ONE MOURNFUL SUNDAY.....

It is a warm but windy Sunday afternoon.
I have finished my chores for the day and am outside in the sun warming myself while the wind combs through my hair. I have my diary before me and a pen. I am playing some soulful songs on my mobile.
I look at the city sprawling below me. Concrete buildings, people and cars…..life is moving at its pace.
Then suddenly, I ask myself: What am I doing? Where am I headed? What lies before me in the unknown future?
A sense of emptiness fills me and a brooding melancholy occupies my thoughts. Ever felt like you are not living, simply existing? Ever felt like you have run your race? There is nothing to look forward to and a few regrets to mull over.
If the world were to end now, what would I lose? Nothing. I would die happily.
No dreams, no aspirations, no hopes.
Loneliness, sadness and a mild feeling of lethargy.
What is happening to me? I feel so alone.
Like a lone observer in a metropolitan crowd.
The world is moving but I am stuck.
Life has come to a stand still for me. There is no pleasure in living and laughing.
I put on a pair of converse and plug in the headphones.
I head for a long, lonely, leisurely walk. People are staring at me. Most probably because I am wearing shorts (Damn the Bhutanese mentality!)
Cars honk and swerve by me. I don’t care. I put the same song on repeat twenty times. I like the sadness in it, the acoustics evokes feelings in me.
I have loved and lost.
Memories, guilt, regrets.
More stares and a few wolf whistles. I walk on, uncaring, unseeing.
What is this? Emotional inertia? I am tired now. I don’t feel like looking people in the eyes. I avoid gazes and walk on, looking down at the buildings, roads and new constructions and at my shoes.
Did that white lady who just passed by smile at me? I am in no mood for smiles or gaiety.
A tall, beautiful lady all dolled up, most probably for the wedding function going on by the side way passes me.
I look at my short legs (in shorts, for God’s sake!) and think would the world look different if I were a bit taller?
In an hour and a half, my mourning (pun intended) walk has ended.
I am back at home. I fix myself a cup of tea and get into bed.
I remember I am resigning from work on Tuesday.
And I wonder what will become of me at this rate.
Fine. I gulp down another cup of tea ( I am bloating up depressingly) and try to think of something else.
Dad is coming over tonight. He said he would cook chicken for me. That is the only saving grace.
Let’s see what happens. Let me take a day at a time.

PICKING UP THE PIECES

There comes a time in life when you have to take a tough decision. And it isn’t easy.
Everything is picture perfect. It seems like a movie shot in progress. You are on a Caribbean cruise. The warm sunlight, the gentle breeze, the cool tumbler of refreshing drink, the lapping of the waves and then fate says:”Cut!”
What happened? I have asked myself a thousand times. And I know I made a mistake. A blunder, in fact. I am only human and I trusted myself too much.
I trusted myself not to make a mistake. I trusted myself not to waver from my principles and I failed. I failed, miserably. I was blind.
It taught me how weak I am, how fallible. It taught me man should not do what God has NOT ordained for them.
I have shed tears, I have been filled with remorse. How could I, I have asked myself numerous times.
The pieces are broken. I can’t put them back together again. It is late. But not TOO late.
I see me picking myself up and moving on. Away from the shame and sordidness of it all. I have to venture out on another path, an untrodden path but which at least my conscience solicits.
God told us to forgive our enemies. He told us to forgive ourselves, too. I am seeing a new sun in the horizon. A new future. Away from it all.
My memories make me hang my head in shame but hope beckons me with silent whispers of new glad tidings.
I am on my own now. I bid farewell to my past. I move onto a brand new future. I take a step at a time.

IN SEARCH OF AN OASIS

A waste land stretches before me.
I trudge along, dying for a drop of water.
The scorching sun and parched, dry land,
The hot winds and the endless sojourn
Is taking the life out of me.
My garment is in tatters, the burning sand consumes my feet,
Flies into my bleared eyes.
There is no oasis in sight.
Rain clouds have abandoned the sky.
Yet, I stumble along, unseeing, unfeeling.
Where am I? Where have I reached?
Is that a caravan I see afar?
Tinkling of bells and the shout of travelers?
Is there life in this desert?
I no longer have the strength to go on.
My steps falter, I fall.
Is there a God? Where are you?
Help me!
Memories of the past flood my tremulous mind.
I remember the green grass, the sparkling lakes,
The verdant growth along the valleys, the sweet smelling sandal trees.
I hear the brooks singing their passing song.
Where is heaven?
Is this what I was destined for?
The heat makes me faint, I can’t bear it.
Save me before I turn into vapor.

