FACELESS ANGEL
Into the untainted cloudless skies
With brimful teary eyes,
Gazing through the wide flung door,
Whom was she sobbing for?
Her face in the veil of night,
Whose beauty the darkness did blight,
Cheeks smeared by thick teary stain,
She was so beautiful even then.
Flowers pinned into her plaited hair
Drooping in the tear drenched air,
Her face nestled on her elbow,
Was she waiting for her beau?
Peering at the abandoned road
Over the fields of barley and oat,
She hid her face in her palms
with tears fretting soft fleshes of her arms.
Wall in muted shades of red
Had a photo of a youthful lad,
Encased in a dexterous hand-made frame,
“My love Karma”, his name?
The glossy lips of an unknown hue
like a leaf blade gently caressed by the dew,
Oh! It glistened in the dark
Like a dungeon lit by a lightning spark.
Would he come for her?
Or is he stuck in the murky woods afar?
Or by the guiding star misled?
Fighting mists in the dark, dead?
Or the songs she kissed in the wind
Shall bestow him the hint,
The pure love she had kept,
Died waiting at the spot where she wept?
.
Karma Thukten
26th of June, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Monday, December 6, 2010
NIGHT OF HORROR
Clatter of thunder,
Incessant, unabated downpour,
In the dark I was
In partial stupor.
Vision obscure…
Smokes billowing in the graveyard
A wrinkled bloody hand
Crept up through the earth.
Cross rose high,
Tilted and fell apart,
Earth loosened and sank in
As the hand pushed up hard.
Squealing wind ferried
The dead souls’ pine
Throwing chills along
The spine of mine.
Dead rose from the coffin
With hollow chest or a shattered knee,
Lifeless warriors of war
Stampeded towards me.
Nauseating stench in the air,
Eerily silent it got,
Save for the frothy saliva
Gushing through my throat.
Body bathed in cold sweats,
Heart palpitated fast,
Few minutes more
And I won’t last!
Solitary and dead terrified,
I had every reason
To turn off, then,
The wretched television.
Karma Thukten
25th November, 2010
Incessant, unabated downpour,
In the dark I was
In partial stupor.
Vision obscure…
Smokes billowing in the graveyard
A wrinkled bloody hand
Crept up through the earth.
Cross rose high,
Tilted and fell apart,
Earth loosened and sank in
As the hand pushed up hard.
Squealing wind ferried
The dead souls’ pine
Throwing chills along
The spine of mine.
Dead rose from the coffin
With hollow chest or a shattered knee,
Lifeless warriors of war
Stampeded towards me.
Nauseating stench in the air,
Eerily silent it got,
Save for the frothy saliva
Gushing through my throat.
Body bathed in cold sweats,
Heart palpitated fast,
Few minutes more
And I won’t last!
Solitary and dead terrified,
I had every reason
To turn off, then,
The wretched television.
Karma Thukten
25th November, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
NEW HOSTEL, INDIRA GANDHI NATIONAL FOREST ACADEMY, DEHRADUN-MY ROOM # B-1
Towards the mess, take a slight left turn,
You will see a room, in the face of sun,
Precisely, you get this direction,
Then you stand at the door of room # B-1
Still, you got that confusion
To spot out my room # B-1,
Perhaps then, you may want a small hint,
Simple, ideally follow the course of wind.
GPS, maps and compass you need not
Or laud praises in the name of lord
To get to my room, no haste and don’t run
For the room is conspicuous, room # B-1.
Before the room stands Pterocarpus, a massive tree,
A small garden with flowers that sway free,
Dull looking door with none to adorn
Has the room # B-1.
And if, of your instincts, you’re sure
Give a knock or gentle tap on the door,
Smiling, busy, worn-out or with a yawn
But, you will be welcomed in room # B-1.
Through the window, drawn with brown curtain,
You have the panoramic view of distant mountain,
Birds, amazing creatures and of seasonal flowers you learn
in this room, room # B-1.
