Jojo

Grand parents are special people in any child’s life. There is an extraordinary connection between a grandparent and a grandchild that is not there is any other relationship. I have never really had the privilege of knowing any of my actual grandparents, they kicked the bucket quite early in life so I hear.

My father had some sort of uncle, am not sure how exactly he was related to my father because I never bothered to find out, was a cousin or actual brother of my paternal grandmother I presume, but like I said I did not bother finding out. He was the only grand father figure in my life, a pseudo grandfather if you may. That is our Jojo. We first made acquaintance when I was 8 years old, my parents had recently separated and he came to take care of us, let me not get into details here. Jojo never married and it would not be wrong to say that he pretty much devoted his life to his “grandchildren”

The grandchildren grew up and moved away from home, we had jobs you see. I go home maybe five times in a year on an average and sometimes when it takes my fancy I go and pay him a visit. Jojo housed with my cousins some five minutes walk away, he had lost his mobility by then.

This year I have gone home frequently, and kept meaning to go and see him . Every time I was home I asked father how Jojo was doing and tell him I was going to pay him a visit the next time I was home. This week I went home again and I wasn’t even thinking of Jojo, I had some other work, Jojo next time. Well what do I Learn? That there is never going to be a next time, Jojo had passed away just two weeks ago and they had already cremated him. No one found it necessary to tell us. I did not ask why they could not have picked up the phone and tell me. So much for my next time. Well it was pure pleasure to have known you JoJo. untill we meet again.

Metamorphosis

How many of you reading this believe in love at first sight? (If you do I would advise you not to read further) Do you know why people find it so difficult to fall in love? It is difficult to fall in love because; love is a situation where everything has to be picture perfect. The circumstance, the person, the chemistry, the personality and the list goes on depending on your taste. If that list of requisition is short, well and good, you will fall in love that much faster but if you have a long list then God help you, it will take nothing less than cupid working solely on you for at least a couple of years to make you fall in love.

How many of you have seen someone easy on the eye and declared to the first person willing to listen that you are in love? My dear friends let me tell you, that is not love but mere infatuation, so that makes it infatuation at first sight. Now if by high chance of coincidence your object of affection (for that moment) happens to live within a reasonable location and is still unattached you have the first component of love right, otherwise it is yet another unfinished story.

Then comes the more difficult part, the personality, what if the person you think is the one you have been waiting for all your life, is nothing but an empty headed, vain, can’t put two sentence together kind of person? You would not go and fall in love with such a person, would you? If you do, then in a few years time you will be yet another divorce statistics.

There is no such thing as the perfect person or perfect chemistry, the person sharing your office cabin, or the person you have known for ages could be your perfect person given the perfect situation and of course your free will. After all it is with a reason that people say “very few live to experience love as it should be experienced”

The Gift of Life

Human beings are funny animals, those who have it all have nothing to share and those who have nothing have everything to spare. There are people who move in imported cars, wear the latest designer brand, tort all over the globe and eat a variety of cuisine that some people can’t even pronounce. They have a life that seems almost too perfect, a life for which most people would sell their soul to the devil…actually on second thought, maybe that is how people get rich, it’s kind of difficult to find a richie rich with a soul…..These are the people who make up that part of the community who think giving a few ngultrums to a beggar will encourage begging. They will think a hundred times before smiling and a couple of thousand times before talking to someone not really in their league. Can’t really blame them for the way they think or the way they operate, that is what life has taught them, “not to trust people”. They have no time to share a game of ball with their kids, too bad since later in life these same kids have no time for their parents, its payback time after all.

Then there is another class of people who are so bent on striking it rich that they forget to live their life. There is no room for love, laughter and happiness, all that will come when they earn all the money they want, but by that time they have that money their life is halfway through. If they see a rose they would rather cut and sell it then take pleasure in its fragrance and beauty. So sad, because no matter what people say there is something called destiny and you will never make it if you are not meant to.

