thedawaring's blog

17 May 2016.   9.11am  I t is a gloomy morning in late Spring in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan. As I walked to my office, it was raining gently. I had to avoid vehicles from splashing muddy water on my gho by walking very carefully. Life is back in full force. Beautiful flowers are turning into tiny, delicate fruits. The brownish hue of hills and mountains surrounding Thimphu valley is getting back to its glorious green. Lots of tourists from India and China can be seen taking pictures around the memorial Chorten. As this month is a holy one for followers of Tibetan Buddhism, a lenthy Monlam is being organized at the memorial Chorten. The stupa built in late 90's is clad in colorful ceremonial scarfs. Surrounding it, elaborate offerings of flowers, scented water, sweet cakes and aromatic herbs are made. Melody of Buddhist musical instruments enhance the beauty of on a gloomy morning.  Many people have come here, on their way to office, like me, to make a pray...

Rice Farmer and Happiness Beautiful songs in praise of Lord Krishna playing from the old speaker hanging high near the village temple pervade every corner of this little beautiful town. The evening air is filled with aroma of incense sticks being offered nearby in the village temple. People are returning from their paddy fields. A group of children are playing happily in under the coconut trees. The sun is setting. It appears as if it is sinking in the vast plains. The sky towards west is a mesmerizing mix of orange and yellow color. A bright yellowish reflection of the last rays of the sun decorates the nearby river. As the soulful religious song changes to a more slow and heart-stirring one, the sky becomes darker. One by one, the brightest stars begin to appear. Happy families are cooking delicious meal. The gentle evening wind brings with it mouthwatering smell of vegetables being cooked in little huts made of bamboo. Sound of conch shell, chirping of evening insects,...

#Retrospectiva2015 is a twitter hash tag that is currently trending on the popular micro-blogging site. People all round the world are looking back at the year that is just coming to an end. In places like Goa, electronic dance music festivals are being organized to ring in the New Year. It is time to reflect on the failures and achievements, fun and sadness that took place in the year 2015. This pampering afternoon-sunlight pouring in through the dusty window panes and the melodious chime of a Buddhist prayer being played in the room next door and a faint aroma of Bio-Bhutan Lemon grass air spray accompanied by the noise of trucks and cars speeding on the highway below … this is how the last day of 2015 is gradually dragging to an end in Thimphu, Bhutan. Globally, 2015 was a nothing short of a roller coaster ride. From terrorist attack on the Charlie Hebdo magazine to devastating earthquake in Nepal, from ISIS terror attack in the French Capital to migrant crisis i...

Shambala is a mythical Buddhist heaven known for peace and joy and long life. Seemingly useless and small thoughts and actions that we are carrying out now is for ever recorded in our memories. We do not realize the beauty and value of things as it happens. But when we look back few years afterwards, the same memories bring tears of joy and sorrow to our heart. So what is the secret behind this phenomenon? Why things like this happen to humans? Well, i don't have an answer either.  For instance, we do not bother to live each and every moment as it comes and happens. Sitting by the sea and watching a Fisherman take a nap in his small fishing boat, the boat gently made to dance by the gentle waves... it never was a sweet thing back then as it happened a few summers ago in the beautiful place of Goa, But now, as the day ends, as the sun begins to set and as a melancholic cry of birds squeeze by my office window, those old memories are far more sweeter than the presen...

A slice of Nirvana in September One Friday evening in early November, I return from office as usual. Reaching home, after taking a warm bath, I open the fridge. There is no milk. I sip a glass of water and switch on the TV. Nothing of interest shows up even when I swipe channels one through seventy. I open the door and go on the veranda. Resting my elbows on the cold concrete structures, I gaze at the express-way below my apartment. Vehicles ply up and down. Everything seems to be going on normally usual. Nothing is extraordinary. The   evening air is cold. A pair of blue Jockey inner wear hangs on the clothesline.  The cold air is helping it dry. As time passes by, I feel it is a drag to be at home alone. I walk inside my room and call up my friend and ask if he is coming for a drink in the town. He agrees without hesitation. I put on a pair of faded blue jeans, vertical-stripped-white Tommy Hilfiger shirt from college days and a black jacket. I cover my neck ...

September 2015 Ruskin Bond and Autumn Sky Ruskin Bond? Yes, the great Indian children’s writer who wrote scores of beautiful countryside tales and short stories like The Cherry Tree & Garland of Memories etc . This afternoon, while walking in the autumn sun, I just thought of Ruskin Bond out of nowhere. He had great love and appreciation for the Himalayas and hill stations like Shimla. Reading his short stories would make one immerse into a blissful display of imagery words.  In short he loved simple things in nature and found beauty even in a dried, crumbled leaf! Wearing the immortal literary eyes of Ruskin Bond, I went to a solitary walk last week end. With a camera in hand and keeping the senses open to enjoy every bit and piece of small yet beautiful things and events occurring in the nature.  As I walked by the river side, the feel of grass on my grey converse was different. The river had become less noisy and more peaceful. It no longer was dragging lo...

One night in August, Thimphu, Bhutan Walking home from work yesterday evening, I came across trucks and trucks of military men passing by. A cool August wind laden with aroma of lemon grass was blowing, brushing my curly brown hair. School children were going home too. A drunken man lay asleep beside the road. To perfectly soak in the moment, I plugged in my earphones and listened to the good old Scorpions song: Winds of change. Change, then I thought, is a part of life. The most romantic month of the year, August, is slowly giving way to September. For someone who takes great joy in the beauty of nature, the coming of September is a huge treat. In September you get to see clear dark skies at night, filled with a billion twinkling stars. In September, you get to behold green leaves on the trees turning into colors of yellow and red. In September, you get to enjoy the peaceful & joyous Bhutanese festivals. And in September, we welcome our first Bhutanese Losar: Thrue Bab...