Have hot steaming tea, feel at home
For whoever has come,
Spent few minutes here and did return
Always covets to be back here, room # B-1.
I did enjoy and I had fun,
Reminiscences of works well done!
And of a thing I shall warn,
Once here, twice you’ll be, room # B-1
Karma Thukten
09th of November, 2010
You will see a room, in the face of sun,
Precisely, you get this direction,
Then you stand at the door of room # B-1
Still, you got that confusion
To spot out my room # B-1,
Perhaps then, you may want a small hint,
Simple, ideally follow the course of wind.
GPS, maps and compass you need not
Or laud praises in the name of lord
To get to my room, no haste and don’t run
For the room is conspicuous, room # B-1.
Before the room stands Pterocarpus, a massive tree,
A small garden with flowers that sway free,
Dull looking door with none to adorn
Has the room # B-1.
And if, of your instincts, you’re sure
Give a knock or gentle tap on the door,
Smiling, busy, worn-out or with a yawn
But, you will be welcomed in room # B-1.
Through the window, drawn with brown curtain,
You have the panoramic view of distant mountain,
Birds, amazing creatures and of seasonal flowers you learn
in this room, room # B-1.
Have hot steaming tea, feel at home
For whoever has come,
Spent few minutes here and did return
Always covets to be back here, room # B-1.
I did enjoy and I had fun,
Reminiscences of works well done!
And of a thing I shall warn,
Once here, twice you’ll be, room # B-1
Karma Thukten
09th of November, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
AN EPISTLE
A LETTER FROM MY YOUNGER SISTER
I
Was peeking through the window ajar, a tree squealing in the storm, its apex bent through considerable angle that I feared the tree would break, thick droplets of rain pattering over black pitched road and people pacing to and fro hastily not forgetting to exchange rapid greeting by way of reluctant nods, when I heard footsteps approaching the threshold of my door.
‘Tap…tap’, someone knocked, I shrugged woolen blanket from my warmly wrapped body aside and stood up to see who it was.
Drenched in the rain, hairs muddled into messy strands and with an agitated face stood our college messenger in a bowing posture,
“Sir, I got a letter for you” and shoved his fumbling hand into his hemchu*and took out a crumbled envelope, bearing my name,
‘‘To,
Karma Thukten
Sherubtse College- Kanglung’’
On the right top vertex was pasted a torn stamp with a fortress bearing the name- Paro Dzong** in silhouette, rest being rendered obscure possibly by the water that seeped in the messenger’s pocket. I could see Nu.10 on the stamp and partially distorted seal, “Wamrong post office”. The stamp had a serrated outline.
“Any idea, who sent this letter to me?”
“I have no idea sir; it was brought to me by the postman. I thought it would be imperative and mean emergency so I rushed here”.
“ Here, sir’’, the messenger handed over the epistle and hurried downstairs giving me no opportunity to even say,’’ Thank you” or call him over a cup of hot steaming tea.
Looking at the envelope from all facets conjecturing who would have sent it, a medium that’s nudged away and ignored by many upon the advent of modern media, I sat on the pile of my blanket heaped on the bed to open it.
I tore open the envelope assuring the page inside intact and sent my inquisitive glances over the words written.
It was one paged letter penned down over an orthodox ruled paper with horrible pencil handwriting to have been written by any of my adult friends, to the best of my knowledge and it read:
It was a brief writing jotted down with much perseverance and love by my younger sister, Tshewang Lhamo whom we fondly call zamin meaning ‘girl’ in our eastern parlance, at home.
I felt a sudden trauma in my heart as I read through the lines. It has been awhile and possibly ages since I haven’t met my family and to get apprised my younger brother, Dawa fallen ill. The letter, though brief appeared so eloquent, though erroneous looked grammatically perfect and reading for more than thrice had me shedding brimful of tears.