Well again there is another category of these strange animals called human beings. These are the people who won’t think beyond this day, this moment and this time. They will give you their all and not want anything in return and as abruptly as they have entered your life, will leave you too ….a rather rare species…but when you meet one of their kind, you thank your lucky star and hang on to the gift of their time. Don’t expect too much and don’t blame anyone when they leave you, after all they have to spread that sunshine to some one needier than you.

For My Father With All My Love

I guess its time to sing tribute to those unsung heros, the heros who taught us how to battle and win against life, the heros who gave us so much and never expected anything in return, the heros called FATHERS

Dear Father,

I don’t know how you felt when you first held me in your arms, a pink faced, wrinkled mass crying its lungs out, but I know you have loved me ever since.

I remember riding your strong, broad shoulders the winds in my hair during our walks together. I remember the dark stormy nights of summer when the rain splashed outside, the thunders raging furiously, the lightening flashing, you would tell me “Don’t worry precious the sky is just in the mood for some merriment.” I believed you then and till date whenever a storm rages I remember your words and smile.

You have taught me to take life one step at a time and to face whatever it offers with open arms. Most importantly you taught me that nothing can hurt me if I don’t let it affect me and if today I am a stronger person you must take credit for it and if I am not it’s not your fault.

There were times when things became difficult and I would cry my heart out, never ashamed to let people see my tears because you have told me that tears are not signs of weakness. You have always protected me from the harsh realities of life but also let me grow as my own person. When I was younger I would come home from school with torn uniforms and skinned knees yet you would never question me. You trusted me to do the right thing and still do.

You could never stop praising me, about how I was the brightest, the smartest and the loveliest at 13 that made me feel like I was the greatest creation of God, you still continue saying that but today with the wisdom that you have passed on to me I know I am no such thing, I am just your child and that is the best gift ever.

People say God could not be with every one so he created mothers but I think they are wrong, he created fathers too.

I am a grown person now but in your presence I still feel like that little child who could not wait to grow up. I just want to thank you for your unconditional love and your unquestioning trust, for all the beautiful moments you have given me but mostly for being my father and my best friend. Dad You Are My Hero.

Love You Always

The Power of Dreams

Dreams…where does it begin and end? Since the first moment consciousness take root the wondrous journey of dreams begin. These are the small things that make every hard step in life an easier one. What would we be without the wings of dream to keep us afloat? We are often told to get our head out of the clouds and to face reality, but has that ever stopped us from dreaming about impossible things? Every time we fall face down, we get up and try harder.

Sometimes we dream about being a singer and sometimes about painting masterpieces. The fact that we do not have the requisite voice or the talent does not matter, while the dream last we are indeed the singer and the painter. Our dreams allow us to paint life in our own shades and sing it to our choice. At times things go wrong and the shade is either not to our taste or the song totally out of tune but that is not the end of it. As these dreams perish others take the place of those that have failed.

Each day is a canvas for a new dream; it is for us to paint it vividly and every moment a song to be sung beautifully. To keep clutching on things that could have been, is missing out on what can be. If you don’t want to miss on what life has to offer keep on walking don’t ever pause and look back. Keep those dreams alive and believe you have it in you to make them come true.

Darkness

The pale pink blossom wavered afar,

As the gentle breeze blew so sweetly,

The unseen birds chirped out of sight,

As the mighty grayish great of the heavens,

Waited patiently for the grand darkness,

The darkness not stained by fear or sadness,

That which is filled with clam peace,

Amid the struggle of the dangerous deceitful light

Angels

I have a smile for every moment,

A reason to laugh away my woes,

I can catch the sun in my eyes,

I can hold the rain in my hands,

Joy blossoms bountifully at my feet,

The mighty darkness is but my slave,

I have been blessed with something mythical,

Something found at the end of the rainbow,

I call them God’s beloved children,

These angels who have touched my being

Encountering the past

On my way home I see students in colourful uniforms, chattering away, it must be exam time because the fragments of their conversation almost always involves….“Hey how did your paper go?” … “Not very good, I hope I make it through” or I see segments of what looks like question paper shredded into pieces all over the sidewalk….some poor student definitely did have a very bad, never-ending 3 hours in some cold hall.

