Monday, September 7, 2015

I Searched for you

I Searched for you.....

…among the boisterous crowd,
Yelled your name aloud,
Plodded along the sparkling brooks,
Combed all the odd nooks.

Looked even in a mole-hole,
Fiddled with numbers to give you a call,
Looked for you in the garbage pit,
And in a murky room candle-lit.

Spared not, even a trash bin,
Probed inside shredded pods of bean,
Hunted every room of office,
Isn’t it you among Langurs on tree canopies?

I searched for you inside ice-crammed water pipe,
Searched for you on Facebook and Skype,
Interrogated all brunettes and blondes,
I turned all the goddamn stones.

I dived in all the bone chilling rivers,
Hoping to find you among the beavers,
Sauntered along with the foxes,
Opened and tore all the carton boxes.

Where are you, my girl?
Exhausted! I am beginning to fall,
Not fair, come on give me a clue,
Tearing earthly rifts i shall reach you !!!

Karma Thukten
8th January, 2013

For Teacher’s Day

Oblivion is a murky passage,
impeded by trancing rut,
You risk  a lone walk
and allay your cognitive gut.

 Teachers are fiery flames,
 Illuminating that dark passage,
the helm of infallible wisdom,
under your feet I offer my reverent pledge.

You ushered rays of brilliance
into my ignorantly tainted soul
pacifying my urge for wisdom
you made me whole.

May 2nd is a historic milestone,
For me to laudably say,
Dear teacher, my Mentor

“ Joyful Teacher’s Day”. 

Thursday, September 27, 2012


G ray Toyota-Hilux truck drove along the bumpy farm road that bifurcated from the highway, closely followed by fumes of dust and pitch dark smokes, rumbling with distasteful clatter and halted with an abrupt jerk in our neighborhood. A bald man in his late thirties jostled his way through the truck gazing at the apartment he had rented recently.

 He wore a sweater tinted with a mosaic of tiny purple flowers and letters that looked more like graffiti than mere adornment, and Blue Jeans that went pretty well with white pair of sneakers. He was followed by a maid and a fair lady, his wife (or sister?) who was constantly throwing tantrums on him. It was much to expect, newly moved in couple quarrelling over petty issues in the neighborhood. They were followed by consignments they had brought along with them, sofa sets, tables carved with exotic woods, finely varnished chairs, TV set and other comfy amenities.

 That night, boisterous moment amid newly moved in couple nearly woke up half the neighborhood. They were quarrelling: one could hear crashing of bottles, ceramic plates and mugs, loud din and noisy two-way mutter in a dimly lit interior at the moment when people get used to hearing whining and shrill howl of nocturnal wolves and foxes lurking about the premises. “Damn it!” my cousin complained as he changed his sides on the bed, “they have begun too early”, looking at his watch with partially opened eyes and soon began to snore.

Fortnight elapsed in Tokhaphuville, newly moved in neighbor kept people at arm’s length not even bothering to exchange greetings. Most of the times the husband would be found with infuriated grimaces, he talked less save for the complaint that the place’s festooned with hell lot of rats, of assorted sizes and colors that found no other jobs than to nibble up his exorbitant articles. His wife kept herself indoors, I wonder if other neighbors saw her for once. Late night quarrels were usual phenomena in their house after they put up in the neighborhood of Tokhaphuville.

 The neighbors walked office agitated and their inability to sleep the previous night formed the topic of discussion every morning since the novice entered the neighborhood. None knew him to furnish any details if one were asked for except that the couples were irksome and kept on fighting the entire night, making their home a wrestling arena. He mowed his little lawn, painted fence posts with lime and erected a huge signboard at the entrance of the gate that read:


 Everyone respected the signboard and none seemed to have the audacity to trespass his premises. We were good the way it was, to be at a safer distance from the weirdoes and, him, from us. He was an intolerable cynic and a sadist!!! It was Saturday evening; the dusk crept at a snail’s pace and the little town of Tokhaphu lay adorned with brilliantly lit lamps with smokes issuing from the chimneys that left faint trails as it rose aloft.

