This happens truly.....all of us know what College life taste for sure.... Its more a folio of paper, tugged un-neatly at your back pocket, bruising with the cheek and at times, less surprising to find a big halo at the time of show-off with Mr. Professor. I would admire our leaders, Kings and prominent personals of the world, tugged warmly at the time frames of the St. Joseph's. Sursum Corda,motto reads in a flying air......and I would always wonder about my alumni......just at late teenage, sizzling with the wonders of what would happen next....the fun and vanity of energy would always debt the cry of the happy. Sitting at the Slabs, watching the valley below would give immense pleasure to the raising barometer, alone otherwise. I would often go to the TT hall and play the ball (loaded with double meanings....) till my hand ached and shouted with the un-reasonably accurate over the net shots.....or would just squat at the stair case to get glimpses of the best of the coca-cola bottles, I mean the curves, the raises and the falls......infamous, bell-bottom denim or from the Levi's Strauss or the Cartini adds extra flare to the flames. In certainly socializing monkeys fashion, at the hour of de-licing of their parasites on the branches, few of us would sit and crack nuts....the best of our moments. ssssssssssssshhhhhhhhh, the warning would go off, remainder there is a catch. 21 senses at their full potential,we would wait......this 2nd year beautiful was found boldly marching by the wolf gang. She could be as nervous as the brain surgeon at his first cut, but she showed confidence and sexiness.....with her sanitary pads, fully motivated she parades lone....like a wounded animal at her last option. Boys among us, the sizzlers by itself, threw quintessentially, the most unexpected request of the time, fully aware of something shy-ish or lame statement to come by. He quipped "Hi, honey....lets feast on those bread".....the atmosphere went charged like the Northern sky,streaks and auroras.....we perhaps, stopped breathing.....obviously that "bread" was simile intended for the "sanitary pads" with twin resemblances. The girl stopped, posed and slightly moony or paints of highly sarcastic blast of tone, submitted back....."ok darling....let me spread jammy for you, would taste better in red!!!, This is one of the defining moment of collage pranks.......we would shift ourselves, breaking the queue on the staircase.....covering with loudest silence for quite a length until this came out again.... ..(to be contd)

The human diaspora is amazing....quitessentally complex. My gray inside the cranium worked harder, lot harder than otherwise.....and I sat over the bottles clearing them one after another....the Dutch started to spin like ceiling fan at 1, only that everything skewed and rolled. The filter and buts made heap like the Rawandan genocide or the great Ethopian famine. I dazed on trying to compose the factor demominating the cubicle. The space filled with the whrilling fume, the raze of lust and high dopamine in blood. I saw everything participating. The sexual inneundoes kept growing, heating like the microven, inside out. The lady shrilled out as the finger ran on her longitudinal counter....erupting somewhere at the great himalayan peaks and dipping through the great canyon.....the chasm of great annihilation.....where the gravity cease to perform and everything floated like zero 'G'. This time g-string snapped and the naked soul danced with utter happiness....like the pole dancer in the crevice of Bang-cock main. I took a floater and tried to sail away.....but it was like a one way valve. The smoke treated me well....the fermented carbohydrate dehydrated me to absolute dry. The empty bottles teased me on.....my own heart and soul betrayed me. The card became thin and light but show continued. The hype got entangled and more diamond got in....like straight from Angelaou, the meeting of the thighs laughed even louder. Shrill, husky and sexy glut-tel performance cacophony in synchronization.....the truth of Buddha germinated even faster as if corn field blushing in April sun. The heavy bearing on her suffocates her, the stubble pricks but the hugely pretension grows on. I saw the falling chairs and heard the creaking Italian woods, yet I kept on with my juice. The tall beer glass never receded and the moment never remained still. The dead meat offered to me remained unattended. Then I took my fork and spoon on my hands and started to dissect them....munching them to sized kima....I devoured them the way I preferred, no inhibition, no s just technical chore at best. I cocked the shotgun, several inches of powder enough to crack rhino's skin. As the beast approached to tear me, with involuntary reaction pulled the trigger. The barrel went burning, the world shook and ended at convulsion of 11000 volts. Like it misfired, the barrel emptied on me.....I lay bleeding. Like the Cleopatra, she stood, like black widow, she devoured and I lay paralyzed.... in concussion. When I opened my windows, Little fingers offered me a towing go...I anchored and waited. Papa......the little angle pulled me home.....

Papa’s One Day!!!