I remember being there, having done that, it is strange but I can still taste that fear of result day, of wanting so much to have done well, but that gut sinking feeling that you could possibly be staying back in the same grade. “Oh God what will I do if I fail, all the kids will laugh at me…and my parents, they will be disappointed in me, I wonder if Dad will cane me?..” Oh I totally do remember the feeling.

Today I see these young faces and the past come flashing in multicolour. In them I still see the same hope, the same dream and the same desire to know what the future holds in store. They have the spirit to conquer the world and the innocence to believe that they can do it. How I envy that innocence, that spirit to keep going in the face of adversity.

It never fails to strike me as I walk pass them that they are my past and that I am their future. In a few years time they will be where I am, doing what I do and maybe even wondering what I wonder. It is half a circle of that full circle, one day when I am quite old I will walk pass a young officer and think “hey I have been through that….I

Made in Heaven?

“Thuji, oyaaaaaa….,Thuji. Tashi just arrived”

The girl picking chillies looked up, happiness radiating her pretty face. It was her aunt Pema announcing the arrival of her husband. Thuji hurriedly picked up the basket of chillies and joined her aunt on the outskirt of the field.

“When did he arrive? Wasn’t he due tomorrow Ani Pema?”

“Yes” came the prompt reply, Thuji waited for the usual teasing from her aunt which almost always followed her husband's arrival but none came. A look at the older woman’s face showed a frown marking the already wrinkled brow. Something was troubling her Ani.

Worried Thuji asked, “Ani what’s wrong? Is Tashi hurt?

“Don’t just stand there and ask stupid questions, let’s go,” Was the uninformative answer.

They hurried home, the usual ten minutes walk seemed like hundreds of miles and all the while every awful possibility crossed her mind, was he hurt? No! He would have been in the hospital in that case? Did he get thrown out of his job? No! Tashi was hard working and well liked by his boss, he said that himself. What else could have happened?

On the brighter side she thought, maybe he wants to take with him to Thimphu and Ani is just upset because there is no one else to look after the cattle and do household chores. On that note she noticed that they had reached home. Putting her basket beside the door she walked in to find Tashi sitting cross-legged on the patch work mattress, a pot of steaming suja before him.

“Tashi” she heaved a sign of relief to find him sitting there so obviously unhurt and sat down beside him, all of a sudden shy and tongue-tied. They sat that way for endless minutes before he cleared his throat.

“Thuji, there is something I have to tell you.” He sounded different, “I don’t know how to say this….”

Suddenly she sensed something was terribly wrong, she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, wanted to shut out his voice, willed her self to retreat into the cocoon within.

“Thuji, I want a divorce, I am in love with a colleague from the office.” He voice sounded far away.

With that one sentence she felt her dream of a home; kids and pets come crashing down. She wanted to rant and rave about his unfaithfulness. How could he do this to her? Didn’t she take care of his old parents and their farm aside from her own parents’ farm, stretching herself thin in the process, so that he could complete his Engineering course? Wasn’t it she who dropped her education at the 10th standard even though she had been a promising student just so that he could continue his without worrying about his old parents? Where was that other woman then? How could he do these? Well it didn’t matter now, did it? None of the sacrifices mattered; Tashi’s declaration had put a full stop to it. In the end it boiled down to the fact that after 9 years of marriage, he had fallen out of love with her. Maybe he had never loved her in the first place and had married her just as a means to his own end.

“Thuji…………” Tashi’s voice brought her out of the whirlwind of thoughts.

“Go back to her.” Even as she said it, emptiness clutched at her heart. Calmly she walked out of the door; head held high, she needed some fresh air. Once outside she hardly noticed the cold, chilly air. The sun had gone down. It was going to be a dark starless night.

