Gardening the Bhutanese Way

Monday, December 30, 2013

The Song of Love

The offering of the song of my love,
Today will I have warbled out before you.
Spare me but a few minutes of yours,
Lend me but your attentive ears,
Listen to it but with utmost zeal.

The hidden treasure of my secret love,
The reflection of my heartfelt intuition,
The repercussion of my innate desire,
Is inevitably rolling off my tongue…

The treasure of my love I will have engraved,
On the pure white paper of your heart,
Before anything untamed stain it.
Let it be your heart’s adornment for a lifetime,
Let it be the supreme invigorator of your heart,
Let it be a part of every rhythm it beat,
And let it be your heart’s accomplice until it ceases to beat.




Tuesday, December 10, 2013

A Moment With the Helen Cyclone

The fear and the bedlam created by the incessant whooshing sound of the gallant wind have envisioned in us the situation of the sky crumpling upon us. The sound made it vivid the likely infringement of the cyclonic disaster. It replaced our sound sleep with accelerated heart- beats. The wrath of nature encroached our zone with sheer warning, flung open our door violently, ushering millions of dust particles and debris inside.

Plugging in ear phones in anticipation of dissipating the terror did little to ebb the intensity of the sound that our ear drums encountered. The gallant waves roared through the night, and whirred through the day. The anger webbed in its roar was consistent. It didn't let us light even a tinge of hope of it surrendering.

 The magnitude and the ferocity with which it swirled its move kept on surmounting.  And so did the terror in the eyes of the helpless inhabitants. There was nothing we could do than to wait for it to subside. We left it up to god to decide our untamed destiny. We fervently prayed to God that all dwelling in the realm of the cyclonic rage be liberated from fear mounting in them, and that none be engulfed by the yearning mouth of the natural catastrophe.

The night long torment had the hinges of our bathroom door wrecked and blown to a distance. The slender coconut trees had their stature averted to a slanting position. Some of them toppled down in utter despair. The gooseberry trees couldn't resist but endure the loss of their sour juicy berries which found their place embedded amid the mud.

The pseudo-stem of banana plants gave way to a little pressure the Helen cyclone imposed on them. The fleshy and succulent nature of them conferred little resistance against the ghastly blow. The finger bunches swinging down the pseudo-stem succumbed to the ruthless attack. The fingers (technical term for banana fruit) that should have landed up in the market stalls found their place amid the marshy earth beneath.

The Extent of Cyclonic Wrath.
The very moment aftermath the peril, we visited the fields in an attempt to access the damage. It was evident that farmers are going to suffer irrevocable losses. At times, our move was counteracted by the fear of ourselves being examined by doctors rather than us examining the extent of damage. But should we attempt for a halt, the credibility of our profession is going to be at stake. So off we strolled until perspiration became the ultimate end product.




Monday, December 2, 2013

My Plead


 The blazing flame,
I will have ignited,
Only to warm your cold feet,
Even at the cost of I getting scorched.
All I need is  your presence;
To have your fragrance gasped,
To have gazed into your eyes,
To have skimmed the lines framed in your brain.
To savor the reassurance,
From that ravishing face of yours.
To reel over the track of our unwavering love,
To gear towards the destiny led by a common path,
To tread our path woven with unbound love and faith,
To inscribe a memory in the transient moment we dwell.
But  fervently I beseech thee,
With my two hands clinched into one,
‘Never I be included in the list of obliteration from your life
Never and ever let go off me,
For all these can't happen without you,
Not without you in my life'.

Never Let Go Off Me...

Monday, November 25, 2013

The Night When Her Cell Beeped

She was trying to escape the gregarious chase by a group of naked monks. The notorious boys caught the glimpse of her being a loner. They, who were finding solace against the scorching sun in the chilly meandering river, winding their way up and down, started their wild chase the moment they spotted her.

 Sensing the danger approaching her faster than what she presumed it to be, she tried running with all her might. In spite of her every effort to run away, she was horrified to know that the distance between them kept reducing every time she glanced back.

Turning a deaf ear to the incessant calls and the comments, she picked up her pace. She tried not to let the words hamper her pace but it hammered her. She wished if the unforgiving words could make a clean exit through her other ear as cleanly as it made its entry from the other. But the cruel words kept on regurgitating and reverberating in her mind. It sank to her heart with such a penetrating power that it has left an irrevocable trail. She felt her leg muscles contract with an involuntary jerk.

She was soaked in her own perspiration, the beads clinging to every hair of hers. The copious secretion from her tear glands trickled spontaneously. The moment when she felt a firm grip was when she sensed the whole universe collapsing on her with sheer cold-blooded mode. She closed her eyes and the last thing she remembered was her landing on the rugged terrain beneath with a thud.

The constant beep and the vibrating tremor of her cell awakened her to the delightful world of reality. It was only 2 a.m. in the morning and she was stunned as to who could be calling her in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, she was grateful to whoever the caller may be. For she was elevated from her childhood incident projected into a hysterical nightmare, she felt indebted to the caller.

Upon tapping on the green button of her cell, she had to confront a call from an unknown number, from an unknown man with an unleashed identity. Every attempt of her to put an end to the conversation was his effort to prolong it.

Seconds ticked to pile into minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days and then to months. The pages of their love story were wiped away by time and a year elapsed by with the same routine.

However, she was oblivious of the mythological force that dragged her into the situation. She was talking to a man whom she have never seen in her life, hailing from a place which she haven’t yet been to, trusting the words of a stranger, doing God only knew what he was up to and his intentions.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt happy, worried and at times it had her eyes welled up with tears. She was plunged into a mixed feeling of confusion, joy, apprehensiveness and rueful moans.

