Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Second love

I have loved before. I have been married before too. And I was happy once upon a time. That must have been a year back. Or maybe, it was only yesterday. To me, it seems like it was only yesterday; like I have never really been apart from him.
I was hurt again today. In love. And that is when I realized that I have felt this pain before. It was then that I knew, I left love in the hope of abandoning pain; in the hope of running away from selfish feelings; in the hope of fighting attachment. And yet, I was in the same pit of feelings, same pit of emotions and now again, I look at those innocent drugged eyes of seduction and can’t help deny this want swell in me.
I didn’t plan this. I know neither did he. But it is as if my destiny was always here. It is as if I have forever been floating on the surface of a river, watching the tide to catch me. It is as if we have always been together, weaving love.
And now, paralyzed in the emotion which is so familiar, I can’t walk away when I feel his body next to me. As the warmth of his body closes on me, all I can do is wish I could lie there forever, wishing for nothing more. As I lie in his arms, it is as if, I have realized every single dream I ever dreamed. It is as if, I’m finally home. I’m complete and the world stops right there.
Tomorrow, I may wake up in his arms. Or I may not. I also know that it is expectation that gives us pain—but I can’t help cry wanting it to last; fearing its end. I wish, I would forever wake up watching his innocent eyes next to me; I wish I would forever wake up feeling his arms around me; I wish I would forever wake up listening to his heartbeat; I wish I would forever sleep next to him, listening to his soothing breath. I wish I could forever sleep next to him knowing that our love would last.
But I know this will all end one day. It was wrong to have fallen in love again. It was wrong to have even met him. But if it is all wrong, I think it is wrong that I even had all the senses that made me see this world. If I am not allowed to love now, if I’m not allowed to cry now in the pleasure of pain, I think all I can do is blame whoever is the creator, for he designed us this way. For now, let me love him. Let me hold him. And as I last, let me have him, even if it means, selfishly having him and loving him all for myself.

And Yet

You are not who I thought I will love
You are not who I thought I will cry for
And yet, you make me want to cry

I want to stop dead and not talk
I want to shut my eyes close and not look
And yet, I see your face everywhere

Or what is there to care?
Let me cry until tears run dry
Let me look for you until you are really here…
Even if I don’t know if you would really be there

//Author’s note: In the mood of wanting to cry. The experience of heart wrenching open, blood-oozing pain and the undeniable emotions of blinding madness.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Killing the Morality

The bright afternoon sun shone on her dreams. She blinked her eyes in surprise. How is it possible? It was only yesterday that she wondered about him. And how can he be here today?

She dreamed of him every night. She thought of him every day. She talked to him even in her sleep. His name became a prayer on her lips. And it is particularly his lips that stuck in her mind and gave her a feeling of wanting to touch it. That deep curve of smile. That sharp turn of lips. And since she first saw his pictures, she held his image in her head as if she believed that thinking of him every day would bring him in front of her for real. And from that day on, thinking of him became her job. If it did nothing good, it made her heart swell in love.

They waged stakes. The war was already waging inside her heart. But when one day he turned up in front of her for real and asked her to marry her, she did. Lying beside each other in bed under normal circumstances which was a bet in the hypothetical world of dreams became an everyday reality.

Author’s note: When two souls find each other’s furthest corners of hearts, they find the courage to take a leap and make mortal the morality. So thus, to find the place for their hearts, they forget what society will think of them.

A car instead of a ring

I loved him. The first time I lay my eyes on him was at my friend Karma’s house. He then had more of a rowdy looks of a teenager who hangs out in Thimphu town every night – knowing nothing better to do. But behind that, I could see in his eyes something more serious and deep. I kept wondering, “Why am I feeling that way when I’m with him?” For the few times I had to travel alone with him in his car, I had hard time finding nothing to say. I just felt too awkward and it was as if his presence was just so enormous that he occupied my seat as well.

Months passed. Years passed. Nothing happened. Friends started teasing. I think it was obvious that I felt something more than friendship. The best I could do was simply smile or tease someone back and not let my feelings show. I have never fallen in love before. I have no history of having dated any men. This made it easier for me to hide my feelings. I had never written a love letter in my life. I have always laughed when my friends cried missing their boyfriends. I simply couldn’t understand that missing someone would make you cry.