Life’s Miracle

I walk slowly through the park, it is just after rain and the ground smells divine. The spring fragrance and children’s laughter fill the air. It’s a gorgeous day and I know that I just have to close my eyes and extend my hands to feel his presence. If I close my eyes I can hear his infectious laughter, see his lips curve into that sweetly crooked smile and feel the warmth of his hands in mine. He is always there with me just like he promised that day.

“Mom, who is going to take care of you?”

I look into his soft brown beautiful eyes and say, “Why sweetheart we are going to take care of each other.”

“No silly, I mean when I am gone”, he breaks into laughter, the sound tucks at my heart and I try hard not to give into tears and force a smile.

“Why don’t you take a nap dear and when you wake up we can go to the park”, I don’t want him to see my tears, “You would you like that, won’t you?”

“Oh can we do that mom? and can we get ice creams too?”

“Yes dear, all the ice creams you can eat.”

I tuck him in, a mammoth task, every time he closes his eyes I can’t get over the actuality of him never opening them again. That thought kills me. I turn down the lights and am at the door when he whispers “Mom, why do people die?”

I stand there for what seems like a million years contemplating an answer, how do I explain the complications of life and death to an eight year old, especially when I don’t have the faintest idea. I sit on the edge of his bed and take his hands into mine, his hands feel so small in mine, pale and tiny yet I also feel the strength of life in them.

“People die so that they can become angels and watch over the ones they love.”

He contemplates that statement, “Is Daddy an angel too?” I laugh out loud and he joins in. “Actually your Dad was more of a devil,” we laugh some more at that feeble attempt of a joke. “I am going to be an Angle and look after you always,” he declares with determination. That was a promise made 10 years ago.

“Moommmy”… that shakes me out of my reverie, I look up to see my five year old daughter on the swing, her father is hovering close by like an anxious mother hen, and catching my gaze winks. As I run towards them, I can not believe how lucky I have gotten. People may call it hogwash but I believe it’s the magic of a child’s innocent promise to his mother. A miracle of my beautiful son, my angle.

Tomorrow’s Child

She is dressed in a pair of old shorts and a T-Shirt that looks like a sack on her small frame. Tangled hair, sunburned features, dusty feet and hungry look yet there is nothing ordinary about her. There is none of the innocence, the all trusting faith that you see in children her age, but she can be very persuasive when she wants. She had learnt that you needed some skills to survive and had learnt it the hard way.

Slowly she walks the street up and down, trying to find someplace safe, away from the lecherous eyes that kept following her. She wonders if she should risk one of the neighbouring garages…the dogs are malicious, she may not be lucky to get away with a minor bite this time, maybe she can sneak in quietly and away from the mean brutes. Well, if before nightfall she does not find a better place….it has to be the garage.

Earlier that day she had “taken” a couple of apples from the fruit vendor, would have preferred to pay for it but did not have any cash and was too proud to beg. She must find something to do and makes a mental note to ask the restaurant owners, maybe dish washing or mopping the floor or the tables just anything that will pay. She will do that first thing tomorrow.

Munching on one of the apples, she gives the street another round. The dogs are quite now, it’s her chance to sneak in and find a nice corner to doze off. Thank god it’s still summer…..must prepare for the cold of the winter though, tomorrow she will think of something, right now it’s an effort to keep her eye lids from dropping.

Before the faint lights from the street disappears from her sight she has a vision of a soft bed, softer voice and a nice, warm fire in the hearth….she must find her way home soon…tomorrow she will find a way….tomorrow.

The rain, me and her

Lately, I have been wondering if there was an alarm clock up there to set off the rain exactly before its time to call it a day and head home. I have always associated rain with romance, well I grew up watching Hindi movies what else can you expect. But it’s kind of annoying to arrive home drenched to the bones, which of course is a 100 % probability especially since I neither have wheels nor an umbrella. I did own one though, lend it to some one and never got it back, (am talking about the umbrella) sometimes I stand a little longer in the rain hoping diligently that fellow will pass by and remember to give it back to me, so far I have only managed to earn some strange looks.

