8/26/2013

A letter to my friend.


Dear Dawa,

In those beautiful lapses of time, you may have pleasant memories of our past times spent together. And here I am, under the favourite pine tree of our childhood with a pen and a notebook, recollecting old images as those bamboos that we planted together vividly evokes two young friends digging ground to plant an emaciated sapling. It was your idea to help the poor plant, and for the hand that I lent to you and the help that I rendered to the plant, now it is providing me some of the old memories from his gallery to let me write the things I remember of our togetherness and the things that I like you to hear.

Don’t mind me for not asking about your academic performance as it is needless to say that you were a formidable all-rounder and I’m glad that you still are the same ‘old ‘ Dawa, there in Mongar. But I would like to know about our mother, dear father and those naughty fools (Sonam and Dorji). I hope they are healthy as they used to be here and cordial to the new neighbours. I’m really missing them.

Here, in Tingtibi, nothing has changed much; the new road, constructed according to new town planning scheme, is still overpowered by the weeds and the bad prospect about it is soon it would be trounced by those adamant grasses, the river is still the same (though there is no significance of it being mentioned here), there are no new teachers in TLSS, and the number of shops are still limited to few.  However, despite these, there still are some changes - the prices of the vegetables had recently fluctuated to very huge cost and every articles in shops here, are falling into the common trend and the very sad thing is that , your favourite, uncle Jimmy lives no more.

I came to know of him through my brother (as I was also away from home for few months) that he had died of the reason which is baffling to me. His funeral was attended by his own father- the irony of young leaving before the old. I felt sorry for the poor old Jimmy, perhaps his fate was written by a short-lived pen. His passing away might have vacated a place in their family literally, but he still roams in the place that two of us have for him- love.

Climate? Here the nights are becoming bit colder (I don’t know why- could it be a consequence of global warming or the effect of the warmth taken away by your leaving?) and the days are usual- oppressive yet fine. Had you been here, the days would have taken the old ways. I still miss the night walks that we used to take along the road to our old school and sometimes along the way to hospital. The moonlit night, the cool shivering breeze and the laughter of our friends... aren't you missing those sentimental times? I just wish I had the time machine to experience those days again and again.

Sooner or later, I also would be leaving this place to pursue my education ( I don’t know where I would end up horribly or land successfully ) and I don’t know who would be here then to take care of those bamboos and the beautiful guava and growing mango trees. I don’t know why sometimes I feel, like late Uncle Jimmy, won’t these plants take the same route the moment we are away. But it would be an insanity to take such heed in mere plants (as in other’s perspectives). They had been growing along with us that I feel just the same to them as I do for you and Sonam and Dorji- I feel like they are human sometimes ( and don’t think I’m mad for putting up my philosophical lines ). Perhaps you might understand me.

There aren't many things I have got for you today. I only liked to let you know the obituary of our neighbour, Uncle Jimmy and one thing particularly- that I miss you a lot.

Tingtibi hasn't changed itself and it hasn't changed me either; I’m still your old loving and caring brother and the best friend


Sonam.  

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