There are moments...moments when you feel the panic rising because you can’t remember them so clearly – that memories got so stuck in one place while you have been busy moving ahead with time....with age. It was only days ago when I could remember moments from the time I was only 3 – the day my younger brother was born and how I thought he was the cutest baby, the times when my elder brother bought me a pair of socks with his meagre pocket money and he was only ten years old. I remember my sister baking bread in a pot once and how the rest of scrambled through the window for a burnt bite. I remember the face of my mother when she was young and how beautiful her fingers once were, before too much hardwork for sustenance distorted them. My brothers and I were comrades, we walked long distances, swam the river in Simtokha and how we never went again after one of them almost drowned. I remember playing all the things that were meant for boys : marbles, bearings, and cycles that were driven with a handle.
One of my good friends, also my roommate when we were
studying in India, narrated the following true incidents :
There was a woman whom she, my friend,
addressed as “Aunty”, known to be a jovial and a happy go lucky soul by nature.
Once when the woman had gotten somewhat seriously ill, she had summoned her
loving husband by her deathbed and told him that she was going to be no more
and that she wished him happiness in life. She asked him to promise her one
final wish – that he would remarry and move on. The distraught husband refused
at first and showered her words of how much he loved her and that the thought
of any other woman was simply unbearable. But she would not give up and
tearfully begged him to fulfil her that one final wish. The husband, tearfully
too, had finally relented. They sobbed
and hugged and exchanged words of endearments that they would never get to
utter again.
Well, if you are wondering where the heck I have been, you will be disappointed to know, that I haven’t been to Rome or Paris yet, and I definitely haven’t been in a gondola with a Greek God either and therefore, have no adventure tales to relate and the most I have travelled to is to my barren mind, going in circles to the point of madness. I go out of the house in the morning and come home to sleep and manage a long, tiring day in between apart from being a mumzilla to my kid. But there are evidences to prove that I am not the only one losing that sanity screw. For instance, after an hour long conversation with my buddy about movies based on cannibalism, he says:
“Kinga, if we could be eaten, your meat would be good for making soup”, he says and then thoughtfully adds “In Bhutanese style dish, you could go well with kakur and thingay!”
And I tell my chubby friend that his could be BBQed and in Bhutanese style, prepared during Chokus and Tshechus to show off to the envying neighbours.
If my mother was present, she would have wept.
“Kinga, if we could be eaten, your meat would be good for making soup”, he says and then thoughtfully adds “In Bhutanese style dish, you could go well with kakur and thingay!”
And I tell my chubby friend that his could be BBQed and in Bhutanese style, prepared during Chokus and Tshechus to show off to the envying neighbours.
If my mother was present, she would have wept.
One boulder is all it takes
To crumble a mountain
One tear to cause a flood
One word to break a bond
All the years of building,
To crumble a mountain
One tear to cause a flood
One word to break a bond
All the years of building,