Papa clicks opens at 17 hours at the dot, rolls his balls and neat the brows, gaze across and meditates at his morning prayers. He extends carefully and pulls the roll of blanket over his little daughter, Yumma and quietly slips out of sandwich of sheets and peeps at Avtar’s room, to make sure that he is sleeping smoothly, last night he fought with papa over the study. Papa says sorry to him quietly, maintains his quilt and smiles at his freedom under the net. Papa’s chore begins now, as if regimented but in silent love and joy for the buds. He draws curtains for the shimmering light to bless in and opens pans for the morning breeze to rush in. He glances at the container plants, which are sprouting and still, breadths his satisfaction and hits the kitchen. On the way, he picks up the cloth from the line, which probably was missed last night or still needed hanging for sometime. Sometime, the whole house can be in the mess, shoes, slippers and especially, Yumma’s play items, pots and pans and dolls….pebbles and twigs anything you might imagine of shape. He slips in the washroom and freshens up with splashes and washes, shaving and brushing. With morning freshness, he goes to the home shrine with pictures and idols of lord Shiva and Parvati (ParooHang and Summnima), and submissionly offers water and lamp. Prayers keeps his soul strong and big, faith nourishes them and the rest follows. One incense burns at the boardroom, freshens the room and fumigates, hopefully all the evils of the space………The electric water boiler shows the warm amber diode and he draws few cups of water on the tea pot and prepares morning white sweet tea. The gas goes click but the gas refuses to show-off….the main valve is still down and he forgot. Later, with a smile and silently kicking his own stupidity, unlocks the lever and the gas goes rages. He carefully, adds the tea recipe, let the concoction alone, he attends the sink and dishes. It is water time, the taps are whispering and the jet of water shooting undonditionaly. This is quite a noisy affair, needs rush for the jerry-cans to fill and reserves to be done. There is this woosh sound and the tea spilled over the oven, for un-attending the boiling sweetie. With the tea and morning breeze, he prepares morning breakfast, anything from yellow, zeera, plane, fried rice to unanticipated reciped curries and salads. Sometime, burns would win, otherwise the taste-buds. He truly thinks over the chores that how many times would the same spoon be washed, same plates be rinsed and the same pots be scraped…..he finds it mediocre and over routined yet there is no alternatives as yet. There is nothing like self washing dishes and self cooking recipies…….this orchestra had been performed by the human kind from the time never known, and now its my turn…….and yes, my one day chore is punctuated by other affairs, phone calls, attending to meeting, bills and memorandums, clearance and objective attendances to friends and love ( I know you are hugging n smiling at me…I see your love for me grown little taller already….) ……the time never stops and the watch is never tired….even if my watch stands still, its someone’s clock at the rush….such an amazingly complex diasporas of activities. By the time its is Seven and half, he puts on music and shouts “Goodmorning…..Chha” its time you throw your quilt. There is this boy, lazily and unwilling, wriggling and at his best…..the music is fuzzily volumed up so to drive his lazy ticks in the house…...Papa fills tiffin carriers one by one with the cuisine of the day, with love and care…fills water bottles and packages tissue papers, spoon and towels. The consignments go in two baskets, one for the Chha and the other for Yu (mma / mmu), with relative proportion to their sizes…not forgetting their tastes. Chha is in the bath, unwillingly washing himself like a bird in the pool, consciously I let him…..Chha brush properly and take a bath, I have warm water for you….” Done, Papa”. His breakfast is laid, juice and hard boiled eggs. While he is eating, I do his dirty shoes, polish them and put them in shape……check his books and tasks. His socks need stitching….”you could have shown me this yesterday”…….but I do it right. I pull his Gho out of the hanger and inspect his whites……as expected, they are as dirty as they can be….Papa pulls them out and changes then with neat, ironed lagays. I groomed him, tighten his belt and see him off with his back pack and tiffin basket. This is the finishing line of my morning attendance to my Chha…..and its an amazing feeling. The little sleeping beauty is still nowhere to waking up…..deep inside I know that today also I am going to be late….but this is my life and I take my personal life more seriously than professional…….I am committed to both but they complement each other and I see justified wisdom here. 99 cm tall, delicate and sharp, innocent as she may be, I gaze at her…. I leave her to her oblivion and sit for my lesson plans, she pesters me right away…Papa….come here….Goodmorning Yu, come up here!! No, Papa you come here…..this goes on. I do not want to wash, No no no brushing, I don’t want to eat…….I don’t want to go to School, Please, pick me up…..Cartoon…. I want to serve myself, I want to wear on kira…..these are some of her infamous weapons to fix Papa…..and I do carry on one by one….ok Papa knows, let me help….we almost fight in the wash room over brushing and washing….with her, it takes longest hour of my day. Finally, I am  commissioned at finishing washing, the big tiger awaits, on selecting which cloth to wear…she picks odd cloths; for fittings, colour or weather and yet I have to submit to her or pamper and pester her to the right ones. Today, is Monday and its Kira day at school. I try my best to neat her Kira…put this edge that way and pair this heim to the other but can never put it right….the most difficult moment of my morning chore is her kira and hair dressing….the two I could not have heist over. I cry silently regretting the fault lines in my education in upbringing of my buds, if I ever fail….but like Achellies, I take up these beasts. Finally, my princess is ready for her school. I quickly, dress on my part many a times forgetting one or the other count, pick my bag and compose a cool. She would walk talking to me…..un-stopping chattering and questioning and querying…..we talk and talk. Papa, pick me up…and I carry her through the trail, umbrella, basket, water bottles, bags, her favourite doll or bag…..I almost seem like a lorry in Indian highways…..Goodmorning m’am, she greets her madam. In a moment she disappears in her classroom. (She is the first one to be dropped and last one to be picked….).

