovers going apart. I have seen losing friends when there is no money. I have seen people remaining alone and desolate. I have seen families deviling. I have seen men breaking stones. I have seen people nearing to commite suicide. I have seen people dying without treatment. I have seen children eating sweets hiding under the beds. I have seen men racing for the prize. I have seen Lamas pretending to be the perfect of all. I have seen students memorizing the texts. And I have seen…working all for money, tirelessly.

And I have also seen men buying happiness; I have seen men driving cars with all smiles. I have seen people changing home furnishes frequently. I have seen sick hospitalizing in the top-class hospital in the world. I have seen men buying everything sans asking for a discount. I have seen men changing wives like they change garments. I have seen men bribing to induce their works faster. I have seen lies becoming truth. I have seen people traveling to Hongkong, New York, Paris, London, etc. I have seen people talking about buying the country. And I have seen…enjoying all from money, selfishly.

I know, and I know like everyone that money can’t buy life, but why need life devoid of happiness? Why need a life of poverty and suffering? The answer a man always to seek from the God but the answer lies with the man. What an answer?…the man?

A man cannot agree upon the hard works, if haves and haves not are simply to divide the bridge. Having grown up and having spent a quarter of my life in an isolated and backdrop hamlet, I have seen people accumulating Chetrum by Chetrum to feed the growing family. I have seen several parents fighting in the sun and rain in the field. I have seen selling cash crops to afford education. I have seen every part of maddening life (a next story to write about).

On the other hand, people who are born with a silver spoon eat silvers and have a golden life. Happy and lucky. In the secondary standard was I, when one classmate told us that he travels frequently to Bangkok and his next destination would be Hongkong. Where some of us even could not reach to Hongkong market in Thimphu. Such is  the life for him. A jealous teacher then asked him about a number of rice plates he takes in a meal. Upon replying to only one plate, the teacher stated that he also takes only one plate of rice in a meal. Such was the farcical satiric remarked and such was the fate of a rich boy!!!

Now, I see many people settling abroad and studying long around the world, such as America, Australia, Britain, etc. Just like how cows spread in the forest, they too have. I wish if I have money, I would fulfill my honey dream to visit rollicking America. Visit only!!! Otherwise, those conceited Americans would say, “Why do all people like America?” That is utter bullshits to say; my motherland is the best and the homeliest place to stay. On the other hand, I have seen hundreds of Americans embracing so lovingly with other countries. It’s wicked and wrong for Americans' notion to think that people like to come to their country, but they can visit anywhere they liked. Anyway, if I stay any longer that far from my place diaspora feelings would oscillate my roots.

And like a dog coming back to his owner’s house after a day’s search of shit, I would be in my village-just as William Wordsworth desired to be with nature, to eat and defecate, not floundering in the air-nowhere to belong. Home is where the hurt is and first hurt and cut is the deepest. And that cut is the loveliest of all.