Written off too early

It is painstaking to be a writer. Or even to be an aspiring one. But what never stops amazing me is that every next person you meet is wishing to be a writer. That offers some sort of comfort to my embattled self. There is still hope and I have still some ground to walk. And of all that I am not alone in the same pursuit.

Calling out for my muse, and all the inspiration that I can lay my hands on, I sit staring at the blank Microsoft word opened in my old, dilapidated laptop. This should be a master-piece I bolster up.

A few minutes after, I find myself still staring on the screen. My mind is pondering, trying to be at its fastest, over a gamut of subjects, experiences, memory and issues that might intrigue a rational mind. After going through what seemed an eternity of scrupulous, thought raking, nothing seems to happen.

I go out for a smoke in the balcony. I drink a cup of sugarless tea, trying to remain focused. I look at the myriad of little worms hovering around the street light. I drift away. These creatures just live a 24-hour-life. How short? What would they do in just one day? It is not fair. But then again, what if every second is like years for them. Twenty four hours would then add to be quite a lot.

Leave that aside, what else would they be doing in a day? They have no purpose to be alive. They are just a part of the process of procreation. How many times would they have mated to keep their bloodline continue?Their existence is so fragile. And so short.

I look up into the sky overwhelmed by the feeling of mercy. In a contrasting shift of visual, huge jumbos fly over head, quite close by. Here every five minutes a plane flies over your head. This reminds me of the CNN clips of 9/11. Flashed over and over again, images of the two planes nose-diving into the twin towers have permanently frozen in my memory. What would have the people in the flat that saw the planes come crushing unto them wish for, before they were no more?

Life is so fragile. And so unsafe. There are thousand and one chances that you can be killed each new day. Survival is in fact everything. When the news of the serial blasts in Delhi sent waves of panic across a bewildered city, I was 'coolly' roaming around a heavily crowded market. I could have been in any of the markets where the blasts took place. Just that I was fortunate to be at the wrong place for all the good reasons.

Blowing out the last puff of smoke, I look up in the sky again. There is barely any star peeping out. My thoughts suddenly transform me to the mountains where I belong. The stars are very close by and every night you see them in zillions. The nights are so beautiful. I still remember, as I child, how we would sleep under the stars, counting them. Here it easy to count the stars. There are about five visible stars I can see.

I look down from the balcony, and watch strangers pass by. There is so much to write about, I think. Tomorrow I will give a fresh shot.

Betwixt life and thereafter

How would it feel, to stand at the edge of a hundredth-storey-building, with one leg dangling in the air and trying to balance the posture with the other, heedlessly gazing into the space below? Down there, minuscule looking people and cars parade like tiny ants through the travesty of man-made lanes and by-lanes. All of them moving in a helter-skelter direction.
The groves of trees look like patch of green here and shades of yellow there. Autumn wind is in the air. With my arms wide open I stand tall on top of the world, a burning cigarette sandwiched between my fingers and my other hand firmly clutching a whisky bottle. The cold wind incessantly lashes on my brittle, frost bitten face.
A queer flight of imagination invades my nonchalant mind. The primal desire to fly coupled with an instinctive temptation to be free plays weird hide-and-seek games with my thoughts. Standing there, I stare into the endless expanse of the horizon, painted with hues of red and yellow. Luminous clouds stretch across the end of the sky.
The moment was perfectly thrilling until a suicidal feeling makes me tremble. I shudder at the thought and an icy chill runs down my spine, and goose bumps sprinkle on my cold skin.
At a distant in the air, flocks of birds sing their way home. I wish for a gun to shut them up. Their squeaking exasperates me as though a man in deep contemplation of god was stirred out of his reverie. If I had a gun, I think, I would hide like a sniper and bring down each flying bird.
The next instant I become a river of compassion. But what if I kill the mother of a little bird who has just learnt to fly? I pity. Why should I kill harmless, innocent birds?
Smell of rose.
The images of the flower vase with dried flowers, the photograph lying by my bedside, her undergarments that she had left in the drawer and the ear rings and the necklace that lie on the dressing mirror rushes past my eyes. Her lonely pink bra still hangs on the balcony flapping in the breeze. Why the colour pink never stops fascinating women, I wonder.
I am sitting by the window side of a fast moving train, and I catch a glimpse of tall women dressed in black skirt with a knee length overcoat. Her head is covered with a black scarf and her eyes with a dark pair of goggles. As I try to capture that face, our eyes meet. I wonder what she must have thought that particular moment when our glances met each other.
What did I think about her? A passing moment. A passing glance! A stranger in a train, a woman of course, a beautiful woman with a sad face to be correct, or a widow who has visited her dead husband’s grave? I feel sorry for her.
Suddenly it is dark.
I grope in the pitch darkness, trying to figure out why I am alone. Where did all the boys who were smoking marijuana just a while ago go? Where are the shrieks of the stoned girls who were listening to heart wrenching sentimental songs?
I am alone.
I swing to and fro, but this time I let go off myself. I close my eyes and fall free, headlong down. I swirl round and round. Gravity is at its best. I can see the blurring lights, and feel the air desperately trying to keep me buoyant. I hit the ground hard. My head splatters, my brains ooze out of the skull, and a pool of blood flows down the road.
I lie dead.
I hear a scream of a little girl followed by sounds of laughter. The laughter fades away into the stillness of the night. I am cold. I feel water dripping down my face. And there is more water. I am in a sea of waves trying to breathe, trying to gasp for air.
I gasp for more air. This wakes me up to several, round, bulging eyes ogling at me. I am not at the sea shore or the road I fell unto. I am lying on the concrete floor, completely drenched. My marijuana smoking friends are glad I woke up. I had blacked out, for a minute, to be precise.
This is how it feels!
I have not been on top of a skyscraper but for my imagination. It was a moment of abject hypnosis. The hallucination was more real than I have ever come close to. I traded reality for fantasy and my stream of consciousness, as bizarre as it may seem, transported me to a world completely owned by the mind.
It felt good to be back. But perhaps, that’s how all dying people feel who never come back!

