Archive for November 2007

Walking the Shoes or Something Like That

November 30, 2007

Anyone would have spotted the not! There’s something wrong with this world, I thought. It was true. I was disheartened and deeply saddened.

Then I saw a slogan, written in green, on the letterpad of the Ministry of Agriculture, The Kingdom of Bhutan.

‘Walking the Extra Mile!’ it read proudly, and without remorse too.

Why must I feel disgusted to see such slogans? I will never know.

‘What?’ I thought at first, followed by, ‘why?’ succumbing to, ‘where?’

I tried to know what it meant. Reasons failed me. Judgment disowned me. I thought Agriculture Ministry was supposed to be for the agriculture, for farms and farmers who toil in their fields. They usually work. They don’t walk around.

Where would they walk? In the field? Away from the field? Around the field? The image of a farmer walking in the field, away from the field, around the field, amused me for sometime until it saddened me further.

Maybe then, I thought, they needed to walk the extra mile with their produce to the nearest market. An unfair consolation. I wasn’t sure. Many possibilities here.

People who came up with this liner would have had the noblest of visions, but stupidity was all I could think of.

Come to think of it, ‘Move for Health,’ or ‘Walk for Health’, it works. At least for the Ministry of Health.

Now, walking the extra mile for a farmer would only mean his walking around the field or walking away from the farm, a feat he would least undertake.

‘Towards Food Self-suffeciency’ or ‘Sowing an Extra Seed’ would have worked and sounded better. But who and what am I? I am just an unfortunate son of a farmer who never saw farmers walking the extra mile to improve their yeilds.

Anyway, where was it that I saw, ‘Walk the talk!’? What the hell does this mean anyway? Anyone?

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Three Hundred and Sixty Five…

November 28, 2007

Three hundred and sixty five days since I lost my conciousness, sanity and concience; three hundred and sixty five days of gloom…

It all seems like yesterday. All my yesterdays seem like yesterday…

For three hundred and sixty five days, I have tried to look back and wonder at my own reflections. My dreams are of past and future. My memories of past…what have I reaped from time and life?

So, it has been a year that I started this blog. On this day, I would like to pay tribute to all the bloggers of the world whose post change people’s lives in one way or the other, all for the good though. I would like to thank Matt of the Lost Boy, KC of the Earth-Bound Insight, Pat of the Splog, Ugyen of Visit Bhutan 2008, Seige of Coffeeperker, ZHP of Zero Hour Project, TheReaper of Memories of an Echo, Spidergurll of Chasing the Dragon, Willow of The World I live in, Arcibald of Crooked Through, and rest of the blogs in my Blog…

Thank you for your insights, analysis and wisdom. I can proudly say, reading them (your posts) made me a better man…

So, here’s to all of you, the mighty bloggers! Cheers and Tashi Delek!

Being There

November 27, 2007

And you say – do you?
Atleast you say, I seem to agree, I suppose.
And we hold our hands and smile
Without saying what we used to say.
We gaze above our eyebrows
And watch the valleys filled with smoke…
We just smile and gaze.

You pick up on that silence I’d created
And dwell there, two of us,
Punished by the rapture of our words.
I do not think, nor do I feel
I just sit there, holding your hands,
An object, cold and hard as rock.

And you open your mouth and seem to say
And I don’t know what.
But you say, anyway, and laugh.
Excuse me, I do not hear,
I do not understand.
I am here and you there
I feel your presence (I hold your hands)
But you are there and I here.
You say your say and I do not hear.
You do not smile or laugh, now –
Neither am I –
You just stare, lost and blank.

I hear a voice, not yours, though –
Excuse me, yes I am sorry –
But there is that voice…familiar
I hear it clear…I know this voice
Perhaps I don’t know…but…yes,
Whose voice is this?

It deafens my ears,
It shakes my courage,
It defies my strength,
It drives me mad…
And suddenly, it is not even a voice
It is a scream…loud… empty…ruined!

I shake my head in disbelief
And turn around…no one is there.
The voice still continues
I turn my head, and you are gone.

The wind is blowing hard and dry,
My face is sore and eyes are wet,
My lips are cracked and ears cold,
You are gone and the voice has died.

