The Interest Factor

Whenever someone unfurls the carpet of an invitation for me, the first thing I end up doing is to stretch it and clothe the whole stadium of my mind. Inside this stadium, I often watch the dreadful tug of war between acceptance and denials. And amusingly, the luckiest are those if they are with the proposals that fall within the zone of my interest. (Doesn’t necessarily mean that I am a well-sought invitee or that demanding in nature).    

The balance of interest

Thus, the interest has often been one factor for me to gauge between those commodities of reception and rejection. It works like a hidden compass and performs like any ordinary, showing me the precise direction where to follow.

But one thing I hate about the interest is its existence of bipolarity. Like magnets, it attracts only with the right pole and repels the ones that are against its rule.

And miserably, this rule of interest never finds a smooth course to run in the circle of human relations. It is never a good crop to grow in the land of our social life.

For instance, whenever my heartiest friends design a plan to do something, they would have already put me inside the bucket of their plan. And one question I would certainly put up, (which they are at all times prepared) is “who’s the rest?”

I am not concerned about the colour, race or sex of the other members. But I am more concerned about the colour, race and sex of their interest.

We often take into consideration that to socialize, a long list of alcohols and brands of animal fleshes in our menu is indispensable. While to some extent is necessary, to consider the interests of people around is very important. They are just parallel.

This is one reason why I flee or avoid gatherings unless it consists of some official feathers. Humans have a tainted belief that gathering is synonymous with whisky and the whisky is alone engine to run the bus of socialization.

One may argue of its frequency, that gathering takes place only occasionally. But it is this small degree that makes the biggest difference.

We never stand our feet inside the shoe of people who never drink any form of these intoxicants. Not knowing that these drugs slowly eat away their brain cells, the inebriates instead, claim that they see another heaven. The wisest teetotalers then become the best fools to watch the drama of how hell can be easily made out of heaven.      

“It is hard to interest those who have everything in those who have nothing” Hellen Keller

Thromkha to Facebook

Frank Ocean, the popular American songwriter and rapper is believed to have asserted: When you are happy, you enjoy the music. But, when you are sad you understand the lyrics.

Brilliantly crafted. Remarkably said.

When I am often chewed by the cruel teeth of loneliness, music has always been the best diet for me. The sweetness in the melody of music often helped me freeze the teeth of loneliness from an extra attempt of bite. This aided me further in seeking refuge under the muscles of music for all the times then.

And it is at this turn of the clock that I realized Ocean’s amazing statement. I was not just diving into a pool of music to let it shut my auricles so that I can’t hear atrocious calls of loneliness anymore.

But, I could observe the fingers of songwriters dressing the lyrics of their song with a perfect fold on their outfit; I could witness the bleeding drops of love falling from their heart; I liked the patience they took in painting their lyrics over and over again so that the music lovers see its beauty from the right angle like them. I admired them for designing the best shoes of lyrics so that whosoever buys one, experience the same kind of comfort or pain on wearing it. In all, I envy the prowess in them to do this because it is never a piece of cake to be a lyricist after all.  

I remember the time when Bhutan’s nightingale Mrs. Dechen Pem robbed my heart with her melody titled: Nga Nyim chi Thromkha Joda, Nge gnyandro rnyimda chaeb may (_{ང་ཉིནམ་ཅིག་ཁྲོམ་ཁར་འགྱོ་ད། ངེས་གཉེན་གྲོགས་རྙིངམ་ད་འཕྱདཔ་མས།).} 

That was probably in grade seven.

 

The song which watered the growth of my infant romance

Whether one relates it to be a branch of an infatuation or a shoot of an obsession, I like rearing the youngness of that feeling in the museum of my same old heart. I can still recall the taste of romance at that age which was so sweet but with a fatally tender stem. The stem used to be so weak that, even during a short span of separation, the mild breeze of Dechen Pem’s voice singing the above song, would crush the stem of my infant love and let it bleed galloons of tears. Today, when I think back of it, I see how the melody of that song cultivated romance in my heart at a very tender age. I see how weighty the lyrics were because I often ended up repeating the same verse while tending cattle in my village.

But until today, I didn't realize that the song which sowed a seed of romance in me took a new apron.  I took a roller coaster ride in Soundcloud.com where I heard the same song with the new lyrics.

Nga Nyim chi Thromkha Joda, Nge gnyandro rnyimda chaeb may (_{ང་ཉིནམ་ཅིག་ཁྲོམ་ཁར་འགྱོ་ད། ངེས་གཉེན་གྲོགས་རྙིངམ་ད་འཕྱདཔ་མས།)} has been converted to Nga Nyim chi Facebook Nalu, Nge gnyandro rnyimda chaeb may (_{ང་ཉིནམ་ཅིག་ facebook ནང་ལུ། ངེས་གཉེན་གྲོགས་རྙིངམ་ད་འཕྱདཔ་མས།)} 

The word thromkha in the first line of the song has changed to Facebook.

 

The contemporary song that might heal the pain of lovers who met on Facebook

The sweetness in the original feminine voice is replaced by a sensational masculine voice. There’s no Dechen Pem anymore but surely there’s Amrith Subba.

Now listening to his song, I think that the romantic Romeo, Mr Amrith must have discovered his Juliet somewhere from the island of Facebook.

“That’s contemporary and it’s a 21st-century love song for the youth” I sighed that evening. 

Note: The lyrics were written and typed by myself. Errors in the spellings are under the sweet correction of readers. 

