What’s all this cribbing about? Home is where the heart is!

This is a rant, not a righteous note, read one. Keep it simple, stupid, screamed another. The last two issues of Bhutan Observer carried two thought raking columns written by equally two unorthodox writers of our times. At least so.

Were there too much of ranting? Or too much individual conscience bickering for some sort of social transformation? Change is here, but is the change any better? Everything is not going right, it seems. That is what I grasped from my reading. But nothing is worst either. And perhaps, this would be an understatement. Home is where the heart is.

So here are some more rants, a little simple and stupidly put.

For more than nine months I was away from home. Each new day I had longed to come back home. Each new morning how had I wished I would get up from my shabby bed to see the sun rise from the mountains. How I wished to feel the chilly morning breeze run down my nostrils. Everything home was beautiful. Instead, damp, polluted air went down my throats. The air is poison there, so is the water. Home is where the heart is. Very true.

For the last nine months, I had walked the awry, crowded, and almost obnoxious streets of Delhi. The traffic there is indeed a hotchpotch of cars, breaking rules here and now. Blaring horns, abuses flying from the windows-I had had enough of those ‘stuffs’. Home is where the heart is.

The rising mercury gnaws you to death. The frequent black outs only add to the displeasure. It is the same down there too, a little rain and Delhi goes down the drain. Politics is dirty. Murders are rampant. The roads are dangerous. The system is corrupt. It is not a safe place. Home is where the heart is.

So when I finally got the break away-I decided this summer break, I will travel the length and breath of my country. I would appreciate what I never did. I would go closer to what makes Bhutan a unique country. The two columns of BO was quite a contradiction. It was quite a disappointment that so much is going wrong.

I would not blame the snail-speed life here. I would not crib when water does not run in the tapes. I would not complain of the long, meandering queue at the hospital. I would not blame, of course, that everything is so horrible! Home is where the heart is!

This is a righteous note, not a rant.