Everything Else

If there is a way consumed by irony, it would be this way that points to you but leads me away. As I turn to see you find your path, my regret clouds your face and I can’t see beyond my own nose. So this is what it means….that I have to decide to say goodbye to my dreams and hopes. And now, the yearning, the damned yearning which is banging against my resolve…...circumventing in an existence of plain will. I know yearnings are an integral part of being human, and sometimes challenging nature can cause so much unnecessary pain. Yet, my confusion doesn’t lie in the fact that I am yearning for the things I have lost. No, not at all- everything happens for growth. Otherwise, what really is the purpose of it all? What is life, if it is coated in ego, which in turn is coated in inhibition? And what is inhibition when expressed as indifference? I sit now crouched with a desire to let know, but tied down by inexplicable fear of general hostility and indifference. Everything, everywhere...

I was in the car, waiting for my friend to come back after dropping off some letters. It was right after lunch, so I was stuffed on mini sausages, rice and suffocating in the glare of the winter sun. In my discomfort, I noticed a stray dog, trying to find a spot to nap in the afternoon sun. It went off to sleep on the pavement, its face blissful and content. Inside the car, I envied that moment of bliss of the dog’s face; with no care in the world besides its next meal and cranny to cozy up at night- at least, not before hunger or fatigue. In the wake of my present discomfort, I wished I had that peace and ‘coolness’. Then of course, the glass shatters. A man walks by, accidentally kicking the dog, and jolts it back from where sleeping dogs lie. I wonder how violated it must have felt…. or are they so domesticated that they assume it’s just a dog’s life? The dog looked lost (maybe a little sad) and gazes after the chap and eventually goes back to lying in the hot sun. Yet, my fri...

As Bhutanese, we have come a long way to move forward into the unfamiliar road of modernity. However, we have manifested a dream that was set more than a hundred years ago and we have achieved great feats in the process. Yet sometimes it seems that the privileges we have are taken for granted and we seek the unattainable. Nevertheless, it’s through this idealism that a prosperous nation can be reached; however, we often forget those who make it possible. Did you ever stop to wonder what it would be like to live in a country without the government serving its people and where the necessity of the few is more important than the necessity of all? What about a world where a vast number of children die because of either dysentery from polluted water or starvation due to lack of food? How about a society that is plagued by illiteracy and is in peril of cultural extinction? Or citizens torn apart by constant strife? These are all realities that are due to the lack of one agency within societ...

A good photograph is when the image captured can invoke a myriad of feelings. It is a culmination of intelligence, passion and dedication to capture events unfolding with a voice stronger than sound bytes. It is the acute knowledge to immortalize and freeze the spirit in one single frame as the photographer sees fit. Yet at times, the events unfolding are so extraordinary that capturing can hardly be task. In these times when we are exposed to a vast display of images at a global level, it can be an incredible task to focus and recognize a frame that shakes the very foundation of one’s belief; which overwhelms and etches in our minds the essence of that frame. It is truly the mark of a great photograph. The work of an artist is to tap on to the nuances and give it voice. The work of a photographer is no easy task when the job requires relaying emotions through images. So, when I was asked to write an article reflecting my understanding of photojournalism, I, for obvious reasons, took...

I remember I was 15 years old when I came across a story about a famous super model, who suffered the atrocity of female circumcision in her community. The graphic details of her ordeal of her circumcision, where the clitoris was sliced off and the labia exterior were stitched together was hair-raising to say the least.  She described how a simple act of urinating was a physical torture, as the acid from the urine stung the exposed skin and how she was laid to rest in a dark room for weeks. I couldn’t imagine how parents could consent to their daughters being tortured on the basis of mindset. The most horrific aspect of this story was that it wasn’t an isolated case, and almost every young girl, coming of age, in Africa were forced into female genital cutting. The practice of female circumcision has mostly been done to reduce the likelihood of pleasure or orgasm in young girls and women. At fifteen elsewhere in the world, I had come of age. I was 17 years old, when I first watc...

There comes a movie from time to time that makes you feel like you have done something worthwhile, just by watching it. ‘The Boys are Back’ was one such movie. I watched it over the weekend, without a clue what the movie was about. I took the DVD from my rental guy, who considers every movie “damn good” . I had never really taken his word on any movie, but for once I wanted to see whether his “damn good” is actually good enough. I must say, it was true for this one. But then of course, he gave me another movie with the same review, which was incredibly painful to watch. But, I wasn’t too bummed out. Well, the movie delves into the lives of a family without a woman. The storyline is consistent in the aspect of exploring and dealing with loss- there is no great show of gallantry, nor a great show of sorrow. Sorrow just is, and people deal with grief in their own individual way. The movie is a confessional narrative of a  sports writer of a father, who deals with a young son (Art...

I could never handle crushes with just the casualness it deserved; I am too excited in too short a time. It didn’t mean I’d keep feeling that way for long, but I felt it all the same. Ooh, the excitement that the arrow struck at me! Talk about building a mountain out of a molehill; there I’d go deconstructing every damn thing; every look has to mean something, every word is laden thick with meaning, every move & mannerisms all focused on sending messages my way. (and yes, karma the seer..) However, imagine a sparkling wine; how it always pops and fizzles out and then, nothing much remains at the end of it. Well, my crushes were like that, all glamour at the beginning and sour at the end. For the record, I think champagne is over-rated, which automatically goes to mean that my crushes were all over-rated as well. I over-rated them. But then, that’s the fun of it; never-ending garrulous conversations with friends in the beginning, and eventually even more garrulous conversations ...