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It has been a week having thronged in myself to Thimphu Town. I find it chillingly cold. The freezing breeze of Thimphu valley is giving me tough time. It is so cold, you can’t believe me.
I started joining Royal Court of Justice, High Court since yesterday, 12th November, 2009. I am interning which would span for a month and half. The environment in and around court seems so dreadful. I find every litigant bowed in respect, wrapped in their Kabneys and Rachus. Sometimes one is forced to wonder how one could put up the arguments when they themselves are shattered.
However, I feel good to be at home. I like being in Thimphu. I find myself free from academic pressures. I pride our capital progressing in every field. It is developing uniquely.
The irony, however is, I can’t go to my village. I crave to meet my old parents in vain. They live miles away in east. Nothing much can be done than accepting it. Within a wink’s time, the day to depart the town is sure to come. Thinking of this leaves me haunted.

Happiness in fifty Paise

As the ‘Guwahati Express’ chugs on at 7:30 AM tomorrow, I am destined to witness facets of inequalities the world has got to offer. The need of guts to travel in the train, especially, if you are one in the Sleeper Class is disturbingly not an exaggeration, at least to me.

We get to see so many disheartening things going on around the world. Do you think begging is oldest profession on earth? Most of us would be affirmatively toned. All kinds of beggars whose period of begging spans from five minutes to years can be seen within the bogies of the train. One can’t help wondering if they are beggar by choice. The answer seems too mysterious to comprehend.

Blind men playing melodious flute through his nose, the elderly, the disabled, the Lepers and Destitute having graduated to this profession, Lamed traversing the compartments on his shrunken butt who always wishes for the limbs, Amputees heart-renderingly appealing to the passengers with is innocent eyes, Juvenile as young as five mopping the floors to whom parenting seem too alien, eunuchs who rule the train setting the minimum from each Rs. 10 which leave travelers disgruntled enough to complain ‘that is quite a loot’, etc, etc, etc.

While, for some, begging seems the only option, some are admittedly suspicious and deceptive though. They are everywhere- on trains, at traffic signals, peering into taxi windows, bedraggled, haggard and breaking into a sudden smile when a few coins are dropped into their palms. A fifty paise contribution on our part makes the unfortunates smile revealing their never ever brushed ‘once in a while got edible particles tainted’ on their teeth. This is their happiness in fifty paise.

The journeys ensue leaving so much of helplessness firmly rooted in its depth within me. Nothing much can be done than accepting, lamenting, and realizing the harsh realties dovetailed in the form of inequalities. I have already hoarded the coins and I will contribute bit of it to each of them. Hundreds of them, before I wrap up my destination, are for sure to come by. Come what may, I can’t afford to turn them away.

 In between, I am too fragile that every such journey leaves me wounded somehow sometime, finding myself shackled by the memories of the miseries those unfortunates I encountered are writhing through.

Chi Wa Mi Tak Pa

Studying and excelling for the past 18 years become useless if one has to get squeezed by cruel death. There is no value, believe me, it’s shocking and saddening.

We are mourning the sudden demise of one 5^th year student [Indian]. I saw him sipping coffee the other night around 10 pm in the University Cafeteria. Not even in the wildest dream I had expected his sudden death. Today morning his body was found gone cold fully succumbed. He was found dead.

His premature and sudden demise has left the University shocked and emotionally pained. We pity him for he had to go all those hardships and strains to get leaped to the highest pedestal-5^th year, the Final Year, only to die on the eve of the most anticipated graduation.

The cause of death is yet to be ascertained though many have speculated suicide abetted by the stress accrued from overburdening semester could be one potential catalyst behind. Foul play couldn’t be ruled out either. Our remaining exams got rescheduled toward the beginning of next semester.

I pray his departed soul  rest in peace and may the Almighty grace him and the bereaved family of the demised peace. He’ll be remembered as a friend, a mate and as a fellow being. He’s not alone. It is only the matter of time.  We, ultimately, will tread the same ‘can’t be abandoned’ route.