So one such day, I meet her again, I know she lives in a little cottage above my apartment, have seen her couple of times. I always have a special smile for her, today she has cut her hair and it suits her. I try to tell her that she looks good, I end up half shouting and half moving my hands in every direction (My own version of sign language!) She is short of hearing. It seems my klutz act has paid off, because she gives me this beautiful smile and tells me I have a very pleasant, happy face, which adds an extra zing to my smile (She keeps forgetting we have met before, acceptable since she is around 90 years old, give or take a few years). I get myself an invitation to tea.

I turn down the invitation, it has started to pour some more and I would like nothing better than to get out of these wet cloths. I promise her I will visit during the weekends. She reinforces that I should. I guess she gets lonely at times, was married a long time ago, had some kids who never made it out of infancy and out lived her husband by some decades. She gets occasional visits from her nephews, who are probably after that plot of land her home stands on. This is what life has dished out to her.

An old woman, living alone, in an old cottage asking every one who shows her any signs of kindness to tea does not seem like a good strategy. We have heard enough horrible incidences involving old people these days. I avoid telling her that, don’t want to scare her. I wonder how many like her are out there? Out of medical reach, alien to warm hugs and some even without proper basic needs. This is beyond me but sometimes I think it’s time the concept of old age home reach us after all.

Note: That was written in 2007, the Dear old lady finally let go off her life in late 2008.

Hope

He was like a pintsized adult, waiting to grow taller. I had know him since he first came to this place, how long ago was that? Five? Six? Years ago. He had been a boy of four then, innocent, full spirited and waiting to explore the world. He did not know a single word of Dzongkha, the result of being born and brought up in Kurtoe. Arriving in Paro was like stepping into an all different world for him. There were so many different aspects of living he could not fathom but fully intended to understand.

Initially whenever a vehicle passed by, he would run wildly after it and I would run after him. “You must not do that. It is dangerous” I would try to tell him in my limited Kurtoeb, he would laugh then and till date I never found out whether he had laughed at my kurtoeb or just out of sheer pleasure. I would then collect him in my arms and take him home. But all that was, as I have already said a few years ago. Things have changed these past few years, I have moved away from home and his mother has taken to drinking heavily.

On my occasional visit home, I see him doing everything from cooking to doing laundry to mothering his mother. He has matured beyond his age and before his time, yet there is something heart achingly young about him. At 10 he is a young boy with the eyes of an old man. His mother who chooses to remain drunken five days out of a week either bashes him or ignores him. At times I long to hold him in my arms and tell him that things will improve for the better but am not sure he will welcome my sympathy. I don’t know what it is but there is something about the sorrow and pain of life that teaches you to grow up as an individual and I could see that he has done that.
On my last visit home just as I was about to get into a taxi, I saw him standing by the road. I walked up to him handed a couple of fifties and hugged him close to my heart “Some day,” I said “I hope to have a son like you.” Since the taxi driver was getting impatient I hurriedly got into the taxi and drove off. On hindsight I looked back and saw him running after an Alto car…….children and their resilience……no matter what life decides to deal them, they always manage to see the ray of hope amidst the dark shadows.

That Girl

This is the story of a girl I used to know, a girl who wove endless dreams with the stars in her eyes, a girl who shriveled with fear if something rattled in the darkness of her room, the same girl who never though twice about venturing into the woods alone. If she saw a bug on the ground she made a point of walking slowly because she seriously felt that loud thuds might give the bug a heart attack, who would have heard of such a silly theory.

She cried buckets for the characters on the pages of some stupid tacky novel or a really silly movie but if you hurt her she won’t shed a drop of that tear, I always found that method of self preservation a little strange.