HERE'S TO ALL SINGLE WOMEN!

“How old are you?”
“27”
“Single?”
“Yup”
I am unmarried, not seeing anybody and single at 27.
And I must make a shocking (to some) confession – I have never been in a relationship with a man.
How does it feel like?
Hmmmm…..how does it feel like? I ask myself and can’t suppress a chuckle.
I have never had a romantic conversation with a man, never been gifted a rose or a packet of heart-shaped chocolates and never gone on a real date (except once with a Japanese man who asked me out for dinner but that’s another story altogether).
Do I miss all these?
Honestly, sometimes I find myself wondering how it would feel like to be seeing somebody but another part of me revels in the kind of uncomplicated, free life I lead.
I know it will always feel good to have someone there for you, especially during your low moments and times of loneliness. Sometimes you do desire companionship but then I have my own little world where I am happy being myself and doing all those things I love doing.
I get up on my own sweet time on lazy Sundays, clean up my place, do my routine or extra house-chores, read a lot of books at the same time, write, plan out my work and assignments, drop in at my next door neighbour’s, listen to Eagles, Richie Sambora and Dolly Parton, sit by the window in the afternoon sun all alone sipping a glass of green-tea and writing in my diary…….little pleasures in life. In a way I am lucky, hehehe…..
At other times, I watch the busy roads and alleys below from my apartment window, go shopping alone and buy a good book to read or a rejuvenating face-pack to pamper myself with and sometimes I sit before my lap-top and write my memoirs like this one! Then I wind up the day watching the sunset (Lucky, I have a good view from my window).
Life is good. I have friends who care for me. I have a wonderful family. I have a great boss who teases me constantly about my single status. But I love my life.
It is not that I don’t feel the need for male companionship. Sometimes, I feel my time is running out and at times pangs of loneliness do gnaw at me, especially after a bad day when I need some solace but then, I feel the other side of it balances things out.
I look forward to each new day. In fact, I feel this is one of the best phases of my life.
Maybe it just depends on which side of the fence you are.

WOMAN, WHAT ART THOU?

The good, the bad and the ugly.
Bhutanese society is increasingly churning out stereotypes.
And this applies most pertinently to women.
The fairer sex, the always un-understood or misunderstood enigma, the living mystery of all times.
But evolving times and situations have given rise to various breeds of females.
Or at least that is how society sees and tags them. Take a look, girls and see if you fit in into one of these:

1.The good girl: She won’t go to parties, discotheques or clubs. She will be the do-gooder – the mousy, shy introvert. She will probably have a history of being a studious student, maybe not too bright but obedient and no boy-friends for the record. Being a homebody enhances her image. Men usually term them “sweet” and “cute” (in other words NOT “hot”). Ninety nine percent possibility to hundred is that they will attract geeks or mama’s boys for husbands who want to “take a nice (unexciting) girl back home.”

2.The vamp: A party animal, she will be into boozing and smoking. Maybe a puff of marijuana would do no harm. Will have lived through a string of boyfriends, maybe live-in relationships by the dozen which did not see the light of day. Bitching and gossiping will be her forte. As she says, she just loves to “have a good time.” Usually attracts hot-blooded males who can’t see beyond the stilettoed legs. Moves around in her own circle of friends but is usually independent, can take bold decisions and fun to be with. However, a big “no-no” for conservative males. The “good girls” self-righteously snub this type.

3.The wonder woman: Will be known for her intellect and management (or lack of it) abilities. Men hate her guts. She can boss even over MCPs (Male chauvinistic pigs) and she has her subordinates shivering in their shoes: she can be termed a “bitch” for her over-bearing ways. She is enterprising, calculative and intelligent. Can be a single mother or a divorcee.

4.The house-wife: Will be fulfilling her duties as a wife (how cheerfully, would be doubtful) but there will be no end to her tale of woes which her close friends or neighbor will have to listen to (suffer). The baby puked, hubby gave his salary to his mother again, children are getting beaten up by the big bully/ teacher at school, the baby-sitter ran away and blah, blah…(Heaven save the husband!)