Everything seemed perfect that particular moment, when, as usual but this time, little bit violent, the distraught new neighbors quarreled. “I will kill you! There’s limit to tolerance and you surpassed that thin line”, the man yelled “Kill her before we wake up half the neighborhood”, the wife joined in. The dialogue was followed by clanging and breaking of household stuffs, assault and resistance interpolated by brief silence and loud noise that would have awoken even a deaf duffer or perhaps dead. The people assembled under colossal oak tree with faintly lit lanterns whispering and muttering about the commotion in the neighbor’s house. Someone from the crowd suggested, “Let’s call the cops before we witness cold-blooded murder in our vicinity”, and began to punch 112 when an elderly man interrupted, “it’s no use calling the cops, by the time cops arrive, he and his wife would have murdered the maid, it’s an open and precarious conspiracy of murder we are dealing with. Let’s break in their house and save the maid”. “What is with this man? Is he on parole? For how long are we to face this sorta predicament?” someone muttered wrathfully.

 The crowd, more like a mob stampeded toward the “No Entry” zone, flung the gate wide open and entered in like pack of horses galloping to a finish line in a race. Inside the house, commotion and quarrels seemed to have unabated. Glasses broke, TV crashed on the floor, tables and chair dislodged and loud bang of someone’s head being battered by a club was heard. “I will get you, bitch. Just wait and see. Let me get a rock to crush your damn head”, the man inside yelled and pushed the door open to fetch a sizable rock to crush the maid’s head.

 As the man heaved the rock and tried entering inside, the crowd caught him by the arms entreating, “Please, simmer down. You are unto a heinous crime that would lead you nowhere than behind the bars. Let’s sit down and talk”. “What the hell are you talking about?” the man asked quizzically baffled by the crowd outside his porch standing like deserted animals seeking shelter from the downpour under thatched roof of a ramshackle hut. “Why are you so pissed off anyway?” the elderly man asked as he placed his hand on his shoulder to pacify him. “I have spent sleepless nights by her notoriety.

By virtue of her, half the neighborhood lay awake as I heard them speak behind me. I have had enough and I am gonna smash her head and dance upon her corpse”, the man retorted maliciously. “You don’t wanna be committing the crime. Take pity on the maid and spare her valuable life and you save yourself from redemption. Isn’t it even?” the crowd protested. “Maid? What the heck are you talking about? Let me go or she evades, hold me not for I got to do this work at any cost”.

 But the crowd clung to him firmly advising him not to do anything he was upto… “Leave me for this is the perfect opportunity I was waiting for since I moved in here. She will escape…she will”, he writhed trying hard to get out from the hold of the crowd when suddenly, a fat rat leapt out of the door followed by his wife with a broom stick, “There she goes…” the man muttered resentfully.

 Karma Thukten 27th of September,2012

Monday, September 3, 2012


I drew the shades of my 2 feet window apart trying to lend my ears to the patter of rain that was playing pleasant tunes in my ear one wintry night. Thick droplets of rain were battering the ground, excavating lumps of loosely embedded earth out. Attired in my night gown, I placed my coffee cup on the window sill to let drown few rain drops that struck my window pane. It was murky outside with the stars and heavenly bodies snoozing in the veil of the night. I think it was 9 pm when my cell phone rang.

I picked up my phone… ‘’Hello?” “ Oi, Chenga here. How are you? In Bumthang, right?” “ Oi, how did you remember me? Yea, I am in Bumthang and am good. What about you?” “I am good too. I am planning a trip to Mongar so thought like, I could halt at your place, enroute. It’s been long since we last met. Together we can hit the bar and spend some time there. What do you say?” “Splendid! When are you coming? I stay near Bhutan Telecom colony, you can call me when you get here” I responded excited by the thought of finally having a real friend with me and going to the bar, grabbing frozen beers and drinking into oblivion.

 He told me he would come the next day with his uncle driving the car. The same uncle who hitched me ride home in his red car, BP-2-2222 printed in bold on its number plate. Yawning with want of sleep, I curled myself up in my woolen blanket and I slept off. I woke up early in the morning, drew the curtains apart and looked outside,it was snowing: white flakes of snow fell from above like fluffy cottons ubiquitously heaping on barren land and atop verdant shrubs that grew rampantly all around. 

