Amateur scribbles

When I was in intermediate school I had a crush on one girl form our own class. I will not describe how beautiful she was because its undeniable. May be through friends or by herself she came to reveal my feeling for her; however no miracle occurred in our relationship. Thus the time elapsed and we were basically engaged with our studies. As usual I was a backbencher, enjoying what was screened in the front rows. Occasionally I would sneak a glance at her and then pretend as if I was studying. At recess and during free classes I would watch her, while she fondled pencil in between her fingers skillfully.  she loved chatting, especially with her desk partner the conversation would be endless. Our class was full of fun and games. Often I needed to control their voice because I was the class captain, the post I largely hated. Although we were in class twelve but friends were worst than children in doing prank. Sticking chewing gum on back, tying the shoe laces and doodling funny images

The weather was ideal and prefect for strolling around the campus field. The sun was down and its orange rays dusted in the sky. In the distance the train travelled, hissing and its engine rumbling. On other days there would be farmers ramping up their days work and walking home. A typical Indian woman, in their beautiful sari one hand akimbo and balancing some load on their head. From behind I could calculate their steps, they would tread along in line laughing and joking with their counterpart.  Presently not a single sign of life was seen, it was pitch silent and I was a solitary walker. I walked along the path amidst the lush crops. The corn was in prime growth, the tall sugarcane leaves waved in the wind. Somewhere afar, lonesome shadow stood firm at the edge of the field. I reckon it was a girl, because her hairs were untied and fluttered in the air. She had a figure tall and slim, assumed to be sexy. I felt curious; it is unusual to find a girl alone and at this odd time. I ga

Woman was ailing from long terminal illness, clinically declared as acute renal (kidney) failure, basically was severe kidney cancer that needed intensive care. Both her kidney had collapsed; her body was inside the intensive care unit (ICU), fitted to several oxygen cylinders and sophisticated wires injected into her body. Though she had to go through the pain but she was not alone. Her son stood by her side in all the crucial times and he wanted to sacrifice more. He was the best son she had, his love, dedication and care were ineffable. Last thing he can do to save his mother was to give one of his kidneys. Every formality was completed and his medical condition examined. He wore the maroon surgical gown and awaited arrival of his dear wife. His surgery was due in half hour.  He sat in the  waiting room, biting his clenched knuckle, stood up and made several short walk about the hall way. Few minutes later sharp siren of ambulance resonated outside the hospital.  Subsequently nurs

A boy loved a girl head over heels. She was very beautiful and possessed a modest character. One day the boy decided to propose her, it was the Valentine’s Day. From the florist he got a fresh rose bouquet.  The roses were deep red and afresh with dew drops. The weather was very cold outside; the mountains were covered in the snow. Sparrow glided in the sky singing beautiful songs. He went to a gift shop and bought a silver ring. The ring cost him 5000 ngultrum, in his wallet he just had the exact amount. He recalled the week long nights of work he did to earn that amount and sighed a complacent smile. The gifts were placed in the front pouch of his bicycle. He headed towards her apartment.  The snowflakes dropped and staked on roads. The temperature was dropping rapidly.  While crossing a junction, a Mercedes car in full speed came sliding. The snows had made the road slippery.  The car crashed right onto his bicycle and he was thrown away. His blood smeared the snowy road. The ro

Phuntsho was shy and man of few words.  He was fond of reading. There would be always something   to read in his hand. He would amuse himself by watching his friends shout and tease each other. He would laugh silently and his emotions were barely expressed. His seat was at the last end of the corner, this provided him some edge to remain alone and better view of his friend’s childish doing in the front. He was observant and his eyes knew exactly when to read or harmonize with those girls in the front seat. Just like most timid and demure guy suffer silently, blade of unexpressed love and hop sliced his heart. Over time he fell in a secret crush.  Though by himself he lacked courage to approach her but his reaction in her presence spilled most of  his secrets. Deki was fun loving and outgoing type. Her beauty was unblemished and her trendy dressing charmed it more. in her presence he fidgeted and his voice shook. His cheek would flush apple red.by and by deki  revealed his secret feel

I googled for some good books to read, and instantly they suggested me with long list of books. Many of the authors were stranger to me and haven’t read any of their work till date.  One book among them was the “kill a mocking bird” by Harper lee. I am reading her novel for the first time and it has enticed me to read more of her work. Its really an awesome book written in simple English, easy to understand and the plot in the story are also splendid. From what I perceived, the book covers every topic from love , crime and about racial scenario from  those times.  The main story talks about a widower Atticus and his two children jean and jem respectively. Dad is lawyer and he defends the innocent from the false conviction. He is a kind person and open minded, seen defending black people in the court against the white. Those times racial discrimination prevailed, we was rare for a white to fight in blacks cause. In fact his advice to his children was also noble, asking to treat everyo

It was my wish to write up some tribute to his majesty the king but I seriously lacked words to express myself. While going through the various encomiums posted in the page ´writers association of Bhutan”  I was mesmerized by the quality and the expression they have applied to their writings. It was really beautiful and articulate. Well on my part I am devoid of such skills and my ability to express is handicapped.  By and large the it may remain an individual talent to be able to write up any prose or tribute, but what is more important is the genuineness of the feeling we are putting into the writings.  i have also written some lines in dedication to the anniversary , however I feel my words are inadequate and lack any charm that normal writer are supposed to maintain. What we as a citizen of Bhutan should remember is that everything his majesty did for our nation is beyond any words of a writer. Very survival of nation is the sacrifice and service that his majesty did for us. The