5.The socialite: Will have hooked in a husband with big bucks but who usually does not know she exists. Half of her life will be spent in kitty parties and a round or two of gambling. Leads an ostentatious superficial lifestyle. Usually drives around in a Prado with dark goggles. Nearing mid-life crisis but unable to age gracefully. Usually has a toy-boy in toy.

6.The career-woman: Perhaps the most common of the young, upcoming lot. Usually a graduate. Trying to balance home, work and relationships. Trying to come in to terms with reality. Harbors big-time ambitions to do better in life (for them owning a car is one dream fulfilled).

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY (The life of Bhutanese journalists as it is)

Journalists are an outspoken lot - that is what everyone believes.
Journalists are all over the place - that is what everyone says.
But what are the cardinal rules for journalists in Bhutan? Here are a few (there can be more):
1. Bhutanese journalists are always broke.
2. Bhutanese journalists are famous at infamous places like shady bars and raucous clubs.
3. Convention is unconventional for journalists.
4. Bhutanese journalists can shock prim people out of their wits, not only with their half-researched, half-baked (sometimes outrageous) stories but with their lack of propriety (in manner and attire) and loose lingo.
5. Whenever you call up a high level official, if you are lucky they will say they can’t talk to you over the phone. If you are not, they will slam down the phone to your face.
So what does a fresh out-of-college graduate, inexperienced, shy and unsure of herself do when she is suddenly thrown into the media world filled with un-proclaimed mavericks, self-proclaimed intellectuals and unabashed eccentrics? (Normalcy in the media fraternity is a virtue)
Recovering from culture shock takes a few months. Then comes the tricky part – learning the tricks of the trade. How do you do it? If the journalist is a female possessing physical charms and the person she is dealing with is a hot-blooded male, half of the way, she is guaranteed a good deal of attention. But at the end, aggression, assertiveness, writing and reporting skills (short of stealing official documents, eavesdropping and accessing secret information by other underhand means) go a long way in making you a known (notorious) journalist. Of course, not without the side effects - most bureaucrats who have to tolerate the journalist’s nosiness consider journalists a formidable foe (pest).
Meeting deadlines is another issue that is always an issue. Weeklies breed lethargy for half the week. Dailies set the adrenaline pumping.
Editors barking, reporters bunking, the hurried tapping of keyboards late evenings, hazy smoke-filled cubicles and messy rooms is the typical scenario in a Bhutanese newsroom. The trend runs amok in newsrooms, much like some unruly reporters.
The hunt for stories is an adventure to some while for others who get up from the wrong side of the bed, it is pure pain. Sources and contacts are a journalist’s livelihood, and if you can charm them over with a glass of drinks and some witty one-liners, you are guaranteed a lot more than story ideas.
Discipline is a much needed but absolutely rare quality. For most journalists, the day begins when half of the world is asleep. Late nights and drinks, gossip, blowing one’s trumpet about your so-called innate abilities though no one else seems to notice it, is part and parcel of a journalist’s social life.
But what keeps a journalist going? The craving for freedom, adventure and change. Journalists like to think of themselves as crusaders. They love to challenge beliefs. They know that what they write can change lives. It can change systems. It can bring down governments. When you write news, you become news yourself. And that all contributes to the bigger picture. That is what spurs a journalist on. That is what drives a journalist on despite mounting pressure and seemingly insurmountable obstacles. If a journalist has a family, it calls for a lot of sacrifice. Time and resources need to be divided between work and family. And often, call it the tragedy of a journalist’s life but work wins. Journalists can often turn into workaholics because they thrive on pressure and excitement which their profession provides in abundance. A journalist often appears to be an egoist, but as Ayn Rand puts it, the egoist is the most selfless creator because a whole literate society thrives on the works of a journalist who knows what to create and how to.

THE RAIN SONG

Pitter patter, the rain drops fall
Thunder claps and lightning flash
Swaying trees dancing to monsoon’s breeze

Grey skies overcast with laden clouds
Swelling river roaring its rage
Puddles forming on little tread ground
Rivulets racing the stony path

Jaded green revived
By falling dew from above
Smell of damp earth
Rising like a forgotten memory

And me alone on my balcony
Cocooned in solitude and calm
Surely moments like this do no harm!

A cup of aromatic tea
And a copy of “Gitanjali”
To keep me company!

Norah Jones’ honeyed vocals
Mingling with a playful child’s shrieks
A silent spectator
Of heaven’s open flood gates

Tracing an intricate song
Of water and wind
Of seasons and cycles
Oh, for the pure joy of living!