THE PHENOMENON

Sitting on the trampled, rough and dry carpet of grass, I was staring up to the sky, observing the setting of the sun, behind the distant horizon, which cast veil of slight darkness over the entire space. It was twilight. I could see the silhouette of the dark canopies of the boulevards, set against the backdrop of the marmalade evening sky.  Aerial characters, probably, were in flight for their nests. And they were in hurry that I could see only dark forms zoom across the mid-sky. The surroundings of the field where I lay seem to be in perfect compliance with the approaching phenomenon; they appeared to surrender their original colours to the only dominating colour of the time. The environment which was slightly dark became darker, and with every run of time, it seems to mature in its hue. Even the white facade of the institutional building appeared a dark shade.  I looked onto my pair of legs. And deceived were my eyes, for they also saw two identical forms of dark matter. Gradually. Very gradually it happened. The night.

THE VERY INSPIRING BLOGGER AWARD

Thank you, Dumcho Wangdi, Athira Rajkamal, Jigme Zangpo, Sherub Pelmo, Langa Tenzin, and Kipchu for the nomination and for considering me an inspiration for you. But it's also you guys from whom I get inspired. Honestly. 

By reading about the award from your blogs and from those responding to your nominations, I learnt following are the rules;

1. Display the award on your blog.
2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
3. State 7 things about yourself. 
4. Nominate 15 bloggers, link to them, and notify them about their nominations. 

I already did away the first two.
And the seven facts about me are;

1. I am an introvert.
2. I am not lazy but not active either. I just manage to do things on time.
3. The first book – fiction – I read was ‘The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe’ when I was in class four. Of course, it was a children’s version, so, need not be surprised. It’s from then I picked up the habit of reading. (I read the book again in twelfth only to make sure of the author.)
4. I wish I created the Sherlock Holmes.
5. The most inspiring and the best scientific fiction I read was ‘The Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde’. So, R.L. Stevenson is the writer I celebrate most of all my favourites.
6. The most difficult question for me would be – if asked – to define myself.
7. Provided to choose either reading or writing, I shall go for the former. I think my talent to read exceeds than to write. And also because I learnt writing only after learning how to read. 

With regard to the last rule, I am sorry, but, I find that most of the bloggers I find inspiring were already nominated.(I am sure I would forgiven for the inevitable infringement.) So, they are the persons, or bloggers, who keep me up in this blogging field;

1. Dumcho Wangdi
2. Leki Choden Dorji
3. Sherub Pelmo
4. Kipchu
5. Langa Tenzin
6. Sherab Tenzin
7. Athira Rajkamal
8. Riku Dhan Subba
9. Passang Tshering
10. Rima Rekya
11. Pelden Nima
12. Ugyen Tenzin
13. Tshewang Dorji
14. Sangay Phuntsho
15. Jigme Zangpo

WINTER RAIN

T

he rain in summer subsides the heat. So, it comes as a saviour. But in winter, it is totally unbearable. Cold air, puddle-occupied path, swampy ground and dirty corridors. The weather allows not even a single handkerchief to dry, even if it be kept hung on balcony for a weeklong! Other washings? I fear those may simply succumb to the moisture locked in their fibres for so long and rot away, leaving nothing, only bad odour to its bearer.

For past two days, it’s been only a slight drizzle. And today, it’s complete rain. Allahabad is in rain. And rain is blessing us with cold.

In the evening, when the rain was less intense, we went to play our routine game. The lamp posts weren’t lit. Perhaps, it was intentionally left unlit by respective guards to let there be no players for the time at least. But adamant as the rain, we entered the ground only to besmirch our boots and to be scared back to the dormitory by the sudden thunder and lightning flash, followed by the winter downpour.

The corridors are even dirtier than was before, with the mud collected from the field and left upon there by our boots. If only the rain hadn’t fallen...

As I write, I could hear the groan from the sky and in my mind, I could see the dark clouds, pregnant with rain, overcast the already gloom sky. Any time, it could deliver the shower, last be it, I pray, upon us, rendering more cold. I can imagine the conditions of the poor now. I pray more philanthropists come to their rescue.

Weather forecast predicts sunshine tomorrow. Let it become a truth for the following day.

Be warm, folks. 

IN LOVE WITH SAPPHO

I will make it brief, of how I met Sappho.

Once every week, I get into PoemHunter.com to feast upon some classical poetry. At one time, I came across a short verse, consisting of two stanzas. It was quite short to last even half a minute but it was vast enough to tell a story of the poet – her denial to marry her young lover. Perhaps that is what poetry is – to encompass the large of story within laconic expression by words.

Of course I love you

Of course I love you

but if you love me,

marry a young woman!

I couldn’t stand it

to live with a young

man, I being older.

The lyric sounded intimate, as if it’s a song of a singer whom I stalk frequently. There seem to be some connection, though weak, between the mysterious poet and me. But the cruel truth stands ugly between us; she’s passed away thousand years ago and I am youth only, who has seen, of recent, the infancy face of poetry and writes also rough and rudimentary poems.

It could be the magic of the poetry, perhaps the divinity of her, preserved in the recess of her lyrics, which beckoned at me. I read the poem several times till I came to the point of really feeling that it was to me whom she’s referring to and I felt sorry for her. Perhaps, she might have been forgiven by her young lover also, then.

I carried on with many of her poems. I thought of getting more of her by searching in Google. But midway, I stopped! Some people appear wonderful when still unknown and mysterious. And Sappho was one poet. I could know her through her poetry. This is the magic of poetry – though it hides more of poet, it reveals even more because poetry is ‘poet’s tree’ by which s/he sustains eternally.

And as I read, I could feel the Greek, looking at me through the mist of time, with the eyes of her poetry and singing songs of her feelings to me.

You may forget but

You may forget but

let me tell you

this: someone in

some future time

will think of us.

Yes! How true! Now that I know you, I shall never forget you, Sappho dear. 

THE BULLY

I was angry for some other reason then. 

Even the request for a cup of tea from my father which I usually undertook as a sweet service came upon me as an order. So, I went stamping my foot on the weak wooden floor of our poor dwelling, which succumbed to my adrenalized might and shook and creaked at my each step. 

I lighted the gas stove and heated half a kettle of water. Still then, within, I was mentally disturbed; unbalanced with wrath.

 The water boiled as did my blood. 

I turned for sugar container. There were those black gregarious sugar feeding ants, at the rim of the loosely closed lid. They seemed disturbing and the very instant I saw them, the Hyde in me surfaced. 

Without a second thought, I crushed few with my fingers and with a bang of my palm against the container, the entire division was swept away. 

On hearing the noise, my father rushed into the kitchen. Upon seeing the massacre, he stared at me but couldn’t say anything to me. “Poor animals.” And he left. 

Though a practical Buddhist, he couldn’t save those unfortunate that one time. Other time, even a fly that contaminates his tea and about to drown, he would fish out before late and let go rather than let it perish.  And upon accomplishment, he would advise me,”when it comes to the desire to live, all of us are same. They like not to be killed. When it comes to the degree of their innocence, compare them to children.”

Then, before me, lay the deed of my unbalanced and sick mind. They didn’t even retaliate by biting me back; they weren’t the kind – they were just a sugar loving ants. They simply tried to escape me. They were defenceless; as defenceless as an innocent child and as innocent as a school boy. 

When defenceless, innocence, harmless, killing and anger echoed in my calming mind, the remorse came as a shame upon me. 

*And when the school was attacked, I felt the same again.*