May his soul  REST IN ETERNAL PEACE!

Two More to Go

As of now, I have given three papers. Questions on Intellectual Property Rights weren’t that tough. Answering them interested me rather. And yeah, I am satisfied. I am expecting to fetch good grade in it. Yesterday was the paper which I could count it as “Green Paper”. I mean it was Environmental law. It was too much for me to complete and zoom within two and half hours. It wasn’t good; it wasn’t bad either. Today was the paper each of us got nicely grilled!  It was corporate law. I can’t imagine its bulkiness. By the end of the paper, I looked horribly tired.

However, I have got two papers still. Tomorrow is the Labour Law-II and day after, I would get liberated from the claws of this semester with Interpretation of Statutes and Judicial Process, the paper many consider toughest. Meanwhile, the excitement to be in Bhutan soon is flushing off every toll of the exam.

It is the fault of Facebook Developer

End semester exam kicks off from 26^th. Today I witnessed a weird but worth attention drawing dialogue. One junior of mine from Kolkata was found approaching his Batch Mates urging very cunningly backed by persuasive weight on the words he used, to have a ‘mass bunk’ from the  class. This, according to him, is to study peacefully and prepare for the exam without distraction in their respective rooms and library. He was saying, “Hey Guys, let’s bunk. I’ve not done anything for the exam.”

Friend of mine was sharp enough to point, “it’s your fault you haven’t studied man” not knowing his sharpness would soon get blunt. He was never to be beaten. He came out with very diplomatic answer. He said, “It’s not my fault, dude. It is the fault of our generation.” He spilled the blame further while he continued, “it’s fault of those who developed Facebook, gtalk, Yahoo Messenger, twitter, etc...”

His message was strongly worded, distressingly genuine and yeah! It was spine-chillingly ominous warning. I find his words intricately woven so much to make us reflect how much we spend our time touring the cyber world. We tend to remain engaged surfing net for good chunk of our time forgetting the rudimentary duties we are obliged to execute.

It especially happens to netizens who could access the filth of internet lately, who got exposed to it in recent years of their life. I am not an exception either. I am pathetic surfer.

While appreciating the issue he brought casually, it makes so much of sense. I firmly believe that it is our own onerous duty to balance the countervailing interests. I don’t feel sorry for him either for I am also into it.

Exam around the threshold

It has been a five months voyage and I am yet to anchor safely. Semester had been tight, deadlines to be met were more in numbers than I could count even, had to pull through quite a times of brain grilling sessions, etc. Nevertheless, I could bulldoze unwaveringly without an iota of ingredients that will later make me ponder ‘I could have done better’. I am kind of satisfied.

However, my semester voyage is yet to anchor and conquer the destination. End semester exam is happening from 26^th and hardly left five days to go. “Five days”, however, will be just a wink’s time. I am heavily engaged these days.

Amidst terribly yoked, a rigour is still left in me to smile graciously for I see our DrukYul looming at the horizon. This is not a mirage! I am coming home soon. I have got an internship. I am eagerly looking forward to learn and experience until now unexperienced ground realities in and around my Profession.

Thank you, visit again!!!

Dad got nearly poached

Human beings are real fangless witch. We condemn other beings to death for filling our belly. We have got in place Wild Life Protection Acts, which no way seems deterring our fellows from poaching. Unfortunate lives forgo in the altar of our hunger and greed.

This time of the year is the moment the ‘protruded ribbed’ Himalayan Bears most assailed by the dreadfully poisoned-hidden arrows on the path it reaches the stream for a sip of water that quenches the devouring thirst, that are being stationed by the ruthless poachers. Scores of Bears are silently poached at this time of the year in our part of the Country.

Upon these backdrops, I narrate an episode that garnered heavy emotional torture which took me down the distress and pain. I was deeply pained. It proved fatal sympathizing and empathizing the pain of others when you very much know you’re not abled enough to make other’s pain subside. I bet, sympathy without ability to help is terribly traumatizing and painful.

