In a valley far away, virgin to the procelain form of modernization, peace dwell side by side with the humankind. Sitting under a barren tree, an old white beard hermit tells the green valley old stories of life, long gone by.
When the rain pours, the lush mountains stare stonily at the sky. A sigh of monsoon escapes from the dry soil, hungry for the ample water which was much awaited.
While the meaning to life grew no more, good old traditions remain shattered, words lost its meaning and so has life turned around. Along with it, so did the universe. Never to remain the same again, there is no looking back now. Life often looks at the universe, and the universe caresses the soul that lives the life. Protecting it from all evil, may no harm ever befall it.
The sunny valleys soughts for the open sea, for mountains creates a closing for it to spread free. The thirsty tide runs inland, washes away all forms of misery that every man has known or is yet to know.
Deep in snow the laboring hands of a mother can not support the burden of being a woman. Under the stars, under the same sky, the laughter of a maiden so fair can be heard not very far away from the mother who has succumbed to being a sadist. Low whispering at an appointed hour, both sing songs from the heart. The mother sings a lullaby to her hungry child while the girl sing songs for her lover lost in war.
Far away from the two misery queens, the eagle descends to speak to the mountains. The pine trees sway to the rhythm of the cool breeze. In a distance, there stands a peach tree, its blossoms glitter like the midnight stars. The velvet sky spreads out for the moon to make its way. And the people beneath it look up in awe, so in love with the moonlight
Friday 21 October 2011
A lost mind!
I force a wistful grin to hide my sadness away so that you can not tell that I am hurting. Go on now, if you must leave. I will set you free. But as you leave, the silent tears flow. There is no spark, there is no delight and there is no joy to life anymore. I often walk around in daze since you have been gone. I have fallen into a trance which is full of smokey gloom, choking me out of my life. I have started to wake up in the middle of the night, and I gasp at the realization that you have gone, forever. That is when I begin to weep.
My mind although open, has become as wide as the starless night sky and deep as the stormy sea, battleing with the heavy waves that has come along with the heartache. A fountain of endless tears, a pool of shattered dreams, a world of sad emtions and a longing for the world to look straight is what has become of me, of what has become of this lost mind of mine.
Friends tell me to move on in life and that time will heal everything. A helpless soul that I am, I just nod and smile and agree with them, while I slowly go insane.
Now all that I do is think and talk about you. Even the finest men around do not suffice to the man I lost in you. You left me not heartbroken but you left me with a lost mind!
My mind although open, has become as wide as the starless night sky and deep as the stormy sea, battleing with the heavy waves that has come along with the heartache. A fountain of endless tears, a pool of shattered dreams, a world of sad emtions and a longing for the world to look straight is what has become of me, of what has become of this lost mind of mine.
Friends tell me to move on in life and that time will heal everything. A helpless soul that I am, I just nod and smile and agree with them, while I slowly go insane.
Now all that I do is think and talk about you. Even the finest men around do not suffice to the man I lost in you. You left me not heartbroken but you left me with a lost mind!
The heart of a woman!
There is a never ending journey the heart will make. What it chooses while on the journey will never be the regrets for tomorrow, it will only be the chances that it has taken. This heart met a young lad, two hearts spoke of the world unknown only to fall apart, somewhere along the journey.
But a woman's heart has its own ways to compensate for every drop of tear shed, for every sorrow it faces, for every misery it feels and for every details of the pain she goes through.
Her heart is a breeding ground for love that might have seemed to be impossible in the beginning of the journey. Everything that her heart ever desired falls apart, broken pieces remain idle within her, creating a confusion which is far from any man's comprehension.
The sombre life that follows after every heart that is broken itself is the epitome of a failing heart, it is a personification of the life once lived in laughters and happiness, only to be taken all away in a blink of an eye.
When a woman's heart is broken, it kills her for a moment. Period! But then, what seems to have been branded as the weaker sex aint that weak at all. Like how a new mother learns to perfect motherhood, like how a daughter shoulders the responsibility of an ageing parent, like how a wife learns to be the keeper, a woman's heart learns to let go and start life all over again.
But a woman's heart has its own ways to compensate for every drop of tear shed, for every sorrow it faces, for every misery it feels and for every details of the pain she goes through.
Her heart is a breeding ground for love that might have seemed to be impossible in the beginning of the journey. Everything that her heart ever desired falls apart, broken pieces remain idle within her, creating a confusion which is far from any man's comprehension.