The day went on with me lazing about in the room for it was Saturday and office was off. I was waiting for my friend who would have started off in the morning and would halt in Trongsa. I feared the snow accumulated along Yotongla pass would deter traffic movement the other day when he was expected to be here, with me to paint the day with joyful smiles. Much coveted Sunday came too slow. The day was looking majestic; the snow shone bright giving off dazzling reflections to pedestrians who paced to and fro plodding in thick snow wearing knee heighted welling tons and clad in warm clothes..

 The day crept unnoticed and it was noon, my alter ego showed no sign of arrival. I tried calling but couldn’t connect for he must have been in a network scanty area. The dusk came, gulfing exquisite town of Bumthang and soon it was dark. I dozed off several times waiting…waiting…seated motionless on the chair.

 Giving up my hope of seeing my friend, I dined and headed for the bed groping in the dark for the erratic electricity had gone off. I think it was 11 at night when I heard engine of a car rumbling in the courtyard, halted with a jerk, door slammed shut and footsteps approached near the threshold. I was keenly listening to the footsteps. The man stopped near the door, paused for a minute and then rang the door bell.

 I stood near the door with a candle dimly lit, “Who is it?” I asked in a rigid tone to sound brave when I was actually trembling through my bones. There wasn’t any response for wee seconds and then heard him say “Karma, open the door. It’s Chenga”. I opened the door with a relief “Thank god! It’s you. I thought it was some ghosts lurking around my house. Where is your uncle?” “He stayed in his brothers’ place in the market. I drove the car here.

He wants me to pick him up tomorrow morning”, he said whisking off snowflakes that got on his jacket. “How come? You told me that you didn’t know how to drive. One may not have learnt to drive in a single day”. I asked glaring at him “I lied to you. I know how to drive, come and let’s talk on the bed, I am dead exhausted”, he said walking to my bedroom. “What about the supper? Sure, you would be ravenous and tired by virtue of the journey”. “No, we had dinner on the way. I am full.

I got to catch some sleep, would you mind?” he responded getting on the bed. It was chilly even aboard so sleeping sounded great thing that moment. He turned aside trying to sleep when I felt like talking to him for we had met after a long time. “Come-on Chenga, tell me how your journey was or else tell me a tale”, I pleaded. “I think the latter sounds tempting. Let me tell you a tale, a true incident that happened a year ago”, he continued, “It was during the fall when a friend of a man died when his car skidded down the road.

The ghost of that man visited his friend at night who was unaware of the mishap. They conversed the whole night and slept. Early morning when his friend awoke, the visitor was nowhere, thinking he had gone to toilet, he checked but found the door latched. He searched the whole house but found no trace of his friend, the door was bolted so he didn’t definitely go out. It was until next morning he was wary of his friends’ demise. The man died of shock the following day”. “Why do you sound like you are narrating the tale of you being dead and visiting me like the person in the tale?” I joked to pretend I was not at all afraid after his scary story which really ate my innards. “You and your craps. Let me sleep now and get yourself some sleep”, he bid me good night and slept. I was feeling drowsy that night like never before so I deemed sleeping the best thing to do. I rolled myself up adhering close to him for warmth but found that his torso was dead cold, may be the chilly weather bit him hard.

 As usual, I woke up the other morning by the crow of my neighbors’ cock. I wiped my eyes clean, stretched for sometime and as the thought of waking my friend came, I found my friend missing. He must have woken up early so as to pick up his uncle, I thought. I rose up to check the door but found it firmly bolted from inside just the way I left the other night. Shocked, I drew the curtains to peek outside to see if his car still lay in the courtyard but found it absent as well. Finding it hard to believe I sat on the chair marveling, when my eyes fell on Saturdays’ Newspaper: On the front page was the photo of what was left of a wrecked red car, with the heading “Car topples off the road near Dochula, killing all four aboard”…I pushed the paper aside and as I stood up to leave, my glance fell on the Number plate of the wrecked car…BP-2-2222

 Karma Thukten 4th of September, 2012