Everything Else

The rain was lashing out on us with a vengeance. I couldn’t look up without my eyes swimming in polluted water, and the little that I saw of the sky was a dull darkness. Absent mindedly I commented, “You know, I don’t mind this lashing if there wasn’t any thunder tagging along with it.” My friend gave me one of her sad looks; she was too upset to have worn her new slip-ons that day. I looked down at the sorry state of her sandals; the white of it was slowly turning grey. I kept quiet. She took my silence to mean total wreck of her sandals “Oh! I don’t care for the damn thunder if there was no rain. My sandals… they were new, why did it have to rain today?! I was good today…oh….,” She moaned and stomped her foot on the pavement. I looked at her warily- she was being petulant. Even in the pouring rain I felt our differences…. she looked for a reason, in everything that happened. “I am sorry about your sandals, let’s just get back to the flat and we will clean it up, okay? I am sure i

One winter evening I was complaining to my father about a dinner I couldn’t get out of; of how I rather preferred staying at home, than reconnect with the chill of synthetic leather on my car seat. Immediately, he began lamenting how easy life is for us. “We have trudged barefoot through wilderness, carrying loads on our backs along winding footpaths, treacherous valleys and angry rivers to reach from one destination to the next.” Clearly disapproving my disregard for kind invitation to eat, he continued, “We would have one thing on our mind after a journey like that; a place to rest. We would trail along like a gypsy caravan of sorts; with livestock, rations, children scurrying about, old people, and all converged on reaching our destination. Every member in a family helped during these travels. Little children were made to carry small baskets holding poultry or clay pots, the elders in the family took care of young children, and the livestock were beasts of burden. Families wit

As a child, I remember I was incredibly fascinated by baking. It amazed me how a person could just whip up some eggs, milk, flour, sugar,butter and create something so gorgeous. It was make believe; it was stuffs of fairy tales. Mind you, this is Bhutan we are talking about. We were not ‘cake’ people. We were not even ‘sugar’ people. We are ‘air-dried beef- fermented cheese- rancid butter’ kind of people. And this was back in the days where people hardly knew what an oven was. So you can understand my fascination with cakes and pies. I used to watch a lot of Walt Disney classics; mouth gaping when Snow White made this perfect pie, with the help of twittering blue birds. For me, the pie represented a world beyond me, and consequently a world I wanted so badly to be a part of. We lived in a small town between Thimphu and Phuentsholing, and honestly, no matter how much I rack my brains- I can only remember close to 20 families living there. There were cowherds and shopkeepers, of

An instance of impermanence when it happens always seems surreal. The whole archaic impression of such a life-altering event is experienced with a numbness of really not being there. First, it always shocks. Second, every single one of us deny. Third, the realization makes us absolutely sad, and finally, dejection comes with resignation. Impermanence is a constant of every life. We need this impermanence; only through these trials and tribulations, can we hope for a ‘finer ’ way of living. Through these instances of impermanence, we can hope for great show of character (or not). We have to survive at the end of everything. We have to be selfish enough to move along, for ourselves. At the end of it all, it’s us that is alive and has to keep living. When a bitch eats her dead pup, she does it to sustain and eventually, bear more. For animals, its all about survival and procreation. They keep it real . The inconsistency of every other thing is not ignored here. But, we, as the better

What is spite when you really mean it? Does it stop being ‘spiteful’ and morph into something evilish ? How can it really be anything bad when the feeling is absolutely delicious? As far as I am concerned, the moral compass on this can go to hell. For one, I really don’t believe in repressing emotions. There is this whole mantra, out there, to show your feelings- but why it gotta be only with love? Spite is a feeling too. Infact, spite isn’t at all fuzzy like love. It’s incredibly sharp and removes the haze. Also, it has the capacity to make one all incensed and flushed (albeit a shade darker than pink, but a flush nonetheless). And nastiness sure as hell don’t sugar coat anything for anybody. It strips off every bit of flimsy lace (which really is of no use) and gets to the bone of the matter. I have heard more truth being spoken in spite than in love. Granted, it hurts an awful lot- not because it wasn’t spoken with love, but just that truth always does. Maybe the point isn’t