I missed my morning assembly, but it’s an informed delay, anyway. I straight away go to my Chemistry laboratory, where I have my place to stay and prepare my lessons and do other innings. I recline on my semi executive chair, and listen to documentary from BBC, Discovery, National Geography or CNN on subjective or objective headings. The learners would assemble and Papa starts his delivery with learned paradigms befitting the lesson head. The class is a mixture of fun and run, suspense and hangings, laughters and tears, and yet, at the end of the day, it is a huge experience. Each evening I leave the class, I am wiser by that day….this is the only take-home satisfaction in the life of a Teacher. The fun filled delicate yet, full of thermodynamics to be handled psychologically, injecting the pedagogical mixture scientific concepts and mathematical actualities of knowledge is like medical pediatrics. Something goes wrong and it multiplies at geometric ratios. Now its May the Second, attributed to the teachers in Bhutan. This affiliation is but emotional trap and a gifting parliament. One of my students wrote… ‘I believed you as my god Thank you for Teaching me as a god” (Sic.) and the other wrote sometime in the past from one of the primer medical colleges…’you are my god, because of you I am here’…..(Sic.)…the stack of cards goes, from hand-made to Archies, Signatures to some Bhutanese crafts. Loads of gifts needs quite a time to unpack….ranging from cups and mugs, photo frames to chocolate balls and rolls, pens to thermos…… These are the moments in my life which deviates from standard with a huge impact. From the next moment, this deviation closes and the normality takes over. The hands on my watch competes with each other, I don’t know which one is more important, the second, the minute or the hour…in sync they show me the time. Half past fourteen, and I rush to pick Yu….. I am half way between the Yu’s School and my residency, and it starts to rain…. This is one of the toughest decision making execution in  my life….to return home and get umbrella or keep on drenching….(metaphor tried here..)Simple decisions are complicated and often to arrived at. They may loop back or disappear in other dimension….. As she spots my coming, she bids farewell to her friends and madams, tugs at my little finger and walks chattering along, almost continuously. We beg to stop at the wheat fields and take pictures, and she asks whether Buaa (brother=Avtar) ‘s at home. The answer depends. She insists on walking but I pick her and carry home….she insists upon picking the lock which I allow her…..she tries with her tiny hands, rolling and skewing but the lock refuses….I do the magic for her, you know what I meant, and the lock comes out. I see her face glow with happiness upon achieving first lock opening lesson. The house welcomes with simplified ambience for the three musketeers…….only here we fight in love and happiness…..immediately, she retorts…Papa, its pooh….and I take her to the loo. While away, for sometime, she shouts….its done. Papa rushes in and washes her, flushes poop and change her dresses. Its play time for her and she settles down for Bhara-kuti, her favourite. She cooks, cleans, prepares, washes, shops, tenders, attends and she creates her own universe, humming and talking, giggling and shouting, singing and dancing….while I watch this symphony in awe and inspiration. To see my little Yu’ giggling and doing her miniaturized my version of her daily chore gives me unstoppable energy, like a valcono of love. I steal little moments of her, I relax and listen to old ganas. Chha is here, with beads of sweats on his forehead and little excited……he throws his show and I listen to him orderly. In a minutes he sits in front of Computer and draws into Internet or strums his guitar, I become very obedient audience…..its amazing and difficult yet, possibly rewarding……….(to be continued…drafted)   

Today, I gymmed harder and shorter. There was this emptyness chasing me....and I guess I ran harder. As I sat on my foyer and watched my plants grow into innocent looking vegetation, their tender tendrils longing for the love and support, I see emotions in them. The buds are just about to burst open like a virgin, explosive and yet unconditionally happening.....the sky became darker, the black puffs blanketing the blue serinity, the tekephone tower at the distance, just blending with the evening. Its not a regular evening.....its laden with sombre objectivities and is harbingering little less happiness some where on this world...perhaps, its here. The lining of the hill side became more ghostly, the trees metamorphosing into demons and demoness straight from