A day dawned on the long-awaited encounter of the two love-birds. The moment when they stood face to face was when she felt the blood rushing to her face, and her heart racing at the fastest pace. To her eyes, he looked flawless and as serene as the immaculate white lab coat encasing almost half his body.

First, it was the way in which he framed and ushered each of the syllables through his lips, second was his physique and the third thing was his profession that let her to accumulate more and more feelings down the profile of her love.

Their second encounter was a time out together for a walk. The next time when he asked her to join him for a movie together, she refused for an unkempt reason. However, she went along with a female friend of hers. To her utter astonishment, she found him seated right in front of her. The guilt, which then started to mount in her, commanded her to be ignorant of his presence.

But what can avert the vision of a destined eye? No sooner did he take a seat on her right side, swinging back and fro in bliss on the cozy seat beneath. With her cold fingers intertwined in between his warm ones and his consistent gaze, she couldn't really pay heed to the characters displayed on the screen.

Soon they were out of the theater. She trailed behind him with him leading the path. At that instant, she received a call from her brother telling her that he is on his way to pick her up. Just then, her accomplice tried to rummage each and every pocket in search of his cell. He rushed back to the theater and returned with his face as pale as a lost child.

The instantaneous honking of a car jogged her memory that it was time for her to leave. As she turned towards the car and stepped forward reluctantly, he muttered, “Babe, wait for my call. I will get a new cell soon. Don’t forget me. I love you”.

 The period aftermath seemed so still and empty without a word from him. Every minute, she was dying to hear his voice. All her hopes and dreams were shattered into the empty sky above. She waited day and night until the last tinge of hope faded from her.


  

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Twist in the Road

Yoesel, a young girl in her late teens was pursuing her high schooling. As her name indicates, she was indeed a source of radiance whose sheen would outcast darkness that lay on the path ahead. Not only is she physically equipped to attract as many as that gain a glimpse of her, but her moral etiquette enshrined in her being of existence outwitted every being’s morality. Neither was anyone in par with her level of understanding, depth of knowledge and intelligence.

It wasn't long before her graduation from high school that she had to face the turmoil of her bloodline being partitioned. It was like her flesh being torn apart when her parents had their separate ways. She lost her identity for the genes that dominated her, the combination of alleles of both of them lost their identity and significance. She was lost in the seclusion of her demoralized being.

For an instant, she wished she wasn't ushered to this world in the first place. Had this been the case, neither the pain inflicted on her would have agonized her. The pain of being deflowered by the hands that raised her was intolerable. Neither did the incessant drops from her eyes ebb the mental turbulence soaring in her.

Her existence in the world of delusion took a heavy toll on her well being. The initial urge and the determination to ascend higher in her life took an abrupt descend. She lost her focus in life. Nothing good happened to her than she being rewarded with loads of humiliation, remorse and hatred that consumed her at the end of each day.

With her mother gone away, her home was nothing more than a deserted land. It was unimaginable and even more nerve-wrecking, having to bear the consequence of an unkempt tragedy.  It became more of an abandoned house that haunted her day in and out. She felt left out a chick in her nest with never a hope of her mother returning with the picked grains.


The tragedy had the visionary outline of good and bad blurred for her. For the first time in her life, she found herself indulging in things which she never even thought she will be a part of. She found solace to her mental agony with substances she hasn't even seen before. At the cost of her being intoxicated, she opted for it in an attempt to alleviate herself to a state of bliss. It remained the only trick that killed the envying rage in her upon spotting her friends with their parents or talks of them being encased by the web of parental love and care.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Hymn to My Lord

The myna’s feathery mane;
my beloved’s gentle swing.

The stars’ speckled sparkle,
my lord’s placid grin.

The firmament’s boundless stretch;
my aficionado’s endless wisdom.

The moon’s flawless sheen;
my lover’s ravishing face.

The moor’s bounty inhabitants;
my lord’s unbounded wits.

The sky lark’s swift ascend;
my lord’s relentless aspiration.

The nightingale’s impeccable tone;
my lover’s soothing hum.

The heaven’s eternal bliss;
The aura of your presence.













Thursday, November 7, 2013

The Art of Weaving Yatha

Yatha- a traditional, hand- made fabric stemming mostly from the small hamlets of Bumthang valley is an art worth learning and practicing. On the finely arranged rows of blue, black or sometimes white background lays the patterns embedded. The designs of sketchy admixture of colours find its place in between the queues of intricate threads (base material) that supports them.

Yatha for sofa cover -the last row & the first 2 rows of woolen dhenkheb...
The so called base material is outstretched on its four-legged stand (local name:Thrithag). It has a provision of a jut each on the two legs on one of the sides. This in turn supports the wooden plank, forming a kind of bench for the weaver.

The yarn to be passed through the base material is coiled on a cylindrical stick, by its way meandering up and down the stick until it reaches a reasonably thick girth. Each glide of it through the base material will have to be followed by a corresponding shift in the position of leg on the stepping stand. The right and the left leg take its alternate turns to tap on the four stands.

An amateur weaver will have to look intently to ensure that the right one is being tapped upon. However, for the well experienced ones, the expertise with which they accomplish the same is like an automated machine.

For every two horizontal runs the yarn undertakes amid the vertical rows of base material, the colorful designs will have to be worked out simultaneously. This is followed by a firm thud with the help of a hand loom. It presses, interlocks and stiffens the fabric in place. All these steps in a successive manner mend the fabric into the shape it ought to be and for the purpose it’s meant to be.

It is beyond a tinge of doubt that the way in which it adorns the sofa, the divan and even the seats inside luxurious cars is exquisite. It can be a substitute for bed sheets, locally known as Dhenkheb. The fact that it finds a place of pride gliding upon the shoulder of some of the youngsters is also quite thrilling. Is it a revival of the age-old tradition?

