There are moments...moments when you feel the panic rising because you can’t remember them so clearly – that memories got so stuck in one place while you have been busy moving ahead with time....with age. It was only days ago when I could remember moments from the time I was only 3 – the day my younger brother was born and how I thought he was the cutest baby, the times when my elder brother bought me a pair of socks with his meagre pocket money and he was only ten years old. I remember my sister baking bread in a pot once and how the rest of scrambled through the window for a burnt bite. I remember the face of my mother when she was young and how beautiful her fingers once were, before too much hardwork for sustenance distorted them. My brothers and I were comrades, we walked long distances, swam the river in Simtokha and how we never went again after one of them almost drowned. I remember playing all the things that were meant for boys : marbles, bearings, and cycles that were driven with a handle.

One of my good friends, also my roommate when we were studying in India, narrated the following true incidents :

There was a woman whom she, my friend, addressed as “Aunty”, known to be a jovial and a happy go lucky soul by nature. Once when the woman had gotten somewhat seriously ill, she had summoned her loving husband by her deathbed and told him that she was going to be no more and that she wished him happiness in life. She asked him to promise her one final wish – that he would remarry and move on. The distraught husband refused at first and showered her words of how much he loved her and that the thought of any other woman was simply unbearable. But she would not give up and tearfully begged him to fulfil her that one final wish. The husband, tearfully too, had finally relented.  They sobbed and hugged and exchanged words of endearments that they would never get to utter again.

Well, if you are wondering where the heck I have been, you will be disappointed to know, that I haven’t been to Rome or Paris yet, and I definitely haven’t been in a gondola with a Greek God either and therefore, have no adventure tales to relate and the most I have travelled to is to my barren mind, going in circles to the point of madness. I go out of the house in the morning and come home to sleep and manage a long, tiring day in between apart from being a mumzilla to my kid. But there are evidences to prove that I am not the only one losing that sanity screw. For instance, after an hour long conversation with my buddy about movies based on cannibalism, he says:

“Kinga, if we could be eaten, your meat would be good for making soup”, he says and then thoughtfully adds “In Bhutanese style dish, you could go well with kakur and thingay!”

And I tell my chubby friend that his could be BBQed and in Bhutanese style, prepared during Chokus and Tshechus to show off to the envying neighbours.

If my mother was present, she would have wept.
One boulder is all it takes
To crumble a mountain
One tear to cause a flood
One word to break a bond
All the years of building,
This is the digital era with apparent pros. But its downside can be far outreaching and dangerous than one can imagine. Not very long ago, people alleged that disruption in internet connection was depressing. If it went on for days, they went maniacal and hissed at the service providers. Now, what depresses them is the speed of the connection. It frustrates them and it agitates them. They want everything done in a click of the mouse. That funny thing... that page loader which is that circle that goes round and round as it says to wait while it’s loading a webpage is an ugly sight that makes people want to puke.  Everybody enjoys the idea of being waited for, but not doing the waiting part.  

Last minute struggle is a popular trend among the Bhutanese but having a child around is quite often an added woe. Few weeks ago, I was running late for a submission but my little one would not understand. She would climb on my back and stretch my hair or squeeze onto my lap and demand to watch cartoons on my computer or croon to her like she was a baby. As a last minute attempt, I locked myself into the room and turned a deaf ear to her whimsical calls. Suddenly she shrieked and said there was a cockroach out there. Cockroaches are something I do not tolerate and I fast forward their The End pleasurably. I quickly opened the door and asked her where the damned thing was. She quickly wrapped her arms around my neck and wouldn’t let go.  The little smartass had tricked me into opening my door.

Do you ever open a blank page with a blank mind with the sole intention to type furiously about anything or nothing, hoping to unleash through your fingers all the things contained consciously or sub consciously through all the years you have lived so far;  a feeling that is undefinable and lying downtrodden along the path between hope, happiness, misery and everything else there is to feel where each one stands on an end of a multidimensional axis and that undefinable feeling lies right at the center of it all, feeling all the eyes of those other feelings?

If Lamzang was an actor, this could be one of his biggest shows till date and the rounds of applauses he’s receiving would leave one wondering if the people of Bhutan are awoken from a drunken slumber to a madding crowd of brouhahas. And man, he deserves all that hoots and cheers after endless days of walking around like a rag doll – looking for a crowd jerker. And who in the last Shangrila dare raise a voice anyway – that too against our top-notch leaders? If I was Lamzang, I would look like Julia Roberts now and would be wearing the longest smile on earth!

The thing of favouritism has not yet been housed in God’s dictionary – the reason why no one can escape life without paying his dues. One must pay for what he does – one way or the other and if not in this life, then perhaps in the next or next to next. Some people pass through this life only once before the embracement into the divine land, others like us keep coming back to even out what roughness remain from past lives. Bad news is when one is born, the memory section is at its point of start. It’s a dot needing to grow. There are no clues, no zapping back to retrieve past life experiences. There are just us; straying mindlessly and aimlessly – feigning intellect that we are all born for a purpose. Secretly, everybody’s waiting to be a star to tread the path of the rich and the famous. Ap Pasa would have laughed at this baseless triviality of human reasoning because Ap Pasa was born with some remnants of memories from his past life. Even God’s industry goes defunct once in a while.

For some reason, I am contemplating over the life of Nelson Mandela today – a man who lived and led by example. And the poem that kept his spirit aflame in his miserable times in a prison for 18 years with the floor as his bed and a bucket as his loo weighs heavily on me now.

I am baffled by this piece of news on Kuensel website titled “Dies at 112” that ends with this line :

“The centenarian was a teatotaler and stayed away from tobacco.”

