4/30/2014
4/26/2014
CHOOSING A SIDE
If I have not heard that humorous song – one in the tune of
the Bol Bachchan's song – blaring out from the amplifier fixed on a scooter
rikshaw, the subject may not have surfaced at all. The song is all praise to
the candidature of a man representing a political party with the emblem of
white clean face of a hand. Observed carefully. It’s an open right hand, posed
for blessing.
“There goes one of your parties,” I told one classmate,
walking along with me; one who’s less caring about what the song is conveying
at all.
“Congress,” he was confident but the tone with which he
called the name was less enthusiastic.
“The one to whom you're going to vote?”
“No! Not to it again,” he assured. “Congress is not my party
anymore but the flower. I am settled with it.”
“Why not Congress? They work good. They are good to be
straight. Even our country, as friend, benefitted a lot from them. They might
work better if given a chance this time again,” I remonstrated.
“Forget it coming to power again! Instead they'll only
retard the progress while wallowing themselves in the bliss of the tenure. All
farce.”
“They are corrupt?”
“Not exactly.”
Another classmate who claims to come from the neighbouring
state and till then who’d been eavesdropping us charged in: “ Modiji is honest.
Better leader. India will run when he climbs to power. And your country will
develop by leaps and bounds by the relation he creates.”
This caused smile on me.”But Congress already did that. They
cemented good relation between us.”
The latter classmate replied on this, ”Congress only
stretched a hand forward. Less assistance, isn’t it? Whereas, Lotus will offer
you both.” He joined his hands in the gesture he meant.
“If both the hands are offered to us, well then with what
will it look after it’s own homeland?”
“Never mind!” he was ready. “Still got the loyal feet and
honest eyes.” Little mirth followed.
“So whom do you like?” the same countered me with the
question.
“I don't know now. You confused me. Politics is a headache.
I understand them less. I am a foreigner here anyway. And my liking is not a
penny worth to your democracy.”
“Don't say like this. You live here so, you ought to be
responsible too! Choose Modiji. I
suggest if you’re confused.”
“Futile again. I can’t caste a vote. Why choose?” I declined
again.
“At least you can join a campaign,” both suggested.
“ Can’t do that either. We're expected to be aloof of things
as this by the rules set against us, framed by the heads who sent us here.
Breach them and we are expelled. Our involvement in your politics is forbidden.
You see? “
“Oh!”
I could reason them
of my preference to remaining away, satisfactorily. But I sensed that my denial
turned them down. As an apology I said:
“But if you happen to distribute pamphlets, disseminating your party’s manifestos,
bother to pass me one. Reading, at least, may not break the rules I am bound
with. Moreover, I like to know better your Uncle Modiji.” J
4/24/2014
SLEEPLESS
I woke up with slight pain at side neck. Little uneasy head.
The whole previous night, I’d been awake, not knowing how to sleep. Constant tossing and turning only kept me
away from sleep rather than putting me into it. No measures could induce the
need in me.
I tried plugging in ear piece. It only hurt my ear canals.
List of favourite tracks, moreover, kept me to themselves rather than lulling
me to sleep. It’s like they developed certain likeness to me as I do to them.
Mutual relationship. So, it has become less effective a remedy now.
It’s not a hard ritual for me usually to retreat to sleep at
such late night hours. Fatigue muscles and exhausted body used to briskly
succumb to momentary peace. But unusual pandemonium seems to have broken loose
within the reach of my consciousness. Perhaps already within the territory.
Uncertain yet ginger call to my senses seems to stimulate my nerves. And the
proof of my response to those is I am wide awake as just ready for a day.
Few days ago, dear Gabo left. Even before meeting him
personally, I feel I had lost him as if we've been intimate already like
neighbours. Such obituary compels me to dream a world – or rather personify –
as a poet losing his invaluable finger. A sort of nightmare to me being a
reader.
Nightmare. One
cautionary notification in media can also resource nightmare. The daily
newspaper (Kuensel dated 22nd April) notifies graduates without
Bhutan, especially India, are incompetent. Only one-third were able to be
through last RCSC (Royal Civil Service Commission) examinations. That makes
graduates from within the country thrice better. What more can erect undergraduate students to
stand still than this?
Such things can occupy and busy mind to the extent one
forgets the sleep as need. I am counted one. For positive, sometimes insomnia
can also be a symptom of maturity. There
can be no denying of the unalterable fact. Neither can there be alternatives (exclude
sedative) to avoid the pervading sleeplessness at all. But perhaps it could be
extenuated by reducing the reasons and causes fueling it.
Perhaps it’s the call for stretching and flexing the
muscles.
4/23/2014
WRITERS AND SOLDIERS
Ink they spill,
in pages they kill.
Blood for bath, flesh to tear
yet hurt even those they care.
ONE LESS
Four days ago, Gabriel Garcia Marquez passed away ( 1927 –
April 17, 2014 ). I confess I am little slow in expressing instinctive
sentiments immediately. Metaphorically, knee jerk reaction is less practical in
me. Sadness didn't take me over as it ought to when I entered an obituary note
in the memorandum.
Only when I tried to remember my first encounter later,
strong fits of nostalgia gripped me. Something invaluable within me seems to
tear apart on losing him. Certain yet undefined intimacy exists between the
great and me; little more than the ordinary relation between a writer and the reader.
I'll put it as brotherhood bonded by literature.
To review his work “Love in The Time of Cholera” at my tenth
was an honour for which do I was on top in the book review contest. Anyone could
have been me then had they only preferred the book for the material. My win was
just a matter of first come first serve. The beauty of the style and irresistible
romance in the content will justify my say if you care to read. Luck had me so I’d
the book then.
It’s bit harsh a reality to accept a world with all the
beautiful writers being flown away someday and the other. It creates a void in
literary world in fact.
Now that Gabo had
passed away, only his immortal works in the medium of magical letters shall
remain souvenir to all his readers to whom he communicated. And each time
henceforth, I flip the perfumed leaves of his book, I am sure I would be able
to summon the same beauty he crafted with extraordinary intellect and immense delicacy.
He’s the one who filled ink in my pen and gave me the spectacle
to read further. I owe him infinite.
Rest in peace Dear Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
With love and loyalty
Sonam Tenzin
( 21st April,
Monday)
4/21/2014
MANGA WORTH WATCHING
The past two weeks I've been watching this Japanese manga. I say it's more worthy than my time spent. Like Naruto and One Piece, the other two manga I am watching along, this one is also about unity, comradeship and trust.
And as of now, I am at episode 176. You may also like it.
Where to watch it online: click here
About the creator: Hiro Mashima
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