For sometime, I lay on my bed looking at how my joy could fit in that piece of chit my younger sister sent me. I knew I wouldn’t have been that exulted had some bosses in a firm sent a promotion memo or a billet-doux from one’s heartthrob.
Messages in a phone get deleted, sweet words of our sweet heart get forgotten, that can only be partially remembered upon hard recollection but a letter of that ilk from someone who loves you beyond surmise more than your love remains there to be read once, twice, thrice and repeatedly to smile amid tears and feel someone’s there for you when whole world stands aside, away from you.
I can’t say how happy I was that moment but can certainly bet I was the happiest of all, that very moment.
Karma Thukten
4th of November, 2010
*Hemchu is a pocket made by a Bhutanese male gown
I
Was peeking through the window ajar, a tree squealing in the storm, its apex bent through considerable angle that I feared the tree would break, thick droplets of rain pattering over black pitched road and people pacing to and fro hastily not forgetting to exchange rapid greeting by way of reluctant nods, when I heard footsteps approaching the threshold of my door.
‘Tap…tap’, someone knocked, I shrugged woolen blanket from my warmly wrapped body aside and stood up to see who it was.
Drenched in the rain, hairs muddled into messy strands and with an agitated face stood our college messenger in a bowing posture,
“Sir, I got a letter for you” and shoved his fumbling hand into his hemchu*and took out a crumbled envelope, bearing my name,
‘‘To,
Karma Thukten
Sherubtse College- Kanglung’’
On the right top vertex was pasted a torn stamp with a fortress bearing the name- Paro Dzong** in silhouette, rest being rendered obscure possibly by the water that seeped in the messenger’s pocket. I could see Nu.10 on the stamp and partially distorted seal, “Wamrong post office”. The stamp had a serrated outline.
“Any idea, who sent this letter to me?”
“I have no idea sir; it was brought to me by the postman. I thought it would be imperative and mean emergency so I rushed here”.
“ Here, sir’’, the messenger handed over the epistle and hurried downstairs giving me no opportunity to even say,’’ Thank you” or call him over a cup of hot steaming tea.
Looking at the envelope from all facets conjecturing who would have sent it, a medium that’s nudged away and ignored by many upon the advent of modern media, I sat on the pile of my blanket heaped on the bed to open it.
I tore open the envelope assuring the page inside intact and sent my inquisitive glances over the words written.
It was one paged letter penned down over an orthodox ruled paper with horrible pencil handwriting to have been written by any of my adult friends, to the best of my knowledge and it read:
It was a brief writing jotted down with much perseverance and love by my younger sister, Tshewang Lhamo whom we fondly call zamin meaning ‘girl’ in our eastern parlance, at home.
I felt a sudden trauma in my heart as I read through the lines. It has been awhile and possibly ages since I haven’t met my family and to get apprised my younger brother, Dawa fallen ill. The letter, though brief appeared so eloquent, though erroneous looked grammatically perfect and reading for more than thrice had me shedding brimful of tears.
For sometime, I lay on my bed looking at how my joy could fit in that piece of chit my younger sister sent me. I knew I wouldn’t have been that exulted had some bosses in a firm sent a promotion memo or a billet-doux from one’s heartthrob.
Messages in a phone get deleted, sweet words of our sweet heart get forgotten, that can only be partially remembered upon hard recollection but a letter of that ilk from someone who loves you beyond surmise more than your love remains there to be read once, twice, thrice and repeatedly to smile amid tears and feel someone’s there for you when whole world stands aside, away from you.
I can’t say how happy I was that moment but can certainly bet I was the happiest of all, that very moment.
Karma Thukten
4th of November, 2010
*Hemchu is a pocket made by a Bhutanese male gown
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
THERE, HE IS MY FATHER
THERE, HE IS MY FATHER
Didn’t you hold my flabby hand
And lead me through the crowd,
Seating me on your lap
And of my visage laud?
Didn’t you recount tales
Million times told,
Just to lull me into sleep
When I was a year old?
