Nawang P Phuntsho

I am stressed. It seems it is been ages since I last posted something on my blog. I am asked to design a newsletter for my organization. Well, designing is not much. In fact it is ready with me. Thanks to MS Word. Now what about the content? This is going to be either 4 or 8-page publication, monthly or quarterly (something to decide). I am confused. Everyone seems to be busy at their own table. I have edited and coordinated a journal at the college. Well, if it is a college newsletter, a few essays, short stories and poems could do the trick. But for an organization, they make less sense. People want to know what is happening in the organization. Employees want to know what their organization has in store for them and clients seek information on new services and products. That’s worth taking notes. What are some of the important things that our employees can be proud of? What are new services and products our clients can expect from us? But now who is going to furnish all

I have never been much of a TV fan, but of late a feeling that I-got-to-have-it-by-any-means was so strong that I had to buy one last Sunday. And what a coincidence! Everton happened to play Burnley that day. Even before the television set was in place I called the Cable Operators and they said they would be right there. At around 6 PM, the Cable Service had sent two linemen to my house. I was as excited as hell. After 6-1 defeat by Arsenal in the game 1, Everton has to pull in their socks, I thought. I grew impatient. The linemen seemed to take much longer than I thought they normally would. And to top it, they constantly kept going to fetch different tools and equipments. The younger guy returned with an old piece of cable, which wasn’t working. Next the older man went only to return with another one that was bit too short. It took both of them together to get the right cable. I prepared them tea and some snacks. I knew they would take some more time. And they did. Then my TV

A night out in a bar... A sip and a two, the glass is empty. Dreamy eyes and the smoky atmosphere, Heads together, faces blushed, Whispers many sweet nothings. Glass filled to the brim, A man leans onto the counter, Suspicious eyes examines the bar girl, Blended with a talk of promises. ‘One more’ lures a friend, Against the other one’s rancour. Words of pity flow, And ego ultimately wins. Music from mobiles, A group singing along With frequent change of songs Only adds to the bustle. Some leave, many continue. The clock ticks, More bottles emptied More luring, more courting. The night seems long, And my sleep calls. My glass half filled, A sip and a two, the glass is empty...

Most of the graduates attending the orientation program are employed either permanently or temporarily. And by definition of being employed, you have jobs to do, assignments to complete and deadlines to meet. Real orientation starts only on September 8, yet graduates should make themselves available from August 24, 2009. Now which boss do you think will grant you leave for 26 days? DoNW is the only one I can think of now. Who cares about the roadblocks and landslides? Who gives a damn whether Thimphu is ready to accommodate all graduates for nearly a month? Verification of academic transcripts starts from 24 th ? Now I am sure no graduates will have the guts to attend the orientation without academic transcripts unless he/she is making total fun of the system. Ok … we agree it is to verify and validate the academic transcripts. It’s important for everyone to be verified. And the feeling that you are actually entitled to attend the program, I guess, is also important. Now while the

One morning we woke up to a cacophony of bashing willow-sticks. A group of captains and senior students had gathered at the site. It wasn’t a good sight either. Right beneath our dormitory’s wooden ladder, someone had conveniently relieved himself the previous night. And furious captains would not leave without solving this issue; either they needed to find the culprit or let all inmates clean it. “How could anyone do that?” expression was writ bold on everyone’s face. No one dared admit. In fact no one knew. I was shivering on that morning not so much from cold but from fear of captains, to whom it seemed thrashing us all, was of immense satisfaction. “What does it smell?” they questioned us all, willow sticks touching our noses. We felt like shouting “ Jada you stupid … what would a willow smell of?” In the end, those devils commanded that it was our collective responsibility and that because no one was ‘cooperating’ with them, all of us should take part in cleaning the mess

This year National Graduates Orientation Program is scheduled to take place from September 8 – 19, 2009 at Nazhoen Pelri Youth Development Centre. In fact the process starts much earlier. Verification of academic transcripts will commence from August 24 according to the press released from MoLHR. Graduates are required to bring in their original academic certificates. And they are to attend a briefing session September 7 morning. The orientation is aimed to acquaint Bhutanese graduates (undergraduates) with our rich cultural heritage, government policies, laws, issues, to create awareness. It would be a time for the participants to interact and share ideas and concerns with other fellow mates. On the whole, time to reorient (if studied outside) with our rich culture and traditions. I hope they put up a tsechu on the program. That could be a wonderful time for graduates to really see what happens at a tsechu very closely and with purpose. Talking about t sechu I always thought our mas

