Thursday, June 4, 2015

Cardamom



Many people are planting cardamom these days. I too planted some lean cardamom plants last year, and these plants have remained as they were. The leaves are drying up now. They have turned brownish. What is my Elanchi up to now? When many are being profited from the spell of cardamom, my plants didnt have an energy to drink a drop of rain from the sky to keep themselves alive.

But coming to the serious point, people are planting lots of saplings these days. Because there were stories of how a family earned lakhs from two or three boras (sacks) of cardamom. We envy their hard work, when somebody has done something good then we try to copy. Some people never take risk of starting a new venture. It’s only things done by others, and then people like me follow. I have planted three saplings in my garden for a test. I hope it grows well.

Just next to our hydro power, cardamom business could be a second-highest revenue generator in the country. We know our water is drying up year by year, and constructing a power station is quite dear for the country, it looks unwelcoming and bleak. But one hopeful thing that we look to is our gift of nature; the soil. Bhutan has the nicest soil for cardamom cultivation. These plants grow in-between 300-700mts above sea level. If every plant people plant is to grow, then every household would become so independent and rich. What everyone needs is working hard. Everything needs hard works to be a successful one.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

In Appreciation

                                                                         Poem# 2


Two things in the life never betrayed; God and the Parent- to whom the sky shines and for why it shines, the meaning of life is for them and what life meant is taught by them. When falling has a fall there remains dear parents. They formed the kingdom in a small realm of life.


Tell me, I ask myself,
What is on your mind?
What I have always had
Fixated for all time.

Nothing but my sacrificing father
Providing for me his dependent child
And my ever-supportive mother
For bringing me life, keeping me alive.

Our kind wise king and the royal family-
I speak from my heart frankly-
You have made our surroundings
A paradise on earth for me.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

A Chiseling Life

                                                                            Poem# 1


Life is a block of wood; a carver models it into the best but at an old age-when one becomes perfectly experienced. Every drill and grill is a tick of torment to life. It gashes to a perfectly imperfect time of life. And we start over again in the next life.


A carver lost in chiseling the wood;
Modeling it into the finest,
He, himself carefully carves into.
As I look at him,
And my life rolls down:
The creaks of sculpting a block
While removing jarring angles
 Etch a torment.
Are those pains impass of life?
Life mills to live,
It’s a fume out of crumble and splinter.
Every bit a loss and gain!
This act recurs,
And flusters like the hollow wood resonant.

On a course;
There is no sojourn to emotive and bodily fidgets.
Often, the disquiet chronic writ large on the mark;
The happiness or silence-hung grim all around
They were free of beginnings or ends,
They unfold in myriad ways,
One likes to live a life, careless and free,
But the player lot is on the line;
Come to clutches with it, be a slave of it.

These forms to befit a good mortal
Like the crafter fits the pieces
Yet, this good human is qualified
When at old age is unqualified,
And ends very near like a child,
Then falls bodily asleep.
How many times do we hear creaks?
How many times do we crumble and splinter?
How many times are we milled?
To hope for?
We never are finest how many times?
As novice new voyages embark
And get down to chiseling all over again,
 To slice life in the life of a new beginning!