More than anything, the Yatha Jackets bestow protection against the freezing winter breeze. It is neither astonishing to see that it has launched an eye-catchy appeal in the fashion industry. Indeed, it’s a pride of unique identity that the Bhutanese fashion industry can cling upon.

All in all, it is an art to be learnt, a pride to be beholden, a tradition to be practiced, preserved and ultimately ushered to the forthcoming generations.



Yatha Jacket- the one my mother wove to adorn herself.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

The One That Dispels Obscurity

The sun emanated its tender rays.
It rather peeped through the cumulus clouds.
For guilt and shyness has plagued it,
For depriving the earthly beings of its warmth,
And for not being able to dispel the darkness.

Some beings longed for its warmth,
Some for radiance that brightened the world,
Some simply hoped for it to dry their damp clothes,
Farmers yelled for their crops were soaked,
A few longed to enjoy the beauty associated with it.
Yet some questioned its existence.

But now that it made its presence prominent,
Its omnipresence known by all,
On the 10th day of its obscurity and absence;
Many a faces lit up into smile,
Their hearts lightened a bit by bit with its emergence,
The butterflies started hovering around,
Birds started chirping their soothing tunes,
As they started swaying from a tree to another.
Hoppers initiated their leap from a leaf to a twig.
People flung back to their respective works,
And crammed the streets and workplaces.

Oh Mr. Sun! Only your absence made us realize,
Your true essence and worth in the lives of earthly beings.
So never take a day off in lighting the world,
And we owe you for dispelling the obscurity of our mundane lives.



Tuesday, October 29, 2013

The Phailan Aftermath

The thunderous growl it will have put forth as a warning. The shrill flash that precedes it would remind every ear to be alert of the subsequent beats their drum is to encounter. No sooner, it would land with a tickling knock on the roofs. From there, it would fall inevitably on the earth beneath.

The Incessant Knock on the roofs...
The moment it hits the soil, it would send a faint earthy smell to greet every nostril. This is ascribed to be due to a chemical called Geosmin, released by actinomycetes group of soil microbes on the first receipt of rain. It would then meander a step here and there before finally seeping into the crevices of soil.

But what when the sky above led to the descend of incessant downpour? What when the natural catastrophe exercise its advantage over whom we have no control? Is it a way of nature manifesting its annoyance for the excessive exploitation of its resources by us?

The crops aftermath its descend, would it have them leaning and gliding on one another. Their metabolic activities will be arrested under the inundation. The torrent waves would it have rendered approaching the door steps of some households, ready to make its encroachment if the dwellers didn't resist.
The brooks from different directions would have their union to make a bigger stream of water rushing down. Some simply resorted to stay stagnant in the mud pool.

The trees would be wailing in the mud pool for they were agonized by the physiological drought prevailing around their root zones. They might be cursing for their disability to flee somewhere. The fact that they were fixed and rooted in a particular place for a lifetime might have doomed and crippled them. They might be envying us humans for our ability to run towards our dwellings the moment growling signals were sent from the firmament above.

But for those poor trees that nurtured us, is it not unfair on our part to let them be drenched and soaked to death? For so long a time that they spent in rendering services and food to us, can we simply neglect them? On the contrary, if we fail to exercise some life saving measures, we may land up getting starved. It is so to say that a team of scientists came up with the following remedies to mitigate the malady;

*    To drain out the water immediately to create congenial conditions for the uptake of nutrients and normal metabolism of the plant.
*    If the aforesaid measure is not feasible, it is recommended to go for a foliar application of 1% potassium nitrate (KNO3) which accounts to 10g in 1 liter of water.

But as was a case in myself, some people might question the accuracy and credibility of the second recommended measure. It is quite certain that the

foliar application of the nutrient in no way is going to drain the water out. But, it indeed, is to supplement the nutrient deficiency the plant is underway for it cannot absorb through roots, the usual route as it used to be.

In addition, potassium is a macronutrient which imparts disease resistance. So it is a measure worth practicable when the plant is under stress and is most prone to diseases. Also, it plays a major role in the transport of water and nutrients throughout the plant in xylem.

I am uncertain how far my message will reach those needy farmers. Nevertheless, it is going to make a difference in a small way even if this could reach a single farmer. For if this was found to be effective, the news will certainly travel at its own pace to make a huge difference in the lives of the farmers and the national economy as a whole.

Crops under Inundation.



Saturday, October 26, 2013

The Bygone Memoirs

 There were times when we would talk for hours,
When we didn't care whether our ears get heated up due to the radiant heat transfer,
The cell would swing from my left ear to the right and then back again.
Cursing the phone when the battery displays its last bar,
Consistent with those longing desire to talk for hours together,
Resisting a minute to elapse by without talking.
The times when our mouth did the twin duty of eating and talking,
When my left and the right hands took their turns in holding the cell.
Often would I mumble and rehearse words to be spoken,
Whenever I run into the mirror in the bathroom.
The moment when I chanted prayer instead of the grace uttered before food,
Was the time when your sweet words were reverberating in my subconscious mind.
Playing hide and seek with my cell phone beneath the desk in the classroom,
In dire anticipation of a message or even a missed call from you.
That was more than enough to send my heart galloping towards the peak of bliss.
The times when all I cared was a sweet word from you.

Gone were those wonderful days,
And gone were you from the vicinity of my sight.
The frequency with which we talk have caught a drastic decline,
The way in which we express ourselves have reduced too.
Not because we aren't in love or feel for each other,
For we do and are matured enough to behave this way.
Nevertheless, each time, I die of the fervent desire to talk to you,
To pour my feelings and scribble words on your heart all over again,
Had it not been for the distance that spaced us out,
And withheld us from talking and expressing to our hearts’ content.