It was 16^th November, 2006; I got call from my sister at home. The message she was putting to me took me down instantly. It was a bombshell that tremored everything irretrievably in me. I was told he was hit by poacher’s hidden-arrow and pierced across his knee-joint. I felt a jerk of writhing pain.

Reader’s possibility of taking my dad for one of the poachers can’t be ruled out. Therefore, to prevent your goodselves being swayed by the presumptions, it is pertinent to clarify the same. No, he is absolutely not. He is white-haired, wrinkled, and feeble figured succumbing to age 72 years old.

He forayed the thick subtropical jungle battering heat and rain, herding herd of cattle only to intrude himself to ‘Sang Da’ [Gakh we call in sharchop], kept waiting for a hapless bear to pull the string to get the arrow kicked off.

Before poison outdid his body, he ran to the stream, battled for life by removing the piercing sharp arrow. The poison, however, unfastened and left inside the wound, for which he had to insert his finger to remove them. Ouch! You could imagine the pain. He then rinsed with the water spilling it through the tunnel of wound.

While he was still in the grip of his consciousness, he could call his co-herders and after two grueling hours, he was somehow dragged to home. It was then 6 PM.

Fact being that my village located at the far-flung countryside hill that is being perched on the shoulder of ‘Yongla Gonpa’, minimum nine hours walk from roadhead Dewathang, medical facilities can’t be accessed very easily. You meet grievous injurious; you only pray and keep the fingers-crossed for good. He was carried to nearest Basic Health Unit, which took around six hours, making horrified journey crossing the torrentially falling rivers and trudging the uphill footpath, guided their feet from being ran into unmindful boulders only by kerosene lamps, breaking the silence of the dark night by an incessant cry of my poor mom and sister, when the world was still sleeping.

I kept calling only to find the cell not reachable for obvious reasons. Even technology fails to reach the labyrinth of deep jungled horrendous gorges. I heaved a relief at 1 AM when I was informed about dad being treated. Next day, he was referred to Dewathang Military Hospital in critical condition.

The very next morning I started my journey to see my dad. I couldn’t believe my dad has grown too fragile and reduced to pale ‘last minute before death’ like appearance. Every attempt on his part to utter something to me brought him pain, and I felt the pain he was experiencing for I could notice him holding his breathe. I found him sobbing silently and indeed, ‘that’ arrow has incapacitated my dad to cry even. I wasn’t better either.

He, somehow, recovered after having confined to bed in hospital ward for one month. However, he was lamed. While endangering the wildlives being one issue, collateral damage sustained therefrom, is another. As expected, culprit went uncaught, guilty lapsed unproved, so on and so forth, but this is the world we live in.

The End

It means a lot, Brother

I last saw my brother five years ago. Since then, opportunity didn’t tilt its favour for us to get together. I confide he was the filthiest and the most uncompassionate young man at 17, the year he was ordained into monkhood. Today, I am the most proud younger. He is one divine flame. I have every reason for it.

World wouldn’t accept people like him has undergone sea change, my most adored Ata. Stressing the environment we grew up with starkly aggravated and extenuated by the fact of being illiterate at that point of time, he poached the wild lives up the pristine mountainous regions and fished down the shores of crystal pure innocent meandering rivers. He was sinned and tainted good chunk of first seventeen years of his life with notoriety. He thrived most in doing mundane things.

But divinity intervened, spiritualism got seeded, destiny outlasted the means, Triple Gem augured him and thus the ladder to salvation and enlightenment was unfurled and yes, he made divine choice. This year is his sixteenth year at ‘Nga Jur Ngyingma’ University pursuing his master’s degree. Within these many span of years, he nurtured metamorphosis and hence, I see him as changed, tonsured for good but very simple monk who insurmountably dedicates his life for the well being of all sentient beings that remained tagged in this ‘samsara’ since time immemorial. People change; so was my brother. 