Wasn’t it your tear
From a crestfallen heart,
Incessantly trickling on my cheeks
When your marriage tore apart?
Didn’t you swap your onus
Of being mom and dad
To cater juveniles four,
Whose smiles kept you glad?
Wasn’t it you, who taught me the word, ‘dad’
Which with soft tweets I mumbled,
Hearing which words you wept
Covertly with hands fumbled?
Whenever thorns pricked my soft flesh,
Wasn’t it you, who bore the agony,
Condemning self for not being good
Taking care of me?
No matter how hideous,
Destitute, old or lame
The parents are, their
Children will always love them.
My father, aged are you now,
Vision, weak to see
Your son standing to hold your hand
And walk together as once you did to me.
KARMA THUKTEN
31ST OF AUGUST, 2010
Didn’t you hold my flabby hand
And lead me through the crowd,
Seating me on your lap
And of my visage laud?
Didn’t you recount tales
Million times told,
Just to lull me into sleep
When I was a year old?
Wasn’t it your tear
From a crestfallen heart,
Incessantly trickling on my cheeks
When your marriage tore apart?
Didn’t you swap your onus
Of being mom and dad
To cater juveniles four,
Whose smiles kept you glad?
Wasn’t it you, who taught me the word, ‘dad’
Which with soft tweets I mumbled,
Hearing which words you wept
Covertly with hands fumbled?
Whenever thorns pricked my soft flesh,
Wasn’t it you, who bore the agony,
Condemning self for not being good
Taking care of me?
No matter how hideous,
Destitute, old or lame
The parents are, their
Children will always love them.
My father, aged are you now,
Vision, weak to see
Your son standing to hold your hand
And walk together as once you did to me.
KARMA THUKTEN
31ST OF AUGUST, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
SWEET MONSOON SHOWER
Flowers fill the fallow farm
As monsoon rain spill,
Morning fresh and weather warm,
Monsoon’s down the hill.
Autumn hails brimful of smiles
Of joyous monsoon rain,
Seeping along thousand miles,
It bickers down the drain.
Sings in delight the monsoon rain
Pattering on my window sill,
“I give the farmers grain
And shower at my will”.
Trees sway in unison
When breeze ascends the valley,
Merry birds chirp in fun
Soaring aloft in rally.
Covertly patrols Sarus Crane,
Mooing buffaloes wallow,
Dipping in monsoon rain
Ponds wide and shallow.
Morning damp and foliage green,
Earth abound with cherries,
When monsoon ushers in
Brings in heavenly bliss!
Floral aroma in the air
With laden pollen dust,
To pray, I shall dare,
Monsoon forever last!
Karma Thukten
3rd of August, 2010
TIGER AND THE LAMB
Dimly was the evening lit,
Bleakly shone the moon,
Tick-tick the clock ticked
Seven past the noon.
Staggered forth a thirsty lamb
To where a brook was,
Tiger hid hushed and dumb
Behind the lemon grass.
Alighting beast anon to pounce,
“Spare me”, the lamb cried,
“I weigh lean half an ounce
Won’t appease your appetite”.
“My limbs frail and lean,
Born back the dozen days,
Insipid flesh and belly thin,
Just learnt to graze”.
“How ravenous a tiger is,
Grasses, we munch not,
Predate preys not to please.
To live”, the tiger roared.
“Our food’s hard earned,
Got two cubs to feed,
Empty belly I hunt
We don’t live on tumble-weed”.
“Labyrinth-nature plays,
Doleful creatures stray.
Foodweb’s a maze,
For long it’ll stay”.
“Feet injured and teeth blunt,
Cubs in me has no faith,
If I don’t hunt,
Won’t they starve to death?”
“If morrow, grasses plead
to feed on huss
Or on a fetid meat,
Would you forgo grass?”
“Devour me”, the lamb bleat,
“My skin for you, friend.
Let your cubs feed
Till I wholly end”.