The LINK to Mr Amrith's Facebook song:  https://soundcloud.com/search?q=Latest%20Bhutanese%20song%3A%20Facebook%20na%20lu%20%28edited%20version%29

“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it isimpossible to be silent” –Victor Hugo

Moon is sometimes NOT 'daw' in Dzongkha

              I remember my Kindergarten days when I first learned that Daw is the Dzongkha word for moon. Fast forward to my teaching years, I found myself singing the same old lyric to teach my students.

                

            However, today I experienced a wild kind of suffocation inside the prison of a hard mystery, as I realised that the same song I sang many moons ago has a deeper, elusive meaning. This mystery has parked me on my chair, helplessly mulling over for hours.  

Same but different 

                

        The mystery unsolved hitherto, was like restoring carbon produced from the charcoal of misconception that would further blacken and besmirch my teaching. It was like a thorn in my thought that kept prickling. The mystery is nothing typical that can draw an ounce of human attention. But to me, it sounded something a clear misunderstanding.

                  Almost on every page of publications, through my lens of understanding, I read the ‘moon’ as “daw’ in our language. But it is only today that I realised this same word (which might have its own nature of explanation) proclaiming a different meaning to me. 

            For example, the way it is used in referring to the weekdays posed a challenge. If the moon is still believed as ‘Daw’, then it should not be Sunday that gets the name ‘gza daw’  (གཟའ་ཟླ་བ་). The Sunday should instead be named as ‘gza nyim’  (གཟའ་ཉི་མ་) if the literal meanings of the sun for ‘Nyim’  and moon for ‘daw’  has to be retained 😁. 

            In a Tibetan calendar, they also use the moon for ‘daw’ and that’s why they have ‘gza daw’  (གཟའ་ཟླ་བ་) on Monday. Monday is actually believed to have derived from an Old English term known as Monenday, meaning ‘Moon Day’. Tibetan calendar portrays Sunday as gza nyim’  (གཟའ་ཉི་མ་) because it has an astrological meaning with the object like the sun. The nature of the calendar is lunisolar which signifies both the phase of the moon and the time of the solar year. 

            Having been brought up with a purely Bhutanese way of understanding, now I can detect a weak muscle in my tongue to taste the other way. I like speaking in its own traditional way because that is the true charm of being Bhutanese. 

“Bob Marley isn't my name. I don't even know my name yet”- Bob Marley

Dr. Van Diallo hates Benjamin Franklin

While many people around the world crazily marathon to kiss the dead Benjamin, there are some who still hates him. The so-called Dr Van is not an exception. 
 

A few days ago, Dr Van has rained proposals into my inbox. The mail read: 

I am Dr Van Diallo. Currently, the Auditing and Accounting Unit Manager with a reputable bank here, Bank of Africa (BOA) Ouagadougou Burkina Faso.

I write you this proposal in good faith, believing that I can trust you with the information I am about to reveal to you. The Business I am proposing you is in respect of the sum of US$10,500,000.00 (Ten Million Five hundred Thousand Dollars only) deposited in a Dollar account with my bank which belonged to one of our deceased customer who unfortunately lost his life in a plane crash along with his entire family.

I was neither excited to continue reading his proposal nor shocked to hear the tragedy because this wasn’t the first mail. It wasn’t the first time to hear either.

“Who the hell can believe the hatred towards 10,500,000 Benjamins?”  I sighed, gnashing my teeth.  

Who hates Benjamin? Except for Dr Van

The Benjamin, alias the U.S. Dollars is often the second lifeline that people have on their bucket list nowadays.

Humans are now fearless to break the backbone of their health to gain wealth. There are still some who cross the bar in losing health to gain wealth and later trying to regain health by using wealth. Watching this ductility of human greed and the live documentary of a complete ravenousness have always fevered my spinal cord many times. 

But, it was surprising why Dr Diallo flood the proposals to me. The world wouldn't believe me if I describe the pattern of words he has used to weave the stories in the proposal. No dictionary can suffice the strength of his expressions.

Since I suffered nausea with the echoing smell of spam, I cooked a message on the oven of my laptop for this saboteur crook. Here it reads: 

Dear Dr Van, 

It was heartening to receive the business proposals from you over and over again. But, like a crook like you, who is busy invading minds of the innocent wise humans, I am never free to work on your proposals. 

However, the recurrence of your emails has made me wish for extra hands so that I can sieve the nicest lethal words to suffocate scoundrels like you.  

Education is believed to bring a desirable change in human behaviour. And, if a roguelike you still believed in yourself to be a human, I would classify you to be an untouchable fiend. You seem to have been educated in the World's Villain School.

I remembered what William Shakespeare in The Tempest said: Hell is empty and all the devils are here. No wonder your birth was prophesied by this English playwright sometime in the 16th Century only. 

The Almighty must be regretting the creation of your mother, who gave birth to a human with devil's mind like you. Each day with his fingers crossed, He might be saying prayers not to breed your race: a devil with a human face. 

I wish I have some miracles to entrap a beast like you and let the starving vultures feed in front of the world. Like you annex the serene human mind little by little every day, I wish those scavengers feed on your flesh bit by bit. 

Eventually, I take pride to say the last lines of my painful prayer that a son of a bitch like you vanish before your blood stains the world. Each day, you send a spam message, let your life be shorter with lightning speed. 

 “You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time”- Abraham Lincoln