But the memoirs have I embedded in my brain,
Sculptured and engraved on my heart to be cherished forever.
No matter what, bound am I to the proximity of your existence,
Tethered firmly by the undying string of your love,
And I dwell in the secured realm of your love.


Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Tribute to My Mother.

Motherhood might have been living in the eyes of hurricane,
Yet you wrestled across the gallant waves with steadfast hope.

Your life might have been an expedition barefoot on the thorny bushes,
Yet you were determined enough to stroll on the prickly path.

Your efforts might have been looked upon as toe-curling disparagement,
Yet you were brave enough not to articulate a tinge of forlornly despair.

Your words might have been taken to pay no heed,
Yet you were unruffled enough to march the walk of life.

Your clothes might have been faded and frayed,
Yet you battled hard to adorn your children with the best you could.

Your bare feet might have been cracked and lesion- borne,
Yet you let your kids walk with pride.

Your livelihood might have been slavery at others’ door,
Yet you endured the life of destitution.

Your move might have been howled and barked upon,
Yet you groveled as a stray dog with tail lowered in between her hind legs.


Your days might have been breathing the embers of fiery flames,
Yet you were considerate enough to light other’s eyes with merriment.


 
Salute to you Ama...

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Food

We have so much to consider about the stuff that goes down our gullet. Some are very much particular about the food they eat. Some are compelled to nourish on what comes on their way. Yet millions combat with hunger and poverty. Many unfortunate ones succumb to what Charles Darwin postulated as ‘The law of natural selection and the survival of the fittest’.

And so do many that I come across in life put forth their own postulations about food. A Nutritionist might have innumerable a stance as one could imagine. A medical specialist might cram our brain with numerous recommendations on our diet. And so would a horticulturist claim his/her stance to go for a daily intake of 120g fruits and 280g vegetables per capita per day. Indeed, a reinforcement of the figure worked out by the Indian Council of Medical Research.

A man was rummaging dust bins for any remains of food. The instant he found it, he had it gobbled down like a hungry dog. This, did he have washed down with the bitter coffee that we've left for the flies to hover over. A rather pathetic and heart-throbbing incident as I recall it now. But it was a fact that I have witnessed at Howrah train station on my voyage to college.

I had my own aunt, who had the syllables rolled off her tongue in a rather amusing way, ‘People are scrupulously obsessed with food, sometimes having it blended with unnecessary flavor and piquancy. But except for it being galloped down the alimentary canal and flushed down to its ultimate destiny, there’s nothing more to it.’

A saint might have added ‘Eat to live but don’t live to eat’. And still a few hold firm onto the belief that over-eating is in a way sinful. And so do the saints and the strict practitioner of Buddhism, who dwell around the rugged and serene terrains in pursuit of eternal bliss, thrive on controlled diet. They lead an ascetic life, restricting them to a meal a day or rather a lighter one.

And some are of the opinion that we earn or work for only a single purpose or a need to be met, simply to eat. They would have their words blurted out, ‘What’s the whole purpose of us earning if we aren't going to spend it on eating to our heart’s content!?’ The effect of which, in most of the cases, would be reflected on the simultaneous increase in the girth of an individual.

Eating delicious and liberal quantity of food to many is what they would ascribe to as being happy. ‘A good and delicious food before me turns me on and makes me happy’, was an explicit remark of a popular Indian actress being interviewed by media on her perception of happiness.

 The quantity and quality of food have a profound bearing on the happiness of many individuals. For some, it is joy, pride for some or simply an indication of wealth for others. Some might eat gluttonously at the cost of putting one’s health at stake. Yet millions battle with empty stomach or are malnourished. What have you to say on this simple yet perplex topic, ‘Food?’


Sunday, September 22, 2013

The Uninvited Guest!

Exercising the relative and absolute advantage of the piercing and sucking type of mouth parts they possess, the so-called creatures, Mosquitoes are one hell of a mortal being delving and challenging the humans. They are ready to plunge their piercing mouth into every flesh they encounter. It may sound inappropriate to use the word encounter for it’s not but a deliberate quest.

The fact that they act as a vector for a number of horrendous diseases is outrageous. But no one can deny the fact either. A number of incidences of Elephantiasis as I have witnessed it myself on my stroll through the village would send a creeping chill through my spines.

And so in our attempt to be proactive rather than reactive, we took on board a number of plausible measures.  It all started off with plugging in ‘All Out’ in the orifices of the sockets. But that seemed to have but a little effect for we weren't spared. We resorted to the mosquito coils then. But its swirling smoke in a poorly ventilated room rather intoxicated us.

Our next move was quite gratifying as long as we remained a pupa in a cocoon inside our enclosed nets. The moment we were out, they never failed to be a good receptionist, an accomplice with undue affection. No matter what we wear, it has an untold mechanism to pierce its way through our clothes.

The extent to which it torments us is such that we have to fling a gentle swing even while emptying our bowel. We have to get our body cleansed at the cost of being succumbed to the dreadful and gregarious assault.

The creature seems to have been out of control; an eerie of rampant outbreak .Their omnipresent nature and the pain it inflicts have me irritated as never before. The period aftermath its attack would I spend scratching the succumbed body. The intensity and the frequency would offer a little relief but ultimately bruise myself.


