Memories.
Some rue over it. Some cry over it. Some smile over it and some thrive on it.
I have my own memories.
A host of it, actually.
Old ones. Recent ones.
Now that I have been transferred to Gelephu as a bureau correspondent for my paper, I want to look back and reflect on my bitter-sweet experiences.
I stayed at the capital for five whole months and it was a learning experience.
I shared a small room at one of my good friend’s place.
It was cramped and far from being a palace. I stayed there for more than four months.
The modest quarter was shared by the whole family.
But I gleaned some important lessons from them.
My friend and her family never ever gave me reason to feel that I was a burden on them.
I knew I was occupying their private space.
My late working hours were another concern.
But my friend’s mom who runs a small canteen was one of the best examples of diligence, perseverance, patience and caring I have ever come across.
“My own Mother Teresa,” is what my friend calls her.
I couldn’t agree more.
Then there were her sisters and cousins, the sweetest girls I have met in a long time.
Ever-ready to help, to serve.
And the camaraderie they share is commendable.
I question myself.
I was never a long-suffering person.
I am known for my quick temper and tongue.
I am impatient and often too critical even with my own family.
But I saw exemplary patience and harmony here.
I learnt that affluence and mammon cannot guarantee happiness.
There are other things that count.
That are far more priceless.
Like love and selflessness.
We crib and complain about little inconveniences when we have almost everything that we need.
Even I do.
But I realized that I need to count my blessings before I harp on what is missing in my life.
And that there are people along life’s highway who are more willing to give than to receive.
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