The sombre life that follows after every heart that is broken itself is the epitome of a failing heart, it is a personification of the life once lived in laughters and happiness, only to be taken all away in a blink of an eye.
When a woman's heart is broken, it kills her for a moment. Period! But then, what seems to have been branded as the weaker sex aint that weak at all. Like how a new mother learns to perfect motherhood, like how a daughter shoulders the responsibility of an ageing parent, like how a wife learns to be the keeper, a woman's heart learns to let go and start life all over again.
Thursday 27 January 2011
The Connection Between Zor ka Jatka and Sheila Ki Jawani
I stand facing the Dippu, oranges all over the country waits to be exported. I watch the sun slowly setting in for the night, turning dusky grey to orange.
The Toorsa River spreads before me as its flow disappears into the misty fog created by pollution; the orange store houses cluster the banks of the river.
The smoke from my cigarette swirls upwards as it thickens the air above me.
I can hear a Bollywood song being played in one of the so called “dance party” shed built to attract the creatures of the night in Phuentsholing.
“Sheila ki jawani” a typical Bollywood hit item song is being blared from a “Sany” music system made in China.
There are some fat potbellied local business men who can barely stand on their own feet, intoxicated by alcohol, hanging onto smiling young women who look desperate to replicate Katrina Kaif’s dance from the Sheila number.
It’s like one of these high school house parties back in the 1990s. The only difference is there are a lot of commercial factors that heat up the party.
Older men and young girls remain coupled together as the single young men look at awe at the power of money.
My friends and I try to make an attempt to be a part of the crowd, since we stand there, just sliding to the right once and then to the left, given the limited space we are given to show our very own Sheila moves, we remain unnoticed.
There is nothing but bamboos woven together to form our roof and the four walls and the sand deposits from the Toorsa River as our dance floor.
The night would have seemed far too long for sure, if Bhutan Highland Grain Whisky, blended with selected Scotch Malts had not come to our rescue.
After taking the last drop from the two 750 ml bottles of Highland, we were showered with all the energy that could have possibly been required to summon at any night club in Thimphu.
Out went Sheila Ki Jawani and in came my very own favorite Zor Ka Jatka.
I take a seat in front of a table which had lost a leg. Somewhere, someone had tried to experiment a pole dance on the table. As I sip on my Highland with coke and blow out rings of smoke, the lyrics of the song takes me to another phase in my life.
And there is one guy who made it all the more clear by singing it out so loud, stressing on the word SHADI.
“Shadi bhan ga yi omar ket ki sa zha,” he sang it with so much passion, his marriage seriously might have become a life sentence to him over the years.
But then it was a good sight, because the young girl who walked in with him selflessly did a poor but well choreographed belly dance for him.
The guy in the middle of the song started singing Sheila Ki Jawani, pointing at the girl.
It’s always the Zor Ka Jatkas that makes a man miss Sheila Ki Jawani in his life for sure.
The Toorsa River spreads before me as its flow disappears into the misty fog created by pollution; the orange store houses cluster the banks of the river.
The smoke from my cigarette swirls upwards as it thickens the air above me.
I can hear a Bollywood song being played in one of the so called “dance party” shed built to attract the creatures of the night in Phuentsholing.
“Sheila ki jawani” a typical Bollywood hit item song is being blared from a “Sany” music system made in China.
There are some fat potbellied local business men who can barely stand on their own feet, intoxicated by alcohol, hanging onto smiling young women who look desperate to replicate Katrina Kaif’s dance from the Sheila number.
It’s like one of these high school house parties back in the 1990s. The only difference is there are a lot of commercial factors that heat up the party.
Older men and young girls remain coupled together as the single young men look at awe at the power of money.
My friends and I try to make an attempt to be a part of the crowd, since we stand there, just sliding to the right once and then to the left, given the limited space we are given to show our very own Sheila moves, we remain unnoticed.
There is nothing but bamboos woven together to form our roof and the four walls and the sand deposits from the Toorsa River as our dance floor.
The night would have seemed far too long for sure, if Bhutan Highland Grain Whisky, blended with selected Scotch Malts had not come to our rescue.
After taking the last drop from the two 750 ml bottles of Highland, we were showered with all the energy that could have possibly been required to summon at any night club in Thimphu.