The creature had me defy the essence of being a Buddhist even. This is in line with the fact I find my hand instantaneously in action where my eye led to in utter retaliation. However, this I would ascribe as an act of self defense or a prompt act to avoid the predicament of being inflicted with the intolerable pain and or the consequent diseases.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Love Insuperable

With reverence thee showered thy love.
With dire veneration did thee sing thy love song.
With benevolence, thee embraced when frail and feeble did I stand.
With serenity did thee considered my heart’s wail.
With unremitting love did thee sanctify me.
Thy Insuperable Love!

Thee emanated thy wispy rays on mundane life of mine.
Thee put forth thy hand of resolute & unwavering love.
Thee beamed thy iridescent smile when sullenly did I stare.
Thee comprehended and acknowledged my invincible love;
And with thy insuperable stance did thee reward me.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Embellish My Garden

In the vast garden of my soul,
The plant of your love will I have embellished.

Elegant hedges will I have surrounded you,
And so shall you be protected from the desiccating winds.

The exquisite edges will I have encased you,
And so will you look ever stunning.

The nonchalant water will I have meandered through the blue-tiled canals,
And so shall you derive the cooling effect.

The lane will I have crafted with masonry and pierced marble stones,
And so will many scuttle to grasp a glimpse of your magnificence.

The spiraling fountains will I have raised in your vicinity,
 And so shall you revere its incessant drizzles and ripples.

The annuals of varied shades and hues will I have implanted you with,
And so shall you be liberated from being a monotonous loner.

The arches and pergolas will I have erected in close proximity to you,
And so shall you enthrall the elegance of its adorned ramblers, creepers and twinners.

The base of your existence will I have carpeted with lush green lawn,
And so may you savor the grandeur of the spacious lawn.
 So submit your pledge to embellish the garden of my soul with the plant of your love…

Saturday, September 14, 2013

The Hardworking Honeybees

Many a health dieticians recommend honey for general weakness or as an ailment in many cases.  And so do many relish the healthy and sweet taste that it offers.  But have anyone given a thought as to how strained the worker honeybees were in the process?

 Except for being a gluttonous consumer, we fail to realize the fact and appreciate the tremendous efforts put therein by the honeybees. And so negligent are we to the extent of harming the creature that actually nurtured us. Neither do we apprehend the need to maintain a balance in the ecosystem.  Maliciously we succumb them to the fiery attack or extract honey by unfair means.  

Honeybees are social insects with caste distinction and vivid division of labor, namely; the queen (fertile female), drones (fertile males) and workers (sterile females). Each caste has its own specific place in the colony and role too.
The queen, worker and the drone bee.
Well, the worker honeybees spends its arduous early 3 weeks life doing the indoor chores like constructing honey comb, cleaning, feeding the queen as well as the drones. It’s so to say that 3-4 worker bees are required to feed the languid drones.

The remaining 3 weeks do they lead a life of uphill struggle in their voyage round the earth in an endeavor to collect pollens, nectar, water, propolis and etcetera.  The worker honeybees fly 90,000 miles, the distance equal to 3 orbits round the earth to produce a kilogram of honey. An approximate of 2 million flowers do they have to visit to make 0.5kg of honey.

The sluggish drones do nothing except mating with the queen. They die immediately after mating, referred to as sexual suicide or are  driven out of the colony by the workers. They are stout in their physique and lead an indolent life, an utter contradiction to that of the worker or nurse bees.

The queen leads the bee colony and as such only a single queen is allowed per colony. Around 6 days after its emergence, it undertakes a nuptial flight during which thousands of drones tag along. The queen mates with a dozen or more drones During this, the queen stores millions of spermatozoa in her spermatheca.For this reason, the queen may be ascribed as a perfect egg laying machine on account of its ability to fertilize and lay eggs at her own will.

It’s so believed that life on earth will sustain only for 4 years if honeybees cease to exist. This is factual due to the immense role played by them in pollination of various crops which is a prerequisite to a bumper yield. How tedious and long-winded procedure would it be if we have to it all by ourselves?

Furthermore, the delectable honey which most of us relish; the bee wax molded into products like the cosmetics, shoe polishes, adhesives; and the bee venom used in the treatment of rheumatism, termed as Apitherapy are some of the notable outcomes of the hard toil of honeybees.



A rough sketch...
On account of the aforesaid benefits, I would suggest that Apiculture, the art and science of raising honeybees would be remunerative as well as a gratifying and heart-thrilling experience. And let’s submit our salute to this group of hardworking and dedicated creatures.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

The Ephemeral Being

 If the glimmering morning’s dew,
That lodges on the grassy stand,
Dwells, but for so short a moment to be cherished…

If the exquisite flower,
That blooms with its unblemished hue,
Mesmerizes, but so swiftly does it wither…

If the alluring beams,
That dawns on the beings beneath,
Comforts, but it to be obscured by the thunderous growl…

If a millipede on its expedite adventure,
Has to face the end of its guts,
When so witty and gregarious ants ambush its stroll…

If one who carols with merriment today,
Has to wail with excruciating agony tomorrow,
Who can evade the ultimate destiny?

If the nuptial knot that has been fastened,
Persists, but for it to be slackened off gradually,
What enthrall is there in the invincible love?

What rivet is there in the flawless beauty?
What meaning is there in sumptuous and fussy life?

For everything is adjoined by transiency.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Waiting List!

Clinging to the edge of the seat,
 With only half of her butt resting on it.
Sliding would it go, so frequently, so easily;
With each rhythmic jerk the train made.

The tin containers, the bottles, the cartoon boxes,
And the skinny knees that collided with hers,
Were innumerable yet inevitable,
The cumulous effect of which a throbbing would pain would it instigate.

Ticking were the minute and second hands of her watch,
But at the pace of a snail’s glide.
Her dripping eyelids couldn't rally round,
But let her swing like a swaying flag in the breeze.