Yesterday I got one locket and portrait of Rinpoche, his spiritual master and that threw me to the kind of emotion difficult to describe within the confines of the language I am up to. Every emotion blended, tears rolled down the cheek while I was still smiling; sadness clouded brooding the memories of our common past while seeing him as one today made me happy and proud.

Tears that were triggered into fruition from the mixture of emotions fell on the beautifully scripted “from Bro. Khotsa” on hind side of the neatly tugged envelope; making blue inked phrase little hazy as it spread a little due to tears of pride, proud, sadness, happiness, gratitude, thankfulness… that fell upon only to make me realize how much it means to me. This will go down my memory lane and I will cherish it in eternity.

Ata! It means a lot to me; a ‘lot’ that is invaluable. Your success is mine. Wish you every success in every footstep you take!

I had hurt her

I was playing quiz in the facebook after ‘through out the day devotion’ on project to rejuvenate myself for I knew I was exhausted. Surfing helps, it recreates. The answer I got was “You have hurt someone with the initials N.W! It’s all your fault” I don’t know how far it is apt but it left me surprised. It drew me to my past for I could remember I hurt one Namkha. It was all that happened while we were 8^th grader. It has been almost 9 years now. I didn’t meet her since then. We had parted our ways and treaded the pathway thus far. Namkha, I don’t know if you’re remembering me; but I swear I do remember you time and again. The time we spent together amidst fear of being seen by teachers gives me pleasure and reason to smile, even while I flip the chapter of our memory.

I just wildly hope the pain has subsided by now. Time might have taught you to be strong to find someone for I know you deserve. I am scared I had hurt you. You wouldn’t forgive me even I die regretting those moments I shared with you in sheer stupidity. Somewhere acknowledge the fact we jointly made the love to leave us. Don’t you think? I don’t know where you’re now but I still know you’re always dwelling in the warmer corner of my heart. You’ve established your place in it and I am flashing by the threshold every now and then, only to find you look hurt. I am sorry. You know the reason that wedged our relation. I wish you knew that at least!

I closed my eyes in front of my PC and watched myself as if through some other’s eyes growing young and my innocence returning, stealing every second to glance at you, holding the breathe to cope up the pain I sustained when I found I missed ‘eye contacts’ for sometimes you wouldn’t reciprocate, reading the sweet letters, with full of “tsangmos” a rustic gal would write epitomizing the romance of those eventful years….
I kept closing my eyes because I saw you beautifully popping up in my conscience with full of sad memories that keeps me haunting hitherto.  I couldn’t afford to wide open my eyes until the helpless tears making its way out oozing profusely knowing Namkha’s timid palm wouldn’t come to wipe and rescue no matter how long I cry. I said, “I am sorry. Hope you understand. My prayers are with you.”

At the end, I realized none of us will be the same as we will learn harsh truths about love and guilt thereby,  and how chance can change our worlds irretrievably, forever!!!

Domestic Violence: The Menace of the Gendered World

No matter what ‘family’ flashes our mind every now and then. Family is one place where we seek love, safety, security and shelter. But for some unfortunates, it is also a place that imperils lives, and breeds some of the most drastic forms of violence against our sisters.

It is traumatically disheartening to find that our mothers and sisters are often in great danger in the place where they should be safest: within their families. For many of them, ‘home’ is where they face a regime of terror and violence at the hands somebody close to them-somebody they should be able to trust. They are rendered incompetent to rationalize their own decisions, voice their own opinions or protect themselves and their children for fear of something bad-further repercussions. This in a way grossly violates their human rights and their lives are stolen from them by the ever-present threat of violence.

Domestic violence is the global epidemic happening within the domestic spheres, which kills, tortures, and maims physically, sexually, psychologically and economically. Violence against women is present everywhere cutting across boundaries of culture, class, education, income, ethnicity and age.

