Sometimes!

Sometimes life can be cruel and unfair
Sometimes love isn’t just meant to be
Sometimes friends can’t be understoodSometimes family isn’t the only thing
Sometimes beauty is unreal
Sometimes god just seems to disappear
Sometimes truth is too harshSometimes lies are a great support

Sometimes death is beautiful
Sometimes a smile comes through tears
Sometimes a wish comes trueSometimes you just can’t find a home
Sometimes light brings darkness in your life
Sometimes the poor are happier than the rich

Sometimes nothing can be everything
Sometimes silence speaks a thousand words
Sometimes a heart is lostSometimes a doubt leads your way
Sometimes people can be animals
Sometimes faith misleads you

Sometimes science is a tragedy
Sometimes a believe ruins you foreve
rSometimes accidents seem so sweet
Sometimes jealousy can be warm
Sometimes words do not cost much

Sometimes joy is just being silly
Sometimes a tragedy brings a new life
Sometimes being young can be tiring
Sometimes comprehending is the only thing
Sometimes being candid is being misjudged

Sometimes peace is found at war
Sometimes ugly can be you and I
Sometimes music is the food for life
Sometimes character contributes to beauty
Sometimes beautiful old people are works of art

Sometimes the night starts a brand new day
Sometimes being mellow too can be tiring
Sometimes deception is the only truth
Sometimes nonsense makes a lot of sense
Sometimes a reason leads to enmity

Sometimes art can be fairer than the evening air
Sometimes wonderful can be strange
Sometimes a man is a torment of his soul
Sometimes a secret answers to many questions
Sometimes an answer is just not enough

Sometimes age is the level of learning
Sometimes a sword is more powerful then the pen
Sometimes seduction is falling in love
Sometimes virtue dwells together with beauty
Sometimes sadness can be momentary

Sometimes happiness causes the world to asunder
Sometimes loneliness is a man’s best friend
Sometimes a will cannot find its way
Sometimes listening is all you can do
Sometimes a promise brings people together

Sometimes memories are left behind
Sometimes a brand new day is the end of life
Sometimes a mistake wakes a nation
Sometimes perfection is dangerous
Sometimes drugs are the only remedy to live

Sometimes an ass can be an angel
Sometimes beginnings are the most difficult phase
Sometimes inevitability goes away
Sometimes ‘I love you’ can mean ‘fuck off’
Sometimes seeing a shooting star can be a bad omen

Sometimes a stranger can make a difference
Sometimes ice cold martini can suck
Sometimes even Romeo can cheat on Juliet
Sometimes men can cry
Sometimes a sad face can have a happy heart

Sometimes your future can be your past
Sometimes marriages can be broken in heaven
Sometimes a conspiracy can do good to the country
Sometimes power is the only weakness
Sometimes high school is the end of education

Sometimes diamonds are no better than shit
Sometimes there can be a god in a hooker
Sometimes long tresses down to the floor can be gorgeous
Sometimes hunger is the craving for life
Sometimes tears look better on a woman than make up

Sometimes a discovery might be too stale
Sometimes history will repeat it self again
Sometimes contributions can be overflowing
Sometimes emotions can be irritating
Sometimes destiny is not a matter of change

Sometimes there aint no key to success
Sometimes a fanatic can change his mind
Sometimes troubles are blessed
Sometimes a journey does not end where it begins
Sometimes money can grow on trees

Sometimes lunatics can make more sense than philosophers
Sometimes battered wives can kill
Sometimes determination can stop you there
Sometimes there can be no limitations to life
Sometimes pain can hit you and do no harm

Sometimes freedom means asking for death
Sometimes a baby can be the devil
Sometimes brothers can be the sister you never had
Sometimes you choose your own family
Sometimes foes can give you hope

Sometimes brotherhood has to let go
Sometimes fathers can be mothers
Sometimes night isn’t night
Sometimes day isn’t day
Sometimes friends aren’t friends

Sometimes love isn’t love
Sometimes life isn’t life
And sometimes I am not I

Battered Wives!

This is an unedited version of an article I wrote for my newspaper about a year ago ...its kinda old but its about going into the lives of battered wives which often happens behind closed doors.

They have found comfort in pain; the scars on their bodies have become a mark which shall remain in them for ever. A majority of the women have taken up the responsibility of making sacrifices and compromises because of the universal fact that women are the weaker sex.