A Kings's dream

He is more than just revered. He is loved. He is more than just an icon. He is an inspiration. He is but more than a King. He is a true son of the soil. To the women outside his country, His Majesty Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck is the ultimate, larger-than-life prince charming. Closer home, he is the face and future of modern Bhutan. He is the captain who will steer the ship of democracy to its safe shores. He is the young, promising leader, with beautiful aspirations and dreams for his country and people. The shock that the nation experienced when His Majesty the Fourth King informed the people in December 17, 2005, that he would be giving up his throne for the crown prince has quietly ebbed away in oblivion. In hindsight, the magnanimity of this solemn decision is not only visionary but historical, not just for Bhutan but the world at large. Rightly so, in 2006, His Majesty after ruling for more than three decades handed over the throne to his heir. The young King’s first public address after assuming the responsibilities of the Monarch in December 17, 2006, proves that the initial shock of the people was unfounded. The National Day address exemplifies His Majesty’s reverence for his father’s selfless contribution to nation building, while he charts out his own dreams for the country. It is, in heart and soul, the reflection of a King’s vision and aspiration for his country. “Our first and foremost responsibilities will always be the peace and tranquility of the nation, the sovereignty and security of the country, fulfilling the vision of Gross National Happiness and strengthening the new system of democracy,” His majesty said. As Bhutan celebrates the twin occasion of hundred years of Monarchy and the coronation of a new, dynamic dragon king, history is seen repeating. A hundred years back, the people of Bhutan unanimously pledged their allegiance and confidence when they chose Sir Ugyen Wangchuck as the first Druk Gyalpo of Bhutan. A hundred years later, the Monarchy has returned its power back to the people heralding a new era in the history of Bhutan. The crowning of the Fifth Druk Gyalpo is therefore very significant, not less momentous. His Majesty Jigme Khesar is the first democratic constitutional Monarch of Bhutan. He is the guardian of the constitution, and the protector of democracy. This is true because His Majesty on repeated occasions has emphasized that his role will be that of the guide, to steer Bhutan through a peaceful process of democratization. And indeed, Bhutan saw a peaceful transition to democracy. The challenge now would be to ensure that the highest democratic ideals and principles are upheld and to further strengthen the institutions of democracy. His Majesty shares a common dream with his people. That is to make Bhutan a peaceful, prosperous and secure country. How often he has stressed that having secured political stability, peace and security, his main goal hereon will be to guarantee economic excellence and to this end, achieving the goals of Gross National Happiness. In other words, His Majesty has always emphasized on the importance of the philosophy of GNH and building a vibrant economy for Bhutan. In his speech to the graduates of 2007, His Majesty said: “For a small nation with a small population, it is vital that we have a shared national objective. We simply cannot afford to work in different directions. We must always have a common goal-the goal of achieving GNH for our people.” His Majesty shares a simple dream like any other citizen, a dream that every Bhutanese harbors. To make Bhutan a story of success in every perceivable field and to be able to pass down to the future generation a country that is distinct, developed and culturally rich. His Majesty has therefore laid utmost importance in excellence, hard work and dynamism. Understanding the vulnerability of a small nation like Bhutan in the globalized world, His Majesty has always said that ‘creating a strong economy is not only a goal’ but a necessary step on the path to success. Therefore, His Majesty has consistently encouraged the youth of the country to work harder, to vie for excellence and to be the best not just in Bhutan but in the world. “For our small kingdom, excellence must be the only standard.” As the nation comes together, united to celebrate the hundred years of Monarchy and the crowning of the Fifth Druk Gyalpo, it is important for every individual Bhutanese citizen to recline, reflect and promise that they would work toward fulfilling the nation’s dreams. Those dreams that is very much shared by our new King.

Journalism In delimma?

