Winter Program at Home

Those who have tried to create winter program at home, please raise your hands.  The one thing that I have always found missing in our country is the comfort of a working parents. I know becoming parent is an individual choice and we could have easily chosen not to have kids but population and future employee is also a concern for a country as a whole. People these days have one or two kids and I see that as a grave danger to our future job market. Of course I am no analyst to be saying this.

But coming back to my original thoughts on working couple and their difficult times in managing kids, I think something should be done about it. I mean, what good is the child care if it chooses to close at 1 in the afternoon and completely shut down during the winter? It is not like all parents are teacher to avail three months vacation in winter. And there are some people who are unfortunate (or should I say paying our bad karmic fate) not to have our parents babysitting our children.

So, in my desperate attempt to entertain or to keep Jamba away from electronics, I have resorted to paper crafts, reading books, painting, writing and listening to music. Jamba is only 4 and so she cannot read or write on her own and hence my 100% involvement is required at all times.

I will share some of the outcomes of my winter program and believe me if some of these pictures become popular, I am going to run a winter program, right at my home, annually. Joke aside; seriously someone should already start thinking about it.

Forgive me about my crappy photography skills but here it goes nonetheless:

This is our sheep. Jamba painted its leg and head and I did the eyes. It is super easy and added bonus, Jamba loved it.  

This pig will make your tummy turn, just by laughing. Its mouth came out like that because we tried to mix red and white to make it pink and for some reason, it didn’t turn out pink. The important thing is it does look a bit similar to pig.

  The next project is quite interesting because every month we dispose off about 30 numbers of toilet paper roll and what a waste it is to throw which will neither rot nor stink. So, come meet the minions of our family. The petty thing about this minion is that it does not budge. 

Well, I will stop here before you get too excited. In my next blog, I will share some of the beautiful writings that Jamba learnt over the holidays. 

P.S.: You all are free to use my ideas. No copyright whatsoever.

Reflecting Back

It has been four years since my father passed away though it seems like ages since he left us.I always believed that he trusted me too much to have left such a huge responsibility on me. He passed away seven months after I started working. He has been really sick for a long time and he held on to us because if he was gone, there was none to look after us. Though my father had a son like brother in-law, he never visited us after his graduation and I am sure my father never believed that he would be taking care of us. Though I always thought he should have been there for us, always, I now think my father was actually right. We have no right to have such an expectation from whosoever. That is yet another story and no matter how long the time passes away, I will never forget this sad story of my late father.

My father spoke very few words and through his silence I always got the message that I have to take care of my five siblings. And I am proud to say that I have tried my level best to be the best sister, though I might have failed in many instances. I have tried to be an adviser, a role model and  a friend. It was difficult for me but I must say I am lucky to have my brothers and sisters who knew my responsibilities and always respected for who I am. And I always believed that I must have done something good in my past life to have found my life partner. He is my best friend and if it was not for him, I would be still struggling alone.

Introducing my Husband

Here I am going to write about my husband Sonam Tashi and his life before our marriage. Our life together is altogether another long story. I wanted to write this like an autobiography, but I will never be able to do justice to my husband and his life with my standard of English and my amateur writing skills. I am writing this so that when our daughter grows up and have her own kids; she will have so many stories to pass on to them about us.

Sonam Tashi is from Themnangbi, Mongar. His father was from Ngatsang, Mongar. His mother passed away when he was very little and his father passed away soon after we decided to live together. His mother died of blood cancer and his little brother was still breastfeeding her. I can totally relate to what was going through them after the demise of his mother because we lost our mother when we were little too and my little sister was just born. Anyway, his mother, Tashi Tshomo, was well known for her super-fast skills at doing works and everyone would wait for her to start the harvest because everyone believed that she brought good luck to the village. I always listen to my husband telling how she would weave a set of Gho for her brothers on the night before their departure to schools. She really was a super woman. And every time I listen to this story, I literally have to fight back my tears because I can feel so much pain in his eyes.  She suffered so much pain because of this treacherous disease. She could not recover even after she was refered to big hospitals in Kolkata. But every good person dies at young age because it is said that good people are needed in heaven by god <br>.

So, since his village was little far from the nearest school and there wasn’t any boarding or residential facility that time, he and his brothers (Darjay and Sheru, both younger to him) had to build a small hut near the school, known as Gorbaktang, to be able to study. The hut was built on the property of Meme Kabula. The man was kind indeed to have done such a favour. Sonam Tashi is still thankful for his kindness and last time when he met him, he didn’t have anything to offer him so he took off his Gho and presented him. Later I heard Meme Kabula fondly likes to talk about his act of kindness again and again.

Well, education wise, it was very difficult for them because they had to cook their meals using wet firewood and all of them were too young to take care of themselves. His grandmother, who he fondly calls Ama, had asked his paternal aunt to take care of them. Oh wait, they at first stayed with his aunt but later moved out because they felt it was better that way. So, I was saying it was very difficult for them to cook that sometimes they would eat half cooked rice so that they get to school on time. I am sure Sheru will have his own version of story and I am not sure if Darjay will remember anything. Once in a while, they would go to FCB and buy the cheapest rice and change their regular meal from Kharang to white rice. It was a luxury that they couldn’t afford every day. When they had enough ration, he would cook the lunch as well with breakfast but unfortunately hungry dogs would steal their precious lunch sometimes because it was easy for the dogs to break into their little home. He skipped lunch till he got admitted in Mongar high school in 2000.