Bhutan has hence not been exempted even though the country boasts the absence of it. It has been a growing cause of worry in Bhutan. However, the stereotypical trend we witness is the internalization of domestic violence. Most of them go unreporting and this is truly wrong. This internalization happens mainly because our women are not aware of the rights they have. Nonetheless, the issue has been cautiously pursued by women as they become aware of the associated rights, NCWC, National Women’s Association of Bhutan, REWA, and Rehabilitation Centres. But one area where we can critique is that such redressal mechanisms hardly rich the rural women who face the peak brunt of violence accrued from their illiteracy.

I just keep fingerscrossed I could do something when I become simple lawyer. This is my dream. I will cherish it and get to you all, my sisters! I keep praying your rights under CEDAW are materialized, your rights enshrined under our Constitution are duly protected, and your entitlements under various legislations be realised

The achievement of such would go a long way in revamping the societal equality and  the attitude of humanity. The intrinsic and instrumental part you could play is enforcing your rights judiciously and taking due cognizance of your various rights which are found in abundance in our laws.

My wishes are with you all. I am always and ever with you all and stand united to eradicate the domestic menace-Domestic Menace. Let’s done away with it, Angels!

Marrying to Divorce

Are we living in a disposable society; once we are bored of something or no longer “need” it, we throw it away and get a new one? Someway marriage has been personified as a sacred rite; the union of two souls traveling the pathway of life as one. This union is (suppose to be) one that should not be broken and the dissolution of such union are often frowned upon. The utterance, “until death do us part,” becomes an unbreachable contract!

Of all the changes in family life during the 20th century, perhaps the most dramatic- and the most far-reaching in its implications was increase in the rate of divorce. It was during my internship in Bench III, Thimphu District Court, Royal Court of Justice, I knew, one of the most litigated cases in Bhutan is matrimonial cases within which divorce case has been found rampant. It is an unfortunate reality of Bhutanese society today that divorce has become a completely commonplace thing. The piece I am writing, though may not be engaging, is intended to share some of the truths related to dissolution of marriage. Indeed, the accumulated thoughts on it suggest that marital dissolution has the potential to create considerable turmoil in people’s lives.

Not to say there shouldn’t be divorce, people like me however found it tough to witness tears in the eyes of ‘would-be left out’ spouses, ‘inconsolable’ cute-little children on mothers’ back playing and crying when he/she doesn’t know what is happening-Divorce-a matrimonial thunder that splits family! The sense of utter sadness, loneliness, hurt, bitterness, anger, disappointment, betrayal, fear, on innocent spouse to be ‘left-out’ are unbearably seen. What on earth will be worse than one gets betrayed by the person who you married taking absolutely positive that he/she was the one for you but found people are not always what you think and hope for them to be?
  What more Court can do when one spouse doesn’t agree to reconcile matrimonial breakdown than to pass down Divorce Decree? People wonder not able to understand how in the world things work in the court systems sometimes. They find it really sickening. But justice has to be delivered within the confines of law in black and white laid down by the law makers of the Nation.

This tragic-ridden social phenomenon that is seen growing menacingly in our society left me wondering, ‘Do people marry only to get divorced without considering how traumatic and devastating it will be to children from their wedlock, when they grow competent enough to understand that there is such social institution as ‘family’ webbed by the presence of ‘Apa’ and ‘Ama’, only to find one of them has inhumanely abandoned them long time ago?’

I can’t help lamenting and I almost wailed loudly to have noticed by someone near me!!!

If I Die trying to pull through the Semester

Buddha taught us to remember the fact we got to die anytime anywhere. The only certain thing is to die. But ‘when’ is uncertain. We are taught so that the fear of death and its consequence of having  us sent to the hell and get brutally tortured aftermath will keep us abreast doing good deeds. Thus, remembering If I Die, I try not to get involved in the notorious things which would accrue me bad deeds, refrain from lying, stop taking lives of other beings for I know all of them should be given the chance to flourish in their own way,…and the lists would go…I really try doing some good wholesome stuffs that would keep me shackled toward accumulating meritocracy.