The sweet, sour, bitter smells that greeted her nostrils;
Was nothing but nauseating.
The incessant sounds of various indentations & purposes,
Plunged her into the awe hypnotism.

Having paid the same as others sitting gleefully on seats,
Yet given no seat of one’s own;
That’s how travelling in train is with your ticket in waiting lists;
When five have had to squeeze in two seats!







Thursday, August 29, 2013

Transitory Home

The three doors were decorated with bunch of dried mango leaves. God only knew what that actually signifies. Neither did I make an effort to frame a query regarding the same. 8 lean pillars, wrapped with long stripes of leaves supported the thatched dry leaves of roof that led to the entrance door.

The two side doors with bright blue hue with a bronze orange main door in the middle presented an enchanting outlook. Inside laid the dark red cemented floor, as gloomy as its color. The rooms that lay awaiting us wove a sinister design.

Only a single window, the smallest of its kind to usher the glory of morning’s rays and fresh air was it set up with. The very room meant for luggage or kind of store room was ghostly and siren without even a bulb. The bedroom has but a dimly lit bulb. The iridescent rays that it glimmered only hypnotized its’ so called inhabitants.

The bathroom, crammed with mosquitoes, would I ascribe as over-ventilated on account of it being roofless. The rust- laden latches of the two toilets was a lurid indication of it being out of use for quite a span of time. Both were deprived of lighting facilities. This nailed into our brains to put an abrupt ban to move towards it after dusk.

Every dream of or need of water would be encountered by the fact of one having to flung the bucket deep down a well of 5 meter or so. It is rather a good exercise to pull it with all our might, but not when one drearily returns from field.

The walk to the host farmer’s field was nothing but nauseating. Won’t it be obvious when queues of human excreta welcome us on either side of the road? For a moment, I tried withholding my breath. But for how long am I going to continue?

For a day or so, I was awestruck by the conditions of my would -be house. The thought of prioritizing the problems and the consequent solutions sprang to me but at a later instant. The problems after careful scrutiny were nothing of a kind that cannot be solved. A little compromise, a bit of adjustment, a tinge of self contentment and yet a part of problem solving tactics were all that needs to be blended.


Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Be My Accomplice

I will be the Morning Glory to greet you.
And you be my Sweet Alyssum.
Emanate bouquet of your Rosy fragrance.
Blend me with your sweet taste of Stevia.
Propel me into the firmament above with your Daisy scent.
Don’t intercrop me with incompatible an intercrop.
Neither let me stand melancholy a monoculture crop,
Nor let me struggle in haphazard a mixed cropping,
Dive me not into the intricacy of multitier cropping,
But you be my accomplice a companion crop,
And we’ll flourish on mutual benefits,
For as long as our soil nourishes and nurtures us.



Youth Unemployment

The problems of unemployment are taking its toll more or less rapidly and soon it would plague the nation with unprecedented tension and lapses if proper measures are not initiated at this manageable stage. It has remained our government’s prime concern over the years and talks of unemployment are a major issue, especially Youth Unemployment.

A large group of youngsters are found leisurely walking or roaming along the streets, commenting and criticizing the passersby, either intoxicating themselves or involving in anti-social activities. The recent trends of a number of stab cases, incessant burglary cases and violence are nothing but the consequence of unemployment. It is indeed the machinery of unemployment that is directly or indirectly driving youth into the pool of violence and anti-social activities.
But what are the likely causes or the root cause for unemployment? Some of the likely causes may be enlisted as follows;

a)      The inefficient capacity of the Industries to generate ample employment despite its rapid rate of expansion in the recent years.

b)      Lack of adequate knowledge, skills and values in an individual which duly make them unfit for the kind of work they prefer or which they get offered.

c)       Inadequacy in the education system to provide skill oriented education or learning processes which otherwise would have equipped the students with the necessary skills suitable for any work.

d)      Prejudice or bias against blue collar jobs from the job seekers despite their educational qualification.

e)      Inability of the government to provide necessary and adequate training to the energetic youngsters who possess tremendous potentiality to perform almost all kinds of work.

f)       Employment of so many foreign workers or laborers at the construction sites and many other fields while our country possesses enough man power for the same. This accounts for the outflow of major share of our income. Had this system been ceased, simultaneously the money saved may be diverted for augmenting the pay of our workers. Then it would have provided a platform where people would readily join any work as long as they get paid, and hence eliminate the discrimination of works.

g)      Lack of work spirit in people where almost everyone in this modernized and advanced world would prefer a job involving minimal effort or a sedentary one and on the contrary expect more salary. Lapse or such mindset of people would greatly contribute to the crisis of unemployment.

h)      The incompetency of an individual candidate to work in the sector opted.


i)        Lack of financial assistance and confidence on part of youth to start their own venture and or private business or organization.

j)        Lack of innovative ideas in the amateur youth.

k)      Resistance from youth to join private organizations considering it undependable.


Nevertheless, the advent of a new era, the dawn of a new political organization and the promise of our new Prime Minister to provide 100 percent employment are reassuring. We the youth expect that the dawn of this era will duly emanate radiance on the prevailing pitfall.

Well, it’s the duty of the government to arrange for every possibility of employment generation. However, the true purpose can only be met if we the youth inculcate in us the values, skills, knowledge and innovative ideas or all the essential qualities which the employment generation sector demand.

Monday, August 19, 2013

The Plea

I stroll my path towards East,
And I tread my journey towards West,
But I have only an urge to be met;
To be hoarded in the burrows of your heart.

I encountered millions on the journey of my life,
And I slid a glance into thousands,
But so vivid a conclusion have I drawn;
None have the clandestine charm that you do in your eyes.