I remember one day in the 2nd grade she arrived in class drenched in the heavy summer rain, our teacher took one look at her and obviously decided it would not do to have one of her students falling sick and asked if there was anyone who could take her home. She pointed at this boy in our class and said “He can take me home, we are neighbors.” The whole class burst out laughing as she stood there bewildered and slopping wet, wondering what she had said that was so funny. It never stuck her that boys and girls were two different species, which normally as a rule did not mix well together.

I don’t know when or how it happened but I lost touch with that girl. Occasionally I see her eating ice creams in the chilly winter or sharing a bar of chocolate with a stray dog, I can see she is happy. Oh how I miss that girl! Maybe I should have held on to her and believed in all those dreams she had. But people like her would never survive in this world and I am a survivor.

Living life flashback style

I remember always wanting a life that is made in wonderland completed with the “happily ever after” tag. The endless plans I had for a picture perfect life makes me smile now with remembrance. When the neighbouring children refused to play with me, I thought “wait till I become the Princess of some great land…just you all wait” God that makes me laugh now. I was rather silly then, but it made me happy….for a while life was indeed perfect.

Life took another turn as I turned 15 years, I got hold of my first Mills & Boon series, after that I wanted no Prince from a far away land to come and rescue me….no…that will not do…now its nothing less than a Greek God for me. I was a harebrain I guess (that’s my excuse)…I would say that phase of my life was even better than perfect. Did I love all those wonderful daydreams I had?

Going to college sent my grand romantic plans to the backseat momentarily. My mission was to blend into the bleak wall and concentrated on getting myself a first class degree, whether I succeeded or not is another story. All I remember from that part of my life are the beautiful white daisies which decorated the green patches, the long walks and of course the embarrassing incident of actually flunking math. Life was in its own league there.

After that was the seemingly endless struggle to land myself a decent paying job….which in the end proved to be not that difficult…do I hear whispers of lucky you!....that is something I can’t deny, I was and am always lucky, after all what’s luck but the product of pursuit. This was the most power packed phase of my life. If I had shown half the passion for anything else as I had for my job this story might have taken a different turn…..and maybe not necessarily for the better.

Now 30 years later here I am richer by 3 dogs, a nice neat cottage, lots of tattered books I have collected over the years and a cat who chose to adopt me. People think I am eccentric and sometimes they ask me why I have never married…..all I tell them is “I had a little less look to attract their attention and they had a little less brain to hold my interest.” I had my “happily ever after” just not in the same way.

Of Ghosts and Angels

The rain was here yesterday,
A feel of summer without the heat,
The halo of healing mist,
The bright sunny blossom,
And sometimes a certain snow flake,
Which never kissed the ground,
The ghost from the past were there too,
Some hazy and some crystal clear,
but all a fiber entwined somewhere,
A touch, a smile, a tear drop,
Everything that was ugly and beautiful.

Then there were the angels,
In the sway of the bare trees,
In the dance of the cold breeze,
In the laughter of the innocent faces,
A song of life and its thread,
of moments that were once there,
Now a vague memory soon to be gone,
The ghost will always be,
And the angles will still sing,
Like a breath, a heartbeat, a glance,
Everything that weaves a dream.

The Calling

It was heard once, the calling,
Mysterious, mystical and tranquil,
Must have left someplace fine,
Vanishing in the poignant face of time,
The searches were futile,
Shadows chased in the sun,
The lights had burnt out,
And shadows had gone home.

Dreams,Promises and Hopes

I dream of castles and knights,
of riding into the golden sunset
the wind through my hair
of reaching the peace i seek,

I look up at the sky
the birds that i long to be
soar high,singing to the sky
oh! i wish i could fly

The earth is bleak and dry
but the rain will be here soon
and the flowers will bloom
butterflies and bees will then dance

Once home i softly tread
the silence here is my friend
this is where my dreams end
and promises and hopes are mend.