Meanwhile, if life outlasts me, tell my parents, I had always loved them, always thought of rewarding them, thought of being with them, thought of dinning with them, thought of wiping their tears from their wrinkled eyelids, thought of placing mouthwatering favorite cuisines in their plates……I enjoyed being with them. Just help me reach those words to my parents. Tell my gal I had always loved her and had fathomed of being with her for eternity. Tell her I feel sorry for I lied I will be by her side for ever. Tell her I didn’t know the fate would take its own cruel course….

The ardent helper will be appreciated. Narrate them the cause of my death is the ‘exhaustion’ owed from overworking to pull through so many deadlines that I had to meet to get over with the semester. Hard work kills, people!!! Weigh and balance yourself so that you don’t have to follow the way I steered. I am gone!!!!!!

The Journey to be remembered...

....I was reminded of truck drivers being harsh when in all humility I requested them to give me lift till Nangkor junction from Mongling, how I had trudged over serene and 'make-u-feel- alleviated-elevated' hill mongling for six long years, and my all alone journeys through virgin forest, 'so-called Yeti-infested Mountain Rigompa', following the mercy of beaten jungle path (almost deserted in peak summer for leeches) when solitude of the forest was only disturbed occasionally by the hoarse croaking of bull-frogs, and now and then the twitter of birds in utter sweet melodious sounds or the rustle of a few timid squirrels...when still confused how I should counter tigers, bears…it was a journey to be remembered and an adventure to be celebrated...

The lectures I am not attentive

I fathom a lot. It crucially happens the moment the lectures start, drawing myself to absolutely unique and different world. It’s peculiar I don’t grasp what professors have to say.
I voyage back to abyss of my past and there, I find lost lamenting the way I grew up.
My friends screech the iron chairs adjusting their posture in a way that comforts their attention to the professors. That boomerangs me back to my actual world. “Guilt must be proved beyond reasonable doubt”, was one important point I could hear my Criminal Law Professor speaking. Ohh! That indeed makes sense! I thought.

Professor’s articulate voice, once again, started receding like sound of ebbing waves and I found myself helplessly drowning to the mysterious and opaque future-fathoming so many stuffs that would significantly have bearing on my life…..Bell rings signaling the end of class.
Shit! I am being stupid; I could learn nothing. Never mind…next class and the day dream continues

Earthquake!!!

Earthquake wrecked my Country. It plagued hard the eastern part of Bhutan claiming lives and properties. The irony is, it just happened on the eve of the most celebrated Blessed Rainy Day shattering everyone’s dream and joy down the drain. It dwindled and doomed the charm of the day.

Nothing much can be done than accepting the wrath of nature. My prayers and wishes are with those unfortunates who were victimized. May their soul rest in peace. I am deeply saddened for my fellow citizens had to go that way! You people will be missed, remembered and I will always mourn your absence from our country.
May such thing never happen in Future.

Thruue Baab: The Blessed Rainy Day

A year older! ‘Thruue’ has come again for the Bhutanese Community with much experience. The cabinet resurrected the National Holiday. Kudos!

22nd September, 2009, will be the day with difference. Loved ones will be missed. Being away from home bitterly sabotages the sense of festivity. Nonetheless, I will take ceremonious bath to clean and rinse the dirt and guilt embedded within my conscience.

Celebrating the day, kicking off with the traditional ‘mom-made’ porridge and ‘suja’ early in the very dawning of the day, sitting in circular facing one another along with my parents and siblings on a tableless-chairless shingled flat will deadly be missed. Those ‘Thruue Baabs’ we played ‘Khuru’, Archary, etc, will be remembered.

However, all Bhutanese in Hyderabad made it a point to gather together and mark the day. ‘Thruue’ is never forgotten. The only difference we anticipate is Buffet dinner for home-made dishes; football for traditional games.

A very happy Blessed Rainy Day. Make sure the moment the sun is beyond the horizon, you are able to wonder you enjoyed the day ‘a lot’. My wishes are with you Guys. Enjoy and rejuvenate yourself for the ‘losar’ season which just started beaconing around us.

HAPPY BLESSED RAINY DAY!