Appearance is important. Yes, it is true and it is tempting too. The more I try to download templates for my blog, the more dissatisfied I become. That’s because my limited IT skills does not take me far. Every time I see a new template, I get carried away. And I get this I-got-to-have-this kind of feeling. Temptation is so strong that I would love to have a new template every day for my blog. It is now possible to have our dreams come true, thanks to all the wonderful people who are behind blogspot.com. My temptation proves expensive, I realize. Instead of jotting down a few lines of thoughts, I end up spending hours at stretch trying to figure out html codes, which to me is like trying to make sense out of alien’s language. But I have managed to do a few in the past week. I am dissatisfied with it again. Now it seems if a blog changes its appearance every day and does not carry significant a proportionate amount of posts, then the blogger can be said to be more concerned about

Dear Ama, Last year or was it a little before, I wrote a poem solely dedicated to you. I lost that piece now, but I faintly remember the content of that poem. I thanked you for turning me into a person that I am today. I compared myself to a bird in pursuit of food for her chickens that comes to back as soon as her mouth is full. Today as I think it over again, I didn’t do you justice. I may have managed to write a poem in praise of you, which you cannot read a line. My promise to come back to you stands broken. I could have visited you often to tell you how I miss you and how special you. are Not just that you gave birth to me and as a son I feel responsible to you as any son would, but when I think of you I get a sense of pride and joy in life. Growing without a man to call father had been terribly tough, both for you and me but we made it. I have come thus far in life because you gave me reasons to live, reasons to hope. Now after all that struggling schooling years, I am here

This feeling has been there with me for such a long time now. People call it self drowning concept, and I think it is rightly so. But I always assume that must be the situation with every aspiring writer. And that makes a lot of difference. That makes me feel better, not because others share my plight but simply because I share others'. And this makes me a part of struggling writers. Often I feel empty. Whatever I am saying someone has already said it. I am just saying it differently. I have nothing new to write for others have already written scores and scores on the same. Maybe I might use a few fancy words here and there, but I have no new ideas although I claim to be a seeker. I have no philosophy and even if I have one, it is still is immature and that makes my writing shallow. And most of the time, the feeling that I have nothing good to talk or write about, makes me hesitate. This is one of the causes for the block, as I evaluate it today. Who would like to listen to a man

One of my friends had a sever toothache last winter and the pain was unbearable. But despite her teeth-gritting-pain, my cousin’s sense of humor kept her laughing. “How come?” remarked my cousin. “I thought it is only our teeth that an insect can permeate.” “Why? What do you mean?” “I had this feeling that people working in the hospital do not get sick. The medicine odor would kill all the germs before they enter your body.” We all smiled. But I hesitated a bit here. Just because my friend is nurse, should her teeth be immune to ‘insects’? But that is definitely something to reflect on. Don’t we always carry these stereotyped notions? Almost always! And I believe it is a common feature of our society. But sure, people have right to stereotype too. One of these days, I am really getting to know about rights. So, an employee of a bank must have his purse full all the time. Because the bank is a reservoir of all moneys! And people who work in Bhutan Power Corporation will h

Do you produce a lot of wastes and difficult to manage them? You will have to worry no more. A new and truly concerned group of volunteers is in town to do it for us without any charges. They are aware that people in the cities are only concerned about their consumption but totally forget when it comes to their refuse. The team thinks garbage is a serious issue everywhere in Bhutan but they think it must be it everywhere in the world. But for the new group, I will let the pictures do the speaking. The pictures are from my cellphone image files collection that I make every day as I walk to th e offic e.

Nothing provokes me more than people farting casually. They think it is biologically normal and that it is an outburst of some gases during the course of digestion. And because it is biologically correct, some people cross the limit. Whether the emission sends out a noxious odor or not, I am disgusted by it anyway. I even hate its sound. But some people do it with an inflated pride of man who has successfully launched a rocket in the space. Eating is only natural. Digestion is natural and for that matter even if people term farting normal reaction, it holds some truth IF it is executed in proper right places. When some people (myself included) eat, even a noise that resembles a fart sends a nauseating sensation down their throats even without an odor. That’s another story. Seriously, I don’t mind eating a scrumptious meal before a heap of human fasces provided it doesn’t emit noxious smell. That’s an exaggeration by the way, but somehow I can’t stand odor of any kind. You see, i