Karma Thukten
4th Of August, 2010
Bleakly shone the moon,
Tick-tick the clock ticked
Seven past the noon.
Staggered forth a thirsty lamb
To where a brook was,
Tiger hid hushed and dumb
Behind the lemon grass.
Alighting beast anon to pounce,
“Spare me”, the lamb cried,
“I weigh lean half an ounce
Won’t appease your appetite”.
“My limbs frail and lean,
Born back the dozen days,
Insipid flesh and belly thin,
Just learnt to graze”.
“How ravenous a tiger is,
Grasses, we munch not,
Predate preys not to please.
To live”, the tiger roared.
“Our food’s hard earned,
Got two cubs to feed,
Empty belly I hunt
We don’t live on tumble-weed”.
“Labyrinth-nature plays,
Doleful creatures stray.
Foodweb’s a maze,
For long it’ll stay”.
“Feet injured and teeth blunt,
Cubs in me has no faith,
If I don’t hunt,
Won’t they starve to death?”
“If morrow, grasses plead
to feed on huss
Or on a fetid meat,
Would you forgo grass?”
“Devour me”, the lamb bleat,
“My skin for you, friend.
Let your cubs feed
Till I wholly end”.
Karma Thukten
4th Of August, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
IT TAKES A WILL TO CHANGE THE WORLD
IT TAKES A WILL TO CHANGE THE WORLD
Whenever in awe you are,
World jeering you with gales of laughter,
Downtrodden and lost in hope,
And when you feel you’re a dope…
Whenever your attempts turn futile,
Foot refuses to walk another mile,
Your sweats seep into dreary river bed
sinking beneath, unrewarded…
Whenever you feel agony in heart,
Your dreams shattered apart,
Repeated failures let you down
I pray, look around…
Look at those beauty created by men,
A car, computer, ship and plane,
Built by an assiduous man so blue
at initial failures just like you!
The will to succeed is what takes you
to success bulldozing your way through
obstacles of criticisms and blame,
Bearing only at the end, fruits of name and fame
Be it to paint skies with colors manifold
Or to carve earth with gold,
It takes an optimist man, young or old
A will to change the world.
Karma Thukten
14th July, 2010
Whenever in awe you are,
World jeering you with gales of laughter,
Downtrodden and lost in hope,
And when you feel you’re a dope…
Whenever your attempts turn futile,
Foot refuses to walk another mile,
Your sweats seep into dreary river bed
sinking beneath, unrewarded…
Whenever you feel agony in heart,
Your dreams shattered apart,
Repeated failures let you down
I pray, look around…
Look at those beauty created by men,
A car, computer, ship and plane,
Built by an assiduous man so blue
at initial failures just like you!
The will to succeed is what takes you
to success bulldozing your way through
obstacles of criticisms and blame,
Bearing only at the end, fruits of name and fame
Be it to paint skies with colors manifold
Or to carve earth with gold,
It takes an optimist man, young or old
A will to change the world.
Karma Thukten
14th July, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
VALEDICTORY WORDS FOR MY SENIORS
Together we watched the sun set,
Together defied academic laws,
Together, mocked at people
Over their silly flaws.
Together we greeted seasons in,
Together merrily sang aloud,
Together, we learnt
Day in, day out!
Together in agony we wept,
Together worked as a part,
Together we soothed
A broken heart!
Together teachers turned us sagacious,
Together hardships we resisted,
Together always, we stayed,
As though loneliness never existed!
Togetherness has become our habit,
Be it to listen or to talk,
But now, as you would go away
We would forget even to walk.
The chairs upon which you sat once,
Vacant later, we may find,
But you shall be missed,
Loved and thought always in our mind.
Deserting the place you would leave,
Poor me, gifts I have not,
But words expressing my love,
For words are all I have got.
We shall pray for thy success,
Almighty deprive thee of pain
And a time more
Bring us together again.