Then came the day when I had to say goodbye to him. He was going away to study—for a long time. It meant, another year will pass since I knew him. And I haven’t told him of my feelings yet. Am I getting late? Should I get bold and tell him, just once and for all? I thought I will not care what he thought of me; I thought, simply getting it out will cure me of the heartache I was quietly going through. But an unexpected gift awaited me. Two weeks before he was to leave, he told his friends that he was going to sell his car. I thought I should buy it. It is like, I thought, having his car, driving it by sitting exactly where he sat would give me warmth even if he didn’t love me; even if he was so far away. And so I decided to buy it. I arranged the money. And I talked to him.

I wouldn’t even have dreamed in the sweetest, most beautiful dream I ever had of what awaited me. He left his car with me and, his words were, “When I come back, I want both you and the car. I don’t know if you will consider me good enough for a husband, but there is no rush. Mail me.”

Now he is gone and I cry missing him. Every time I log in, I wish he were online. Every time my phone rings, I wish it were him calling. And every time, we talk of a gathering, I ache knowing that he wouldn’t be there. But if I could wait all those years and months without even letting him know what I was feeling inside, I know I can wait, when something more special like a love is guaranteed.

Monday, October 26, 2009

The Addict that I am

It is when I’m sitting with my friends talking that I suddenly think of my pending works. Or it is when I’m about to fall into a good slumber that I think of them. Then I tell myself, “Tomorrow, I will work. Tomorrow, I will ignore my friends even if they ask me how I’m doing.” But the next day I’m in the office, it is the same.

As soon as I log in on my gmail account, I see my friends. Luzee is one person I talk to, no matter how busy I am. And we always have endless things to talk about. So 10 minutes mean an hour. For that reason, I stay invisible most of the time, but like Luzee, if there is anyone who I prefer talking to, I end up wasting the whole day and then, my works remain pending. And so I have to keep trusting my last minute tips of working till bones give way.

Even today, I was determined that I will finish that one work which has been gnawing on me for a few weeks. But Luzee says, ‘oooi’ and there goes one hour of my time. Then comes another person, this person I have chosen to call a friend and there goes two hours of my time. And then, when I minize my window, I find my work glaring at me, as if to say, ‘you good for nothing a***********.’ I’m guilty. But of course, inwardly, I know, I will get this work done before my boss asks me to submit it. It is this feeling that always makes me a last minute worker. But somehow, no matter, how many times I try to tell myself, I cannot change. I think like some things are inborn, this habit cannot be changed.

Despite the frequent curse on my lack of determination and last minute rush, I know I will forever stick on this and look for my last minute rescue. I wonder if I sacrifice on the quality of my work by being a last minute worker. But then, I feel, even if I try to work from the beginning of good time, I wouldn’t do a good job, if my mind isn’t on it. So that saves me from feeling bad that I finish the work I must in 10 days in two.

Monday, October 19, 2009


A man who has lived meditating all his life is in Thimphu to visit his son. Finding that Thimphu isn’t a place for him, he soon wants to leave. One morning, he is at the Thimphu Bus Station. He gets into the bus; and just as soon, he comes out to ask someone nearby if he is in the right bus. He sees this cocky, young man, standing near the bus, a cigarette in his right hand, looking around condescendingly. The Tshampa asks the young man, “Young man, is this the bus to Lhuntse?” The boy looks squarely on the face of the Tshampa and replies, “Why would I know? I’m not the bus driver. Go over there and ask someone!”

For the person who asked this question, it meant nothing. He didn’t even think it was harsh. But to the observers nearby, it was a scornful behavior. For a young man like him, even if he was from very rich parents, it only showed his shallowness. But that was that.

When an observer remarks that he should be behaving better than that, he replies, “I don’t care!” with suppressed scorn.

I am yet another helpless spectator; I can only pray that all these young people will come to see the world better than they do now.

This is Bhutan

I moved to Adelaide, South Australia 10 months ago. This decision was driven by my belief that family has to be together and pursuing your c...