the greekian methology. Slowly, the children disappeared into hollow spaces, the wheels cruzed heavily and love birds started their courtship....With no intention, the gaze kept on....the heaven escaped from the layers of clumonimbus and displayed her inspiration, like the northen sky happily working on electrical inpunities. I realized that I was still on the run....and she is right, though idealistically. I bet on circular arguments, not losing my score but I saw her bleeding for her man.....I kneeled on and threw my sword....losing this battle....but, she, like a phoenix spread her wings and flanked me like the big bird of Sindbad....with jewles n diamonds....precious stones and emaralds of life experiences that I would give to those unsatisfied souls, complaining on destiny right at my vicinity.....the bird flew back, not even realizing its minute cargo.......the droplets of crying sky fell on my gaze.....I stood in time and time will.......she dissolved in my tears, rolled down my cheeks, fell on earth n thawed into nothingness.....in the complex equation sweet void......

I was U-tubing towards the sunset....with the gush of summer evening....I happened to crash on old songs, imfamous of my darling ages. That time we had just one school structure, simply thached and bamboo splits knitted wall, celled into odd sized compartments, labelled as LKG, UKG, class 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. The flooring was wooden planks with inches of gaps....raised about 2 feets from the ground. I still remember prowling under this space, sometime for heroic reasons of recovering belongings like pencil, erasers or marbles. There would be forest of crumpled papers, neat folios, any sort of garbage that students produce in the class....chalk pieces snd rulers. Sometime would rush into peep shight from one crevice to another crevices ......(heavy pun attached).....the girls would jump onto uncomfortable blush while we would feel little charmed. After this fruition, I should be always prepared for the knocking ordeal at the escape gate....some Mayas would be waiting in total stealth and  reconnaissance......sometime would end up at olympic sprints. The walls dilapeted and with eye level peep holes would always supply functional communication between two classes. We would plan game of balls, or flight to gurasay dara for amala and berries, or ambush some tiffins hidden in artemesia tufts. Short break, would last for about 15 minutes...all the lads would fall in line below the football field and fly their zippers, take out their guns and shoot at air. The fluid bullet would take geometrical trajectory according to the size and load of the amminitions. Any one crossing the terrace beneath would be revered. While girls would look for private open spaces a walk away....in those moments sighting of girlie undies would be a feat of Achilles....if at all, these ladies would buzz off like hornets.......the class would resume as the gong admitted....we would sit on the floor and anticipate someone to show up. Mr.Poul would wizz in in his signature black coat, flipflop and thick spectacles. He was learned, but also crazy. He would occupy his dusty chair, slotch forward and sleep...quite literally he would jump up on his own snoring. Today again, dancing and singing in the class.....we had all time dancers, Mr. Ramay, Phulu, Bhagi, Kamali and great break dancer Mr. Kumar. The chosen singers would start in perfected syncronization.....may be from c scaled ' Maan ko kura lai......' old nepali song by Deny Denzongpa.....whatever, lyrics would become tweaked, neverever complete....the chain of mudered songs would last whole hour....taking turns and rests....finally, the teacher would leave fully entertained while students in their zealous cacophonies. The songs in the air those teases my memories of my early days in schools are....'Moo tah khadeena kuwa ko pani...Tara Devi', Shanti zThatal's, Prem Dhoj, Anber Gurung.........and so on. The days were truly like out of Picasso's brush painting just unconditionally but anything but master piece....these days were like out of Mozard......always in symphony of sweet memories.....those days were like out of Da Vinci....that shaped the future of those who danced in those dilipated mud walled classes.....as I try to bury those days in fresh memories, I see my contemprories, Kiran, Karnay, Bickram, Kumar, Prakash, Naru, Phulu, Yeshi, Tenzin, Tekay, Tej Man, Ganga.......the wolf gang out of the twilight....intellectuals of their time, the time when I went to school wearing my aunty's blouse ... the time when I was creative that I redesigbed my gumboot into topboot and endured my grany's whiplashing........