Karma Thukten
28/06/2010
Together defied academic laws,
Together, mocked at people
Over their silly flaws.
Together we greeted seasons in,
Together merrily sang aloud,
Together, we learnt
Day in, day out!
Together in agony we wept,
Together worked as a part,
Together we soothed
A broken heart!
Together teachers turned us sagacious,
Together hardships we resisted,
Together always, we stayed,
As though loneliness never existed!
Togetherness has become our habit,
Be it to listen or to talk,
But now, as you would go away
We would forget even to walk.
The chairs upon which you sat once,
Vacant later, we may find,
But you shall be missed,
Loved and thought always in our mind.
Deserting the place you would leave,
Poor me, gifts I have not,
But words expressing my love,
For words are all I have got.
We shall pray for thy success,
Almighty deprive thee of pain
And a time more
Bring us together again.
Karma Thukten
28/06/2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
ON HIS DEATH-BED
ON HIS DEATH-BED
M
y grandpa lay in his death bed, pale as spring rose swaying amid gentle breeze deprived of nutrition. He looked so worn out from the life he has had spent over 84 years, his physical looks would testify my statement- wrinkled faces with whatever little flesh he had thrown into folds of pink tinge, facial bones accentuated into massive protuberance above the lean jaws, grey hairs so messy as though not combed for ages and incessantly he coughed in spurts moving feebly his sight around us assembled to bid him final farewell. He had blue blanket presented to him by my father during his visit to village, covered his torso till his chest. As he swerved a bit, his old bed, perhaps as old as himself crackled with an obnoxious clatter.
‘’ It feels so great to have all of you here at a same time’’, grandpa groaned with a hoarse voice as my father watched him with eyes brimful of tears, ‘’ its 12 years since your mom passed away Dhendup’’, he told my pensive father
‘’ yes, I remember father, since when I was 18 years of age’’, my father responded in his shaky voice filled with agony as he watched me stand aside to him.
‘’ Karma, I want you to pick up that old tape recorder of mine on the shelf, I won it during singing competition held by the district government. It was the time when Pema got really impressed with me…’’.
“Pema…?’’
‘’ your grandmother’’, my father whispered.
‘’ I still remember the night she was seated on a chair watching me sing on the stage. She was the most beautiful lady then, attired in her favorite Kira* and tego**, her sweet glittering eyes whose glare was so mesmerizing. I was sort of hero then with all my heart given to her. Karma, play that audio cassette of my recorded voice sung that night of 1920, it’s beside the tape-recorder. I listen to it everytime rejuvenating my memories of my erstwhile love, my wife who left me alone to shoulder the bitter world, now that am bedridden, I want you to play for me’’, he said pointing to the shelf with his fumbling finger with tears flowing like a brook along the gorges from his weak-sighted eyes.
‘’ Yes, I will do that’’, I obeyed. Then I shoved the cassette in the recorder and pushed the ‘play’ button. It didn’t take long when we could hear our granddad sing in his powerful and enchanting voice as he took a deep breath of relief listening to it. My father broke out in a burst of tears as he heard his father sing; perhaps he heard the song long before I was ever born.
‘’ I used to collect wild berries from the woods for her. Last week, I went to see that tree but it has dried up, shriveled to that extent that it took me couple of minutes to figure it out, till I remembered the bough Pema used to cling on while I climbed up, it remained all the same’’, he held her photo, black and white torn at the edges close to his heart gazing frequently and crying hard.
On the old shelf were frames with the young photos of him, young and energetic that pretty much looked liked me. Many a times I heard my dad say that I resemble granddad for which I didn’t believe much but now, he truly was like me, same dreamy eyes with that glowing face and notorious smile I have on my face now. The photo lasted for ages all the same conserving his strength though in factuality his strength dwindled and sight weakened.