Their life has become darkness from love, how they wish they could scream out what they are going through. Their pleasures in life is just looking after their house, their children and tolerating the muscularity of the men.

Do they have a choice? For most of those battered wives, there seems to be no choice. As most Bhutanese believe that what ever happens in their present life is because of all the bad deeds they have done in their previous lives. “Tse nge mei ley,” they say.

Women today, even a few of those who are educated, are beaten almost to death by their husbands. “I was almost killed by my husband, he beat me up and almost strangled me to death,” said Lhamo, a mother of four children and an every day victim of her husband’s mood swings.

A woman all over is battered, and in most cases the batterer is a member of her own family. A majority of the batterer are the husbands.

According to the statistics of the Forensic Medicine Unit, Jigme Dorji Wangchuck National Referral Hospital (JDWNRH), there have been 81 cases of wife battery in the year 2005.

Most of these cases were Thimphu residents, while the others were from all over Bhutan. “We even had a case of wife battery all the way from Trashi Yangtse,” said Dr. Pakila Drukpa, Forensic Specialist.

Among those who have reported to the hospital, 65% were unemployed, 10% were business women and another 10% comprised of civil servants. A majority (65%) of the battering of wives happened during the first 10 years of marriage. Even a composition of 9% was wives who were married for more than 20 years.

Two third of the cases of the battered wives were between the age of 15-45. In most cases, the nature of the force or weapon used to batter their wives were punching and fist blows, slapping, pulling hair, gripping and squeezing body parts, kicking, shoving, pushing and scratching.

Husbands have used weapons like wooden sticks and clubs, knives, cables and wires, bottles, pipes, umbrellas and broom sticks to use on their wives.

According to the Forensic Medicine Unit records, in some cases the husbands had also threatened to kill the wives and locked them up inside the room or the house.

One of the main reasons which lead to wife battery is the consumption of alcohol by the husbands. “My husband always comes home drunk, and he just does not need a reason to hit me. He picks up on small things, even if I ask him to have his dinner, he somehow gets offended for no reason and he hits me,” said Tshering Pemo, a tortured wife of an alcoholic husband.

Although in a few cases wives are battered by the husband because of the alcohol problem of the wife. The other reasons which lead to wife battery are husband’s adultery, jealousy by the husband, arguments over money matters and children, affairs on both sides.

There have also been a few cases where the wives were beaten up because of the argument over the husband’s attempt to molest the daughter.

The other common reason is the argument following his attempt to have sexual intercourse with the wife. “Sometimes, my husband wants to have sexual intercourse in the middle of the night when I am fast asleep. Then if I even make a small comment on it, he beats me up. He has beaten me up many times and he has used the side table on me,” said Tashi Dema, a teacher and a victim of her husband’s short temperedness.

However some of these cases go unreported because of the fear of reprisal by the husband. “Even if we know it’s a battering case, they lie to us saying they fell or it was an accident,” said Dr Pakila Drukpa.

The other reasons are fear of marital breakdown, concern about repercussion on children and because of lack of family and social support, earlier mild force and threats, to avoid hassles over lengthy police and court formalities and the tradition where beatings by husbands are socially accepted.

“I am scared to report that I am beaten because my husband is the only bread earner in the family. If he leaves me what will happen to me and my children. I need him and have to tolerate all these to be financially supported by him,” said Chhimi Lhamo, a really frustrated wife.

Regarding previous incidents of battery, there has been a temporary cessation in the use of physical force on the husband’s behavior.

However, in a few cases there has been no change in the abusive behaviors or the husbands have become more abusive and used more physical force. So far there has been no death but wife battery has led to self mutilation.

In a few cases, it has led to the beating of up of the children by the mother herself. “It is very frustrating when you are being beaten up and your children keep crying and nagging you. It’s not their fault but then you can not help it when you are so torn and heart broken. You just unconsciously beat up your children and regret it later,” said Deki Wangmo, a civil servant.

According to the police spokesperson, most cases are withdrawn the next morning, the reason, because they wives feel they are dependent on the husbands. “It is wrong to say domestic violence or wife battery has decreased.