Sometimes he would go home at Themnangbi to get ration after school and come back the morning to reach their little hut to be able to cook and serve to his brothers. And imagine with wet woods. I am starting to dislike Shing Yenglu. During the weekend, he would again go home to get ration but he would play and swim in Gangola River on the way and exhaust all his energy. When he reaches home, he would be very angry when there was no food in the kitchen. He recalls his stupidity because everyone at home to be at work. His meme likes to call him Uthuma because he would extend his arms and drag down the corn plants on his way out.

One day there was a football tournament and his captain wanted him to play no matter what. He insisted that he didn’t want to because he didn’t have shorts to wear for the match and obviously he didn’t tell that to his captain. So, he had to buy a shorts and that was the first half pant cum underwear he ever wore and that became his favorites. I can see the warm smile when he recalls. So after he did his exams in eighth grade, he worked as a part time labour for road construction. I don’t remember the place. He kept on thinking how much they suffered while studying and decided to not continue his studies and rather run away with the Truck Driver as his helper after the road work was done. He and his team mates had to work under a scorching sun that it gave them intense sun burns which he fully recovered after two years. During meal time (thank god, meal was served), he would be the first to eat and he ate so fast that he could join the line again for his second share. He still finishes eating his meal so fast and when I asked him once about it, he told me this story.

His results were declared when he was still working at the road construction. He topped his batch from his school and it was such a proud moment for him that it gave him inspiration and motivation to study again. So that’s when and how he landed up in Mongar High School. School was fun then because the food provided was enough to fill him up and regular lunch was served. Before you start judging him, I must mention that his family were and is a well off at Themnangbi. It was at school that he and his brothers suffered because there was no transportation to transport the ration and whatever little they brought with them didn’t last much.  And no one needs to be told that money was a scarce during that time and I am sure it is still at some villages.

I will continue the story next time.

                                                                                                                                  

Forgotten but reminded….always

For a moment I let go off all my emotions and stare at the photo frame beside my bed. But all my emotions rush back to me as I see my mother's gaze directed to me. I pick up the frame and held it close to my heart and as if she could hear it, the words spilled from my lips: "I miss you."

I put back the picture and lean back listening to the voices of the kids. A birthday party is going on upstairs. Perhaps the kids are trying to tune themselves with the rhythm of the music they blasted.

My little sister has gone too; to help the host is what she said to me while leaving. She brought the birthday boy a beautiful gift and a card. I almost cried seeing her innocence. Though she is grown up, she is still a kid to me. I wonder if she ever wonders why her birthday is never being celebrated.

I find myself so lost into the thought, but as I look back I found myself always mourning instead of celebrating on her birthday. It's like I am used to doing that. I would ignore her day instead find myself praying so very deeply. It is like I have forgotten to thank god for every bit of happiness he has showered on me, it is like I have forgotten to live my life. Or may be I am so engrossed in the world that is so different from the world I am actually living.

But now I am tired, and exhausted. Tired of running away from myself and exhausted because it never seems to cease. I want to live my life again. I want to celebrate my sister's birthday and thank god for blessing us with her birth. I want to thank mom for giving us her. I want to forget that it is on her birthday we lost our mom.

The though brought a smile on my lips and my eyes welled up. Only this time the tears are not because I am sad but I have a sister.

Her Other Story

I brushed away my tears as I listened to a grandmother narrating the story. She was speaking of a very beautiful and kind lady. I wondered why the lady was called back so soon by God. Perhaps she had better things to do; I consoled myself and continued listening to her. She continued narrating as she recalled back the olden days.

"She lived with her aunt before she married. She was made to toil very hard every day. Weaving, cooking, cleaning, washing, etc were her daily chores. She was made to do anything but she received no appreciation and love. But she was one tough lady, she never complained.

One day, a guy came into her life. Her friends persuaded her to marry the guy. Perhaps she thought that life for her might get better and she agreed to marry him. She gave birth to a girl but things started becoming worse when he started beating her every night. He came late, hungry and drunk every evening. But she lived on. She was never happy anyway, so she never complained. Her daughter gave her every reason to live her life.

Soon her husband was transferred to another place and after that I don't know what happened until I heard she passed away in a child labour. I thought it was good she passed away…."

"Why?' I choked and dabbed my eyes with a tissue paper she handed over to me. "Because her life was filled with misery," she said vehemently and sighed. "She might have had a heart problem for all the sufferings she had in her heart…" (coughs)…"but she didn't deserve it." She completed.

I don't understand how a good person like her would end up having such miserable life. The feeling pained my heart and felt like crying even more. I thought I had cried enough before but once again when I listen to this grandmother, I don't know if I have cried enough. If only she was alive, how much love I would have given her, the love she missed in her life. I would have given all the things she deserved and even more showed her how important she is in my life.

If only she was alive I would have given my first salary to her and how proud she would have been with me. And the thought made me cry even more. I know she must be living another life but I wish I had the opportunity to tell her how much I love her and now how much I am missing her. If only my father had given her the love she deserved, I wouldn't have felt like crying so much. Yes I miss her because she is my mother and I always pray to God to send her every night in my dreams……..

(I wanted to write this before but every time I started, I couldn't stop crying. But somehow today I let it out but if the story is not very touching then it only proves how much I was crying while writing this.)