‘’ It was our happiest day when she gave birth to Dhendup, the symbol of our love that we kept alive all those years. I am weak now, I was also like you Karma, strong and impulsive when I was young, you see that trophy, that one over the table, I got it when I was declared man of the match in a soccer match by the mayor of the district. I can’t even walk now, that’s the bizarre transformation time brings in, my son’’.
I found my eyes tickling at the edges as I listened to him to finally give way to tears. The melodious song was still in the air as though he sang it yesterday and not ages ago.
‘’ Karma, I want you to revere your parents, hurt not others with what hurts you, be good and honest for life is short and we can’t adhere to one we love for eternity. I know you are a good man now, no more a boy. Be rational for wise rule the world. I have to go now, for many times I offended Pema by not reciprocating her everytime she calls me in the middle of the night since she left me. I got to go now. I am complacent you people came to watch me, It isn't an intestate death now’’.
All of us burst into tears as he, for the last time kissed her photo and closed his eyes to get into never waking slumber.
Karma Thukten
27/06/2010
*Dress worn by Bhutanese women woven out of intricate patterns covering their whole body till the toes
** Cloth worn by women over the Kira
M
y grandpa lay in his death bed, pale as spring rose swaying amid gentle breeze deprived of nutrition. He looked so worn out from the life he has had spent over 84 years, his physical looks would testify my statement- wrinkled faces with whatever little flesh he had thrown into folds of pink tinge, facial bones accentuated into massive protuberance above the lean jaws, grey hairs so messy as though not combed for ages and incessantly he coughed in spurts moving feebly his sight around us assembled to bid him final farewell. He had blue blanket presented to him by my father during his visit to village, covered his torso till his chest. As he swerved a bit, his old bed, perhaps as old as himself crackled with an obnoxious clatter.
‘’ It feels so great to have all of you here at a same time’’, grandpa groaned with a hoarse voice as my father watched him with eyes brimful of tears, ‘’ its 12 years since your mom passed away Dhendup’’, he told my pensive father
‘’ yes, I remember father, since when I was 18 years of age’’, my father responded in his shaky voice filled with agony as he watched me stand aside to him.
‘’ Karma, I want you to pick up that old tape recorder of mine on the shelf, I won it during singing competition held by the district government. It was the time when Pema got really impressed with me…’’.
“Pema…?’’
‘’ your grandmother’’, my father whispered.
‘’ I still remember the night she was seated on a chair watching me sing on the stage. She was the most beautiful lady then, attired in her favorite Kira* and tego**, her sweet glittering eyes whose glare was so mesmerizing. I was sort of hero then with all my heart given to her. Karma, play that audio cassette of my recorded voice sung that night of 1920, it’s beside the tape-recorder. I listen to it everytime rejuvenating my memories of my erstwhile love, my wife who left me alone to shoulder the bitter world, now that am bedridden, I want you to play for me’’, he said pointing to the shelf with his fumbling finger with tears flowing like a brook along the gorges from his weak-sighted eyes.
‘’ Yes, I will do that’’, I obeyed. Then I shoved the cassette in the recorder and pushed the ‘play’ button. It didn’t take long when we could hear our granddad sing in his powerful and enchanting voice as he took a deep breath of relief listening to it. My father broke out in a burst of tears as he heard his father sing; perhaps he heard the song long before I was ever born.
‘’ I used to collect wild berries from the woods for her. Last week, I went to see that tree but it has dried up, shriveled to that extent that it took me couple of minutes to figure it out, till I remembered the bough Pema used to cling on while I climbed up, it remained all the same’’, he held her photo, black and white torn at the edges close to his heart gazing frequently and crying hard.
On the old shelf were frames with the young photos of him, young and energetic that pretty much looked liked me. Many a times I heard my dad say that I resemble granddad for which I didn’t believe much but now, he truly was like me, same dreamy eyes with that glowing face and notorious smile I have on my face now. The photo lasted for ages all the same conserving his strength though in factuality his strength dwindled and sight weakened.