Undeniably, media the world over is bestowed with the responsibility of the fourth estate. This reflects how central a role the media is been given in the process of nation building, both as a prop to the other pillars of state, and as a reservoir and outlet to public information. At the same time, media is also conferred with a much greater responsibility than it is deemed to fulfill. It is the overseer of the democratic system and institutions in place. No wonder, to use the clichéd phrase, media has been called the ‘watchdog of democracy’ time and time again. Therefore, the need for any media to be objective, non-partisan, apolitical and if possible, a non-commercial entity, is a vital requisite. Media professionals have no ideologies, as such. Journalism is supposed to be their ideology. The onus of being a journalist is therefore huge. The media or the people who run the media cannot be subject to manipulation. Ideally, they are the messengers of truth. Bhutan has both a budding media and a fledgling democracy. Period. To make these two succeed will be the test of our times. In fact, history is unfolding its course, and there is no room for any fatal mistakes. The road ahead may not necessarily be a smooth ride, but we cannot afford to be the ‘take it easy’ kind. Not at any cost. However, a few developments in the recent times have been very disquieting. This is apropos of the bitter, almost outspoken and open finger pointing between the two leading print media of the country. Bhutan Times wrote a story that literally tried to correct the story Kuensel ran regarding the Pay Commission’s new pay package for the civil servants. In return, Kuensel got back with an answer that was more debilitating. And again in retaliation BT stuck back even harder. Underneath the calm surface is an ongoing media war. This is just a case in point. In wake of these events, one thing stands out clear-the purpose of journalism is lost, if not totally, it is at least dying. Credibility, the greatest asset a media organization can claim to, is at stake here. And to protect it, they can cross all lines of propriety and ethics. Cheap, tabloid contents are seeping into our media too. The forum has become a spot for blame game, naming and shaming, accusations and counter accusations. It is made worse when media organizations themselves are licking the dust, trying to prove the other wrong, in some kind of desperate move to maintain its status quo. This is not journalism. A closer look confirms that a bitter rivalry is brewing up actually. If we read between the lines, a primal battle for supremacy, an intention writhed with vengeance, and at times, a blatant display of sheer heavy headedness seems to be at play. There is no greater shame than this. True journalism it seems can only be taught in the classrooms. Not practiced in the field. Journalism is about FACTS. The ever increasing competition between the news organizations to feed these facts to their audience at the earliest has added a new dimension to the business of news. Journalism has become a slave to information, and time is a hard task master. Often in the maddening rush to be the first to break the news, media organizations have jumped the gun. In doing so, they have made mistakes. Forgivable mistakes though. What can be done at best is to follow the old rule: if you are in doubt, leave out. Or if you are in doubt, find out. Journalism is at its cross roads, not just in Bhutan but across the world. From its serious, social bent, journalism has become a thriving money minter. It is a business, through and through. No matter how hard you try to segregate the news from the business, the two is bound to each other like Siamese twins. Therefore it is no surprise when editorial decisions and autonomy are over shadowed by commercial interests. It is indeed no surprise that news has become a commodity like any other. Survival is the question here. And to survive, a few rules are bent easily and justifiably so. To cite a popular example, before writing a negative story on any corporate organization that gives the media huge lot of advertisements, which means money, the media would re-think its decisions for the umpteenth time. And somehow somewhere down the line, a compromise is made. This is not journalism. This is a freakish blow to the whole concept of good journalism. It’s time for the media to do some soul searching. Bhutan as a developing nation has a plethora of development issues to be addressed. But there is barely any coverage on the rural issues. There is a gamut of health and environment issues too that media can pick up. News these days is about sex, crime, and controversies because nothing sells like them. In the course, many crucial issues of social importance are getting willfully neglected. Who knows much about what is happening in the most remote and backward regions of Bhutan? I would like to believe that people they are anyway happy because a few studies have shown more than ninety percent of Bhutanese populace as living a happy life. (Courtesy National Housing and Population Census, 2005.) But in reality this is far from true. Which reporter would want to walk five days at end for a story? Which media house would spend more than it takes to do a story to send its reporter behind the mountains where people live in absolute poverty, in dire need of help and development? Media has increasingly misplaced its priority. Prioritizing what is news and what is not, is not just defined by the so-called theory that media gives what the people want. The ABCD of journalism-Accuracy, Brevity, Clarity and Discretion-is what media professionals need to go back to. The discretion here is giving not just everything that people want to know but what they need to know as well. And of course, people will want everything. If they ask for a nude picture of a celebrity, will the media flash the picture on the front page the next day? Many tabloids do this. It is visual pornography, not journalism. In Bhutan the media is starting to believe that they are all powerful. They can criticize the government, the judiciary, and the parliament. They are the ultimate voice of democracy. Even the Constitution has bestowed so much right and freedom on the media. These are positive developments. Which country will not want to have an independent and a brave media? But if they lose track of their focus and responsibilities, and why they are what they are, they do not have the right to be. We do not need a renaissance of some sort. Many things are still going in the right direction. Media houses are trying to out do each other, and in the process, they are producing