I shiver and smile, clownishly.

Her Story…:)

November 24, 2007

Willow posted this at her brand new blog -> The World I Live in

Thank you for the shout out, willow…Hoping to read more of your story 🙂

Best Wishes…and keep smiling…

The Stranger and the Truth, then a Mirror

November 23, 2007

there’s that stranger again. time and again, i look into the mirror just to find and know that stranger. this was the face, a face owned and disowned by me. this was the face that walked in the crowd, a single face that’s unlike any other. this was the face that smiled when happy. this was the face washed by tears…this was the face.

i have seen so much about life. i lived like a king. so like a beggar. the proximity of a middle life is the life i live now. now i seem to understand life and its purpose better.

i know people have given up on me. i know i have let them down. i know i am the bad cause of ill taste. i know i have been the subject of several conversation in a smoke filled bars. i know i was being gossiped and rumoured about a lot…just to disapprove my way of life. who knows who lives a better life?

i should say i have seen so much about life. i have felt the extreme of suffering where emotions welted the test of time. i have nurtured hope to the point of giving life to rocks and stones. i have lived in dreams, where dreams are what we are all part of. seeking for truth should not be confined to monasteries or closed enclaves alone.

must have i seen the truth?

Kings, Drunks and the Blind

November 21, 2007

there’re drunk by the time their drinks came.

kings of their own world (and words), they stole a glance or two with the hope of exchanging their greatness with me. by that time, my sympathy for them was replaced by pointlessness. pointlessness of their drunkness. pointlessness of their being. pointlessness of this life.

‘look at him…’ one of them suggested with his eyes. they all glanced at me with generation of distrust and even hatred. i was what i was. so were they. who lived a better life, who knew?

a cup of coffee sat at my table laden with butt filled ashtray among notepads and books. the coffee was good. their conversation kept me amused that i missed a few paragraphs from ‘the inheritance of loss’. were they not there talking, brimming with pride, amongst countless bottles of beer, i would have enjoyed the book better.

doctors, they said they were. some of them were in the same profession. not all of them were doctors. they said they were. all of them. it was better to hoist the pride with your profession than by other means. sometimes.

what do you do? one of them asked me. i read and sometimes write, i replied. no, what is your profession? your job? one of them said, irritated. oh! i said, i’m unemployed. then they left me and kept me pinned under their stare. i stared back, not fighting, just suggesting a better mode of conversation.

some of them said how tough it was to be a doctor and how hard they must study and how they yearn for a bottle of beer or two at the end of each day. they were on some training. it was useless, they said. they already knew what was being taught. they could even teach some of the professors with double PhDs on medical thing. their only challenge during the training was to keep themselves awake during the session. some of them can sleep with their eyes opened, one of them boasted…

i wanted another cup of coffee, an expresso. but i decided not to and gathered my books, pens and notepads and left in pursuit of a better group of people until i hit upon a blind bard who sang terribly. i threw a tiny coin into a metal box dangling by his neck and wondered if he saw me.

Past the Future

November 17, 2007

Two old men told old tales over a stale whiskey. Time and often, they lamented for the things they failed to do, then laughed occasionally for the sweetness that they reaped, then forgotten along the shoals of time. I looked at them and saw my future.

Why’s that we often try to think ahead and fall back to the past? Dreams blurred, merged with memories of the past, the past that held all our winnings and losing, we prey ourselves on our thoughts – lost, wounded or scattered like ashes in the wind. Sometimes, there’re happy thoughts too.

Memories, such pregnant memories, laden with sadness, yoked with anguish, we often fail to cry. Tears wasted emotions as much as emotions wasted tears. Life was surely meant to be lived. How had I lived? The question scared me to the point that I was afraid of living or the presence of any answer as such.

Men don’t cry. They often said. I wanted to cry. Tears failed me. Emotions didn’t. Must have I cried?

I thought about so many things until I was not sure what I was really thinking about. I could only have looked at myself and smirked sardonically for the lack of will to live. But then, I thought, life has nothing to do with willingness to live. Life lives on despite our willingness or the lack thereof to live. What mattered most in the end was that we lived life to the brim.

Dream never die. Hopes never despair. Life goes on. We continue reaping our memories and dreams.