‘’ It was our happiest day when she gave birth to Dhendup, the symbol of our love that we kept alive all those years. I am weak now, I was also like you Karma, strong and impulsive when I was young, you see that trophy, that one over the table, I got it when I was declared man of the match in a soccer match by the mayor of the district. I can’t even walk now, that’s the bizarre transformation time brings in, my son’’.
I found my eyes tickling at the edges as I listened to him to finally give way to tears. The melodious song was still in the air as though he sang it yesterday and not ages ago.
‘’ Karma, I want you to revere your parents, hurt not others with what hurts you, be good and honest for life is short and we can’t adhere to one we love for eternity. I know you are a good man now, no more a boy. Be rational for wise rule the world. I have to go now, for many times I offended Pema by not reciprocating her everytime she calls me in the middle of the night since she left me. I got to go now. I am complacent you people came to watch me, It isn't an intestate death now’’.
All of us burst into tears as he, for the last time kissed her photo and closed his eyes to get into never waking slumber.
Karma Thukten
27/06/2010
*Dress worn by Bhutanese women woven out of intricate patterns covering their whole body till the toes
** Cloth worn by women over the Kira
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
MANALI-THE VALLEY OF GODS
MANALI-THE VALLEY OF GODS
Not by the greeting faces of sun-tanned fellows,
Along the highway, by sheer swaying willows
But, immense serenity soaked in the valley
Were we welcomed by the little town of Manali*.
Chilly wind of North escorted us in
Through vales bountiful of fresh floras all green.
Snow clad peaks zeroed in, gleaming white as ever,
As we cruised along, growling winding river.
Picturesque little houses strewn all over
Vales of paradise for enthusiastic nature lover,
Who long to see the glittering glaciers glow,
Listen to the faint jingling of rhythmic wind blow.
Men wrapped in fur overcoats with designed bouquets,
Fumbling hands shoved deep in their pockets,
Wearing wellingtons knee heighted in Manali sold
Do the fortunate mortals rejoice in cold.
Colorful attires and hats adorn the earth,
Men amid delightful weather stroll in mirth
Whistling and singing ditties of spring joys
As graceful young girls walk past the flirty boys!
Majestic Deodar trees on terrains all around,
Tulips growing ubiquitously along the sloping mound
Tinted with flaky white snow
Brings within peace to people dwelling below.
If you hadn’t seen heavenly bliss for ages,
And deem to be one of those lost sages
In quest of tranquility in doldrums albeit,
Visit charming Manali, happiness guaranteed!
Karma Thukten
23/06/2010
*Manali is a little exquisite town in Himachal Pradesh
Not by the greeting faces of sun-tanned fellows,
Along the highway, by sheer swaying willows
But, immense serenity soaked in the valley
Were we welcomed by the little town of Manali*.
Chilly wind of North escorted us in
Through vales bountiful of fresh floras all green.
Snow clad peaks zeroed in, gleaming white as ever,
As we cruised along, growling winding river.
Picturesque little houses strewn all over
Vales of paradise for enthusiastic nature lover,
Who long to see the glittering glaciers glow,
Listen to the faint jingling of rhythmic wind blow.
Men wrapped in fur overcoats with designed bouquets,
Fumbling hands shoved deep in their pockets,
Wearing wellingtons knee heighted in Manali sold
Do the fortunate mortals rejoice in cold.
Colorful attires and hats adorn the earth,
Men amid delightful weather stroll in mirth
Whistling and singing ditties of spring joys
As graceful young girls walk past the flirty boys!
Majestic Deodar trees on terrains all around,
Tulips growing ubiquitously along the sloping mound
Tinted with flaky white snow
Brings within peace to people dwelling below.
If you hadn’t seen heavenly bliss for ages,
And deem to be one of those lost sages
In quest of tranquility in doldrums albeit,
Visit charming Manali, happiness guaranteed!
Karma Thukten
23/06/2010
*Manali is a little exquisite town in Himachal Pradesh
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