Does it mean that the guy never touched tea in all his fortunate 112 years of good life? Things are supposed to take a competitive edge by now, with several private newspapers bustling around.

Logically, the world advances with time – where people specialize into a line of interest and then everybody fits together like a box of tool creating the perfect system. Going by the news, and by this, the news that disappoint more often than delight, not to mention the conveyors of news delivering it in half sleep, the saws in Bhutan are pretending to be hammers and the hammers saws and thus, what is supposed to be cut is rammed and what needs ramming gets cut.

Honestly, who needs brilliance in Bhutan? Perhaps all we need is a talent with knots so we can patch them who we think can help us? Everybody seems to need fast deliverance by another’s backing and his social standing is measured by the number of people with power who has the time to attend his grand funeral.

I am suffering from a mild indigestion at the moment because of the bitter pill – that an honest man who stands on his feet by the merit of his own capability is increasingly becoming a rare species!
A week or two after we squeezed in into a friend’s dwelling here, a friend lost all his valuables – thousands of dollars, laptop, passport, external drive and even the pair of jeans that he had neatly kept on the table next to his bed that night. A lot of aboriginals live in the locality and it went without saying who caused our friend’s loss and the numerous headaches thereafter.

It’s such a cliché, yet so true – a smile can brighten up the whole world, like some effervescent light uplifting the gloom of the world. A man reciprocates the smile on another face and passes on to the next person he crosses path with. Literally, it’s the smile that travels from face to face, from one moment to another – eternally time travelling and globetrotting. Imagine a world where no one smiles, where everybody’s foreheads are creased and shoulders slumped with the unbearable weight of the world – this is actually fast becoming of the time conscious modern world. Strangely, the smile and the time are co-related and in this day and age, smiles are getting to be such an expensive affair that several dozen years from now, maybe smiles will be so deficient and lacking that they could actually be put on hire and sale. Imagine that!

My good friend laughed at me and said “It’s so obvious you are having exams...when else do you hop in for a chat?” And she’s so right!! The last 5 years of uneventful working has caused me serious head damage. It’s now turned seriously dysfunctional and the only thing it understands is the Facebook.

The last exam I gave got me classified as Mad and had me swear I would never, never give another exam again. But then again, I had also sworn I would never ever get drunk again!

The house was unusually quiet. I wished she would throw her tantrums again or that atleast she would laugh when I made funny faces at her. Nothing seemed to work. Easter holidays were on and medical stores closed. All I could do was watch my little one moan occasionally as she lay down in bed, bereft of energy and liveliness. But she wouldn’t complain, you see...she’s wouldn’t say she was in pain, not even indicate it. She tried to eat when I fed her, only to vomit it all out in the end. And yet, she still wouldn’t give up.

I met Pain one yesterday, yet again
In his dark, gallant Armour
He sat mellow under happiness’ silhouette
Doubling his darkness
His eyes were intense with depths
Of destiny’s haunts and agonies

He asked if he could come by
But he came by the other day and before that too
He will sate a poet’s hunger, he promised
Give seasons to my heart
And that he’d craft my soul with a door
To his unseen, often unappreciated gains

I let him in, poor Pain and sheltered him
For many restless days and weeks
His darkness dimmed my home’s light
And muted the summer’s music
One day, I asked him to leave as gently as I could
With that ever crooked smile, he replied
“When I have cleansed your soul, I will”

This morning, my husband got up with a pout bigger than Angelina Jolie’s and wouldn’t speak to me at all. Upon  my persistence, he asked me straightaway “Where’s your blog?” 
And I told him I deleted it some days back because I just can’t keep up and I would prefer not to be a blogger at all than to be a bad blogger.
“It’s so bizzaire! To give up just like that!!“ His pout was filling up his face and he bossed me around to bring it back on saying if I didn’t feel like it now, it’s just a momentary phase.
I told him it’s embarrassing to return to something that I gave up and that people would laugh at my erratic behaviour and that maybe I can get myself a domain name and start there but he simply wouldn’t buy me, claiming he knew my tricks too well to believe it.
Thus on demand of my biggest fan who hardly or  never reads my blog to begin with, I return like a batman!
Dear God, what Life is this with no time to stand and stare; when my shadows run faster than me and looks back at me with that incredulous expression? Yesterday, my left eyeball hurt, the pain shifted its stance today. Maybe I am thinking too much. Yesterday, I nearly drove up a wall with a weird realisation. It is this : why must only the drivers wear a seatbelt? Must only he survive an accident? And hey, why do our children address their parents in a western style? Mom, Mum, Mama, Papa, Pop, Dad….What’s wrong in calling them simply Apa and Aye?

You see, my brain’s been rolling a lot more than my eyes and it’s difficult to make out if my eyes think and my brains see? Or is it the reverse? Why, then, do I feel, my head is the root because my hair cut in a Beatle’s style stands out like Eintein’s? I have the feeling that my head is the root, the foundation, the base and the source of nutrition of my very being. If my head is base, why am I downside up? If the head is the root afterall, do people think with their feet? What is “sense” then? Is it the toe? Do we say “Please talk toe? Am I making toe?” Christ, I have forgotten them all.

Dear God, you are making me more confused than ever now. See, if my head is my feet and my feet, my head, am I sitting cross handed and typing with my toes? Or is that sense; typing with sense? Haha!

Really, you are one Goddamned genius! All the fools in this world think their feet is their head and their head, the feet. Let this be our secret! Hush! Keep your ass shut!!!!!

Or is that the mouth?