It will be much safer for them if women come up and put up a complaint against it,” said a police spokesperson. RENEW has also seen a few cases of wife battery, according to Tshering Dolkar of RENEW, they have been providing back ups with the related agencies for such women. They have been assisting on providing advices to these women and in the long run they plan on building shelter homes for the economically disadvantaged women.

Losing Parts of Myself!

A part of me wants to write and a part of me wants to draw. There is a part of me who wants to study environment and another who wants to be an anthropologist. Yet there is another part of me who wants to travel and at the same time a part who wants to remain just where I am.

There is a part of me who wants to love and there is a part of me who wants to be loved. But there is a larger part of me who wants to break free, live life on my own principles and grounds. To put myself into all parts will take a larger part of me.While trying to find happiness in myself by keeping other’s happy, I have lost the biggest part of me.

My whole life has been fragmented into these small parts, confusing me every new day. What I am today is a reflection of the broken part of me.I have fallen and never once risen to put bits and pieces of myself together again. “I will never be the same, I will never find the person within me that I have lost,” I often told my friends.

Yes, I do believe there is yet a whole life ahead of me and yes, I do believe things won’t be the same forever. Destiny and fate, yes, I do believe in them as well. “After every stormy day there is sunshine.”

Indeed!But what I don’t understand is how long the sun will take to shine on me. I have often tried to fix the broken parts of my life. I really did, believe me! While trying to fix the broken parts, somehow, I always couldn’t find a few parts of me who used to be determined, who used to be in love with life and the part that used to sing the joys of life. Without these parts I will never be me.

The missing parts of me which I cant seem to find makes me feel different in my own skin.Years have gone by and I have lost many parts of me as I journeyed through life. If only I took care of the parts I lost, I would still be me!

Changing faces of motherhood!

“You are pregnant; you are on your third month.” The nurse’s voice teamed with these words pricked right through my heart.

“Please let this be a joke, this has to be a joke. I can’t be pregnant.” Words started to tread heavily in my head.

I was only 21 and still in college, still very young to become a mother. It wasn’t a dream for sure, although I would have given everything for it to be a dream. Unfortunately, it wasn’t!

I didn’t know how to react to it, had no idea what I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to cry, or laugh or jump into the river? I was a shocked, scared and confused mother-to-be. (FACE ONE)

I guess I didn’t realize it then, but motherhood started from the first time I heard I was pregnant. But I feared to bring the life inside me into this world. Of course I wasn’t ready. “But, what the heck? What’s meant to happen was bound to happen anyways!” (FACE TWO)

As I went on to my sixth month of motherhood I was still in college. My fashion statements become loose track pants and big T-shirts. Yes, I won’t deny it; I was trying to hide motherhood. I was shy, too shy of what people will find out (although I figured out later people had already known). (FACE THREE)

After my parents knew about it, I felt more secure. My whole life started to take a new meaning to motherhood. I started to smile at motherhood, started to love motherhood and finally felt comfortable with motherhood. (FACE FOUR)

The morning sickness seemed to last for ever, my stomach looked like it was going to burst open any moment, pigmentations had invaded my face and I can never forget the long minutes I took to stand up every time I sat down. The only clothes I could wear were the most hideous maternity dresses which made me feel very grandmother. The last few months of pregnancy was depressing, suffocating and annoying. (FACE FIVE)

The most important face of motherhood I missed was to feel the pain of giving birth (I am not talking about the face I saw on my friend while she was in labor). But I am talking about the pain full joy of motherhood. Due to some complications I had to have a cesarean and since it was an emergency one I felt no labor, no contraction and no pain. (FACE SIX)

Sagging tummy, the swelling boobs, the 30 extra kilos I had put on during pregnancy, all the morning sickness, my fashion statement of grandmother clothes, missing the wild night outs with friend and even having to leave college, everything seemed to fade away.None of these mattered to the joy I felt the moment I saw my son’s face.