Out went Sheila Ki Jawani and in came my very own favorite Zor Ka Jatka.
I take a seat in front of a table which had lost a leg. Somewhere, someone had tried to experiment a pole dance on the table. As I sip on my Highland with coke and blow out rings of smoke, the lyrics of the song takes me to another phase in my life.
And there is one guy who made it all the more clear by singing it out so loud, stressing on the word SHADI.
“Shadi bhan ga yi omar ket ki sa zha,” he sang it with so much passion, his marriage seriously might have become a life sentence to him over the years.
But then it was a good sight, because the young girl who walked in with him selflessly did a poor but well choreographed belly dance for him.
The guy in the middle of the song started singing Sheila Ki Jawani, pointing at the girl.
It’s always the Zor Ka Jatkas that makes a man miss Sheila Ki Jawani in his life for sure.
The poor poor GHALEY BAR
We set off following a murder case. The destination was a border town in India called Nagarkata, a name not too familiar.
We were asked to take the road from Jepti to get to our destination; we did not have a plan B in case we lost our way. The funny thing was only the car that we were driving had ever been to Jepti, neither of us had even heard about it.
We drove all the way to Sipsoo and no one knew where Jepti was.
We must have driven for about two hours, turning the car back and forth. I was losing patience and a bad mood was predicted to be headed towards my direction for sure.
Finally, something strikes our head after we gave up our search for Jepti, the word Jitti pops up out of nowhere.
Yes, the name was never Jepti, it was always Jitti.
Totally annoyed and pissed off at our memory capacity, we decide to give up on Jepti, I mean Jittu and head back to Samtse.
On our way back, to suppress our bad mood (as I had predicted) we visited the numerous bars on the way.
The first was one called Kafley Bar, as expected Druk 11,000, HIT Beer and Sophie topped the bar menu.
We went for a bottle of Druk 11,000 each.
Our next stop was at Lepcha Bar, the same menu again. Another bottle of Druk 11,000 each.
Tamang Bar after a few minutes’ drive kept us relaxed for a while. Still doubtful if I should go for another bottle or not, Chencho was all the more encouraging that I did. So, it was another bottle from Tamang Bar.
We were spending our nights at the Gurung Basti while in Samtse, so it became essential that we kept a look out for a Gurung Bar to cross our way. We had finished the Tamang Bar beer a while ago and soon enough Gurung Bar welcomed us.
By the time we reached the Ghaley Bar, we were too drunk to even get out of the car. Until we come back to Samtse, Ghaley Bar will have to wait for us to grace it with our presence.
We could not find Nagarkata but we surely did explore each and every bar along the Samtse-Sipsoo way.
We were asked to take the road from Jepti to get to our destination; we did not have a plan B in case we lost our way. The funny thing was only the car that we were driving had ever been to Jepti, neither of us had even heard about it.
We drove all the way to Sipsoo and no one knew where Jepti was.
We must have driven for about two hours, turning the car back and forth. I was losing patience and a bad mood was predicted to be headed towards my direction for sure.
Finally, something strikes our head after we gave up our search for Jepti, the word Jitti pops up out of nowhere.
Yes, the name was never Jepti, it was always Jitti.
Totally annoyed and pissed off at our memory capacity, we decide to give up on Jepti, I mean Jittu and head back to Samtse.
On our way back, to suppress our bad mood (as I had predicted) we visited the numerous bars on the way.
The first was one called Kafley Bar, as expected Druk 11,000, HIT Beer and Sophie topped the bar menu.
We went for a bottle of Druk 11,000 each.
Our next stop was at Lepcha Bar, the same menu again. Another bottle of Druk 11,000 each.
Tamang Bar after a few minutes’ drive kept us relaxed for a while. Still doubtful if I should go for another bottle or not, Chencho was all the more encouraging that I did. So, it was another bottle from Tamang Bar.
We were spending our nights at the Gurung Basti while in Samtse, so it became essential that we kept a look out for a Gurung Bar to cross our way. We had finished the Tamang Bar beer a while ago and soon enough Gurung Bar welcomed us.
By the time we reached the Ghaley Bar, we were too drunk to even get out of the car. Until we come back to Samtse, Ghaley Bar will have to wait for us to grace it with our presence.
We could not find Nagarkata but we surely did explore each and every bar along the Samtse-Sipsoo way.
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