Now I lay here with a plea to be made,
A wish to be granted,
A dream to be fulfilled;
To be encapsulated in the warmth of your love,
To be sealed inside the boundary of your affection,

And to be trapped inside the cage of your heart for eternity.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Your cause; My Effect

My happiness is the effect for which you are the cause.
My activity is the reaction for which you are the catalyst.
My journey is the venture for which you are the agent.
My success is the system for which you are the operator.
My hope is the motivation for which you are the drive.
My existence is the plant for which you are the soil.
My movement is the flight for which you are the wings.
My smile is a reason for which you are the cause.
My laughter is a credit for which you are the stimuli.
My weakness is an ailment for which you are the medicine.
My flaws are the lapses for which you are the mirror.
My aim is the sky for which you are the ladder.
My plan is a vision for which you are the mission.
My ability is a carrier for which you are the wheel.
My property is the wealth for which you are the proprietor.
My achievement is an effort for which you are the strength.
My love is a commitment for which your devotion is the cause.
 My life is a journey for which you are the path.
And our encounter is a dawn for which you are the emanating rays…










Saturday, June 8, 2013

War between army worms and farmers

Many a villagers hold firm onto the superstitious belief that the outbreak of army worms (Spodoptera spp.) is a bad omen or a fore-teller of some natural catastrophes.  The crops that they have raised with intensive care fall an utter victim to the notorious invasion by the army worms.

With great difficulty, the army worms make a gradual ascend up to the awns of wheat and barley, many find an enchanting dwelling on the leaves of clover & some of the weed species. The gusty gales and the vigorous hands that shake them down to the earth pose a challenge to their climb up the slender stems to the top of the barley and wheat awns.

This warfare continuous until the farmer is tired of shaking them down. He may be successful in dropping a few of them on the earthy mud or less literally pick them up. But then his efforts becomes doomed as the other generations peep through the slimy mass of eggs, give a vying crawl with their fleshy stout legs, feed gregariously and voraciously on the crops that the farmers have raised with utmost care and lumps of hopes.

In fact, everything in existence has a reason or the worms as a living entity on the earth has its own right to inhabit the earth and to amplify the species of their own type. They possess the right to continue their generations as we the humans do. Neither do they bear any grudge towards our existence and the domestication of crops.

On the other hand, we the humans having been a civilized creature and a gluttonous feeder take the advantage of destroying their temporary rented homes. We maliciously succumb them to death before they could actually relish the taste of what is in store for them by the nature. Except for a few lucky ones, many of them give way to the pesticidal sprays that the farmers indiscriminately shower upon them.

We the humans are clever and witty enough to formulate chemicals that could disrupt the normal metabolism of these helpless creatures. And so they are. We the humans innovate new things (chemicals) and accordingly do they evolve. A few species of them develop resistance to the existing insecticidal sprays. On the other hand, the susceptible ones die and are eradicated completely. This indeed provides ample opportunity for the resistant ones to multiply rapidly and colonize the fields with the crops of their interest.

This phenomenon, called the Pest Resurgence is the reason behind our farmers complaining that the insecticidal sprays have little or no effect on the insects. I empathize and express my sympathy to the farmers who have incurred or are deemed to incur losses due to invasion by army worms and minor damages due to other insects like beetles, bugs, sucking pests,weevils, hairy caterpillars, etc.

Nevertheless, I am extremely glad that our Bhutanese farmers have not opted for the indiscriminate use of insecticides as is prevalent in India. This isn’t a trend as of now and it should not become one in the future for the application of insecticides is often itself the cause of pests outbreak. It rather augments the problem than providing a solution to it. This is due to pest resurgence.

On top of that, it may lead to problems like the pesticide residues which may cause many deleterious effects in our body. In addition, it will curtail the opportunities of our products being accepted in the international markets due to pesticide residues, which in fact should not exceed the maximum residue level (MRL).

The use of pesticides isn't a hard and fast rule for pest control. This is line with the fact that I have spotted many natural enemies or predators that would gradually do wonder in keeping the pest number at levels below those causing economic damage.

Among many, have I spotted  the lady bird beetles of varying shades and hue of red, dark red, brown and ashy grey with 5, 7 and 9 spots on their hardy lustrous elytra. Though their strength is comparatively lesser than that of pests, there is still a scope for us to mass multiply them in laboratories and release them on inundative basis.

Also, have my eyes caught a glimpse of spiders of various sizes and colours that are so absorbed in knitting their webs into immaculate yet complex structures. So lucky a chap is he for he can get his prey or food at ease in the trap that he has set.

However, my eyes might have missed some other natural enemies as I am certain that several others might have been hovering around. This is a mechanism that nature employs to maintain balance in the ecosystem. However, intervention by humans becomes inevitable in certain cases in order to meet the steeping demands of the ever increasing human population.




Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Verses to My Lord


O’ my lord!
When through the windows of your senses,
You find more enchanting clothes,
Abandon not the frayed clothes that warmed you,
Let them be your comrades for life.

O’ my Lord!
When distance plays a trick in our romance,
Let not your senses get diverted.
But hold firm on the knot of love, trust and courage we tied,
And endeavor to knit the knot tighter.

O’ my Lord!
When over the lofty mountains I strode off,
Let doth not me out of your mind.
But when cumulonimbus clouds intrudes your path to the earth,
Wait for it to dissipate.

O’ my Lord!
Saunter not a step away from me,
For I will have searched for you in every nook and cranny,
And rummaged the thorny bushes,
Until your presence becomes a reality.

O’ my Lord!
When through the smoggy fog I am gone,
Let not I wander in the empty sky.
But when I’m shriveled by the blazing sun,
 Bless me with wings to fly at my will.




Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Conversation with Nerium


Amid dusty roads thee stood,
Amid drought thee doth not wilt.
Amid scorching rays thee doth not shrivel.
Amid incessant downpour thee doth not drown.
Amid gusty gales thee flung but a gentle swing.
Amid dusty roads thee glees thy bloom.
Amid tiresome load of thy bloom,
Thee housed numerous pupae and their adults.

Now may I interrogate thee?
Thy exquisite blooms?
Thy waxy lush leaves?
Thy hardy firm roots?

O’ Lovely thee!
What have thee absorbed through thy roots that made thee explicitly lovely?
What made thee withstand the vagaries of catastrophes?
What inner peace thee possess that made thee smile always?
Can thee hear me?
Can thee see if I paint a picture of thy flawless blooms?

Let’s come to consent:
A painted picture of thee would I present before thee.
The same would I frame with verses appraising thy beauty.
This would I share with the people around the globe,
And so shall I make thee famous,
Make thee overtake the status of rose,
Make thy fragrance be greeted by every nostril.
But I need thy promise,
For thee to unfurl a truth to my long awaited quests.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

The Sweetest Melody



 Here is this poor girl!
With nought but a purse.
With tremors in her fingers, tears in her eyes, accelerated beats in her heart;
Does she lift a paper, a paper embedded in the folds of her velvet purse.
This does she unfurl,
The paper in the realms of its four immaculately folded corners,
That enveloped a photograph of him.
This does she gazes at unflinchingly,
Gazing at the lips that played the blissful tunes,
The lips that motioned into varying indentations
To produce the sweetest, yet the saddest melody;
The lips that uttered the sweetest words.
She gazes and gazes and gazes…
To her heart’s content.

O’ my man!
The flute you played,
Had chilled my spines,
Activated my tear glands.
Melted and sealed my heart,

O’ my golden-lipped man!
The flute you played,
Took me to the serene foothills of the mighty mountains.
Thy sweet melody, the source of warmth on this wintry day.

O’ my sweet tongued romance!
The sweet melody still lingers,
In every crevice my brain possesses.
Thy blissful tunes, the seed of my bliss.


Friday, March 15, 2013

The Landlord's Fate




The landlord had his instructions to his trusted constable,
To have tamed his white-furred pony in the stable.

When he discovered that his lover eloped,
He had his white pony galloped.

Only in the far corner did he see a smithy,
Where a lad was at work in a hut that was grimy.

No other trails did his blazing eyes spot,
His wounded heart alone knew how brutally he was shot.

The rage that burnt in his eyes was fiery,
While the trudge across the slopes was weary.

Sprinting was he on his white pony,
With his darting eyes that looked horny.

At the rugged terrain had the rattling hoofs of his pony slipped,
It had the pages of his life story flipped.

The broken fragments did he try to repair,
 With his efforts in utter despair.

The crimson spotted exquisite bloom,
His only comrade wept in gloom.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Fleecy Snow



As the heavenly firmament could no longer
Take hold of its icy belongings,
The fleecy snow descended into incessant drops.
The sequel was its white foam having clad the dusty ground.
As it initiated its momentary halt upon roofs,
It has its pressure exerted on the porticoes beneath.
The feebly grown twigs and branches,
With their lichen blotched barks,
Couldn't resist but surrender themselves,
That drooped or fell on the ground in utter despair.
The gentle knock it had upon the roofs,
Had its inhabitants fueled up.
The beauty and the glee it brought
Far exceeded the freezing chillness that it sent
Radiating all over their body.
People with weather- bitten appearances,
And glimmering ruddy cheeks,
Rushed out like swarms of bees.



Every mouth that opened,
Ejected lumps of vapour,
That hovered ahead for a moment,
And vanished amid the sky as a few seconds elapsed.
Everyone ruffled in their cravats,
With their cozy boots well up the knee,
Dressed in their tweed jackets,
Swaggered to catch the wavering snow.
The vigilant eyes that blinked constantly,
Made an assurance to gift every passerby with a hit,
By tossing the well molded ice crystal up in the air,
That landed on their target with a thud.






Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Be My Valentine



Fate has endowed me with a glimpse of hint,
To make my choice,
To decide my destiny.
And so have I trod my bare feet
Upon thy lush meadow.

Feared was I for the prickly sting.
Reluctant was I for the unfathomable destiny.
Assailed was my mind with skeptics.
Frightened was I for the bleak landscape,
That would lie before me.
Hunted was I by the sounds,
Of my own feet lurching through the maze.
Shattered was I for the forlornly state of being.
The probable perils had my further move tethered.

But determined was I to stroll further.
For if I risk nothing,
I would have or be nothing too.
No matter how impetuous my decision was,
My sensual urgency had my act of will exercised.

I waddled until I stood with my eyes into yours.
The very sight of whom had my eyes blinded.
The very words of whom had my heart melted.
The very first time I spotted you, have I discovered
A cozy and the most secure place to be in henceforth.
So would you let me dwell
In your heart for the rest of my life?

For this very special man who is far enough
To be described in any sense,
Had my senses hypnotized,
I am at your command, my love.
But never let go off me.

I thank God for the glimpse of direction.
Appreciate myself for the shrewd decision.
But how should I pay homage to the man
Who enlightened my world of being with happiness?
For you are the sole motive behind my existence and joy.

If I happen to perish now,
I would have my soul wander
In the realms of samsara,
For not having stepped on thy lush lawn,
And for not having valued thy aesthetic meadow.

Now, with my two hands clasped into one,
I have a humble request to be made,
“Be my Valentine, my love.
Be my soul mate for eternity”.