All my miseries seemed to disappear when I put him on my lap and close to my heart. That was indeed a beautiful feeling! Somehow, I feel, the joy of having your first child will never be the same as the second, or third or fourth. My achievement was motherhood and my trophy was my son. (FACE SEVEN)

Then it was the crazy moments of learning to be a mother. Motherhood does come naturally but with that come a completely different life. From changing diapers to getting the right baby food to knitting the most hideous tiny sweaters to bathing them to putting them to sleep to watching them laugh to holding their little hands. Everything thus becomes an adventure. (FACE EIGHT)

Motherhood takes a completely different face as your child grows. There is never a moment that passes by when you have related something to you child, be it good or bad. Then there is this proud moment when your son can draw a perfect “A” and calls you “Ama.” There is no greater joy in knowing your child is learning and you are learning too. (FACE NINE)

Being a single mother is a completely different form of motherhood. Trying to be the father as well as the mother is indeed difficult. I often fear in being questioned by my son as to why he grew up in a single mother’s home. What will I say to him? But then yet again, there is a joy to being a single mother. From playing football with him to dressing up as a ‘ninja’ to fight him to teaching him how to pee, everything makes me a kid too. (FACE TEN)

Motherhood changes your life forever, it transforms you completely. It’s an experience of a life time which starts from the day you are pregnant to and goes on for ever. Motherhood itself is a new life!

“Discovering that with every child, your heart grows bigger and stronger - that there is no limit to how much or how many people you can love, even though at times you feel as though you could burst - you don't - you just love even more.” - Yasmin Le Bon

Parliamentarians! They have a life too!

Parliamentarians and politicians!

The moment I think of them, I feel they are these serious group of people all set to make a difference for their constituencies. Some by lying to people and some from their heart, but they are all humans at the end of the day.

I went to attend the South Asian Free Media Association (SAFMA) Parliamentary Forum in Shimla. Believe me, until I got to Delhi, I didn’t know why I was attending the conference. It was a mixture of everything; I was quite taken back by how confident people were at the conference.

And at the same time I was annoyed at how unreasonable people can be. But at the end of the conference everyone was just a human. It’s amazing how your impression on people change with time. Well, there are a few people I would like to mention in this blog.

These are people who kept the conference alive, people who made it to my bitch list, people who were amazingly beautiful, people who were a wacko and many more.

First is the Bhutanese delegation’s driver, Bablu. He was a darling, I didn’t see him get angry until a bus came and hit his car. He was always very quite and helpful and to thank him, we got him totally drunk on the last day of the conference, eventually making him blab out a lotta unnecessary stuff.

There was this really beautiful Pakistani parliamentarian, very confident and smart. She became my temporary role model; she was very reserved and had great class. Her beautiful face, good sense of dressing made her look perfect. How fortunate? She made it to the top list of my ‘bitch list.’ Jeez, this lady could talk nothing but nonsense. She had to butt into every issue, and man she could scream. She was even asked to leave the conference room; she left and even came back again.

Then there was George, the person who took care of the Bhutanese delegation. He liked to call himself George the good and not George Bush. He kept doing weird stuff to the way he walks. He surely mistook boxing for dancing, it seemed like he saw his punching back in his dancing partner. He was a good dancing George with marvelous boxing moves.

And then we had our very own PDP politician who made the Bhutanese delegation proud with his excellent speech. The whole room was in awe with what he spoke about.

Then this Indian guy comes and asks him to give him a copy of his speech and like a true politician, he turns to me and says, “Didn’t you give him a copy of my speech?” And I like a true journalist turn to the guy and said, “You didn’t come to ask it from me.” A lie over a lie, but a good and a quick one and maybe one day I might become a good politician too. I know wishful thinking.

I cannot forget to mention a Politician from Pakistan, he joined us to dance and he grabbed my hands and started doing a good knows what weird dance step. He just won’t let me dance with the others, annoying, sleazy and an old hag was the impression he made on me. He was in his late 60’s and I thought, maybe if I really tossed and turned him around on the dance floor, he will probably get tired and leave. So I held his hands and started moving it as fast as I could. Damn, the old man had stamina, he just won’t get tired, and infact he started moving as fast as I could.

And then there was this Bangladeshi Minister, who would keep calling me Shuki. We hardly exchanged words in between each other, but every time he will see me, he will come up to me and say “Shuki, Shuki, Shuki, Shuki.”

Another Bangladeshi Parliamentarian told me that he has a son, a little younger to me studying in Scholastica and even showed me a picture. Man his son was hot; I gave him the nick name, “hot son’s dadola.” But later he became Mr. Sleepy after we spotted him dozing off at the conference.