Nobody seemed to mind the rain in the face of a heated football tournament. But outside the PSA football field, near the RICBL office and Anaconda building, where the road diverges into four, a group of youth wearing yellow jerseys on top of their clothes attends to a heavy traffic. On the first sight, someone would mistake them for a group of footballers going out for a practice. But they are them – a group of students who volunteered to act ‘police’ during their leisure hours. What a commendable job! I was really touched when I first saw on BBS TV a group of students marching with a few policemen in the streets of Thimphu. What a wonderful way to teach students the country’s rules and regulations! What a magnificent way to create awareness amongst schools, friends and peers! What a noble idea to promote an informed society! Apparently these children seemed to enjoy what they were doing – mostly directing the traffic and going around the city in search of offenders, if any. It see

This is the second time in a row in a month's time; a cousin has hurt my sentiments. He doesn’t tell me he is coming down to Phuentsholing and without any information; he shouldn’t expect me to foresee his journey to Kolkata. That evening when he calls me up on my cell and wants to know the location of my house, I happen to accompany some of my colleagues to Dalsingpara, half an hour drive from Jaigaon to consult a guruji to fix a wedding date. I ask him whether I should come back, but he tells me he has already put up with a friend in a hotel. So, I decide to stay back with the friends and moreover, the car does not belong to me. And how can I disturb them in the middle of an important event? My cousin accepts my apologies for my absence. He understands, I assume. The next day, he calls me again. This time he wants to know whether there is a bus to Kolkata that day and if there is one, he wants me to buy two tickets on his behalf. Since my office in close to the Post Office, I

Everyone has the right to smoke, be it in his/her bedroom or choesham or even when someone is sleeping or lay in bed half asleep. And rightly so because we now live in a borrowed culture and have written constitution that protects an individual’s right. An individual can exercise his/her rights fully provided if it does not clash with his/her duties. In smoking I find a serious conflict of individual liberty with the social duty. There is a thin line between an individual and the society for what is a society without individuals and by the same token, what are individuals without the society? People are of different likes and dislikes. Milk for one person can be poison for another and vice-versa. Smokers claim it is in their habit to smoke even when it is against the nonsmokers’ wishes, but that's an assumption that people around them may not mind their habit. You see, smoking in the midst of nonsmokers calls in for a serious question of conscience and morality. Of course a crowd

“Hello,” I say as the person at the other end adjusts her voice to ‘hello’ me back. And there is no mistake, it is her. I have talked to her just a few days ago, but speaking to her this afternoon gives me extraordinary feeling. “You must be growing younger now,” I joke. “Yes, I am growing young,” m y grandmother s ays immediately; she sounds like a teenager. But soon reality dawns on me. I have to raise my voice by a few decibels. I really wish I am there with her to be able to watch the sort of expression her face carries at this moment as she speaks to me on her privately owned cell phone. I immediately call my mother in the village to share the news. My grandmother is an old woman cruising majestically into her mid eig hties, but here is a woman who e mbodies strength and a role model to us all. She has worked hard throughout her li fe in the village to raise her big family. Giving birth to 12 children, of which only 8 survived, my grandmother today spends her time i

I have never been much of a violence fan. But I must admit I like watching people fight. Somehow fights are irresistible and surprisingly I find myself enjoying. I like watching people’s raw egos clash head-on, creating high intensity sounds. It is always exciting to watch the scenes. And most people may try to stop the fights and get between, but I have promised myself that I will not be involved in fights whatsoever, not even to mediate. The fact is I am not much of a mediator in the first place. That way, I fear fueling people’s egos and ultimately two parties’ egos combine and striking me. One time, I remember I was trying to calm down my two friends who were holding each other’s necks. If it was possible, they were in a position to even suck out blood from their enemies’ neck. Friends can sometimes become deadlier than foes. So, I tried stopping the fight, but they won’t listen. Instead they continued quarreling even when so many of us were holding them tight . Holding them away w

He visits me often. And today, he has come again. When he comes, I feel uncomfortable. My words fail me. My thoughts fail me. My keyboards fail me. My pens fail me. My thoughts dry and frustration creeps in. I lose faith in myself. There is no point in trying. He is my constant enemy and a dreadful one at that. When he is near, new ideas shy away from me. I cannot hold onto the truth that I end up jotting down a few paragraphs of embarrassing lines. No philosophy helps. No advice is worth taking. Taking rest only complicates the situation. Goddess of Sleep rarely visits my bedroom when he is around. Most people think it is normal. But it takes a lot of effort to win over him. People suggest me not to compare my work and style with others because that’s when he sees us vulnerable. That's when our confidence level is so low. But I end up doing what I am asked not to do every day, when he is around. And when I know it, it is a little too late. The experience leaves deep scars and hesi