Then towards the end of the conference I saw this really good looking Afghanistani parliamentarian. He had the most beautiful eyes; everything about him was so perfect. I kept leaching at him and even wanted my return tickets to Afghanistan and not to Bhutan. He was even older to my dad, but he was good looking, was so dignified, so intelligent.

Sigh, I wanted to adopt him as my second father and bring him to Bhutan. Ironically, he didn’t speak English at all and I don’t speak Afghanistani and my Hindi is so bad I might just say the wrong thing to him.

A tale of a mother and daughter!

Every moment of happiness or sadness is complimented by one person, the person can be a family member or a friend or just a passer by, a complete stranger.

I was on a trip to Singye Dzong (three days walk in the middle of no where) with my dad, I was taking a break from work but then at the same time I was looking for stories to take back home.

Well, yes I did find a lot of stories to write on along the way, on the second last day of my trip we were at Raemoteng, located on the north eastern side of Singye Dzong. Raemoteng is the summer home for the nomadic yak herders, although there is settlement there, the place is occupied only for about a month or two (guess summer is short for people living there).

A s I was taking a walk around the place, looking for something interesting to write about, I came across an empty house, a small house.

One of the yak herders started to tell me a true story that happened a few years ago, two years ago to be precise.

“An old blind lady and her daughter lived in this house; they didn’t have any yaks to herd that year so they decided to stay back while all of us left. A few days later, the daughter had got sick and died. When we came back after three weeks, there was no sign of the mother as well as the daughter.So we went to check on them, the old lady was sitting next to her daughter’s dead body, which had started to smell. She looked helpless and weak; she would have starved to death if we had decided to stay back any longer. Later the daughter’s dead body was chopped into small pieces and thrown to seven corners of Singye Dzong,” he narrated the story to me.

I seriously didn’t know what to say, tears just started to roll down my cheeks. I was told that later the old lady was adopted by another yak herder family. Only the old lady knows what she actually went through for three weeks.

Her dead daughter next to her, blind and helpless to do anything, nothing could get worse than being this helpless.

I wondered what this old lady might have gone through, all alone with her only daughter’s dead body next to her, with no food to eat and with no one around in the middle of no where. And yet she managed to survive, I was also told that she is still strong after all that she had to go through.

Love, Wangyal and

I have a three year old son; at the age of three it’s difficult for him to understand when I tell him that I love him and how important he is to me and my life.

So I am writing this for him, especially for him. Maybe when he gets a little older he will understand and say, “Hey my mom truly loved me.” Alright, so Wangyal, when you learn to say something more than just ABC you are gonna know how much mommy actually loves you.

Becoming a mother at a young age can very tiring, mothering is some sort of an art. You gotta be good at what you do; being a full-time mother is the highest paid job since your salary is wisdom and love. I am just a mother trying to figure out what mothering is all about at the moment. T he moment you were born, the mother in me was born too, the mother in me never existed before, and the woman in me did exist but never the mother.

Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but the love is always there, and most mothers kiss and scold together. (I hope the latter wasn’t more in my case) From the day I have become a mother, I have never really left my thoughts at home, and my mind is occupied with you all the time.

I keep wondering if you got your diapers changed, if you are watching too much of Johnny Bravo and Tom & Jerry. Or eating too much of granny’s Kewa datshi instead or your cereals. Basically I am never alone in my thoughts, you are always there. I always have to think twice, one for myself and one for you.

You have been my best friend, when ever I was sad, I have spoken to you. Before you, your granny was my best friend. She is a poem I will never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to her...hahaha You are a little darling who has changed me and my life for the better ofcourse. Now that I have you in my life, I possibly cannot imagine a life without you.

Every one in the family loves you, for that matter even your drunk uncles love you. Uncle DG is a lazy bum and yet he plays the horse for you.

Uncle Geley is defiantly not a family man with the attitude ‘friends are beyond everything’ but with you he would just get up early to play with you.

Meymey is someone who has always been so stubborn, but with you he has changed his whole philosophy of life.

And Abi, she cant live a single day without seeing you.

This is how much everyone loves you honey!

And yeah I am adding a short paragraph for my good friend Mitra, I keep shouting at him and keep making fun of him. So when he is old with no teeth at all, when his sex life has become nil. He will look back at our good old days and say, “Man Chuki was a hot girl, why couldn’t I see that before when I was young.” (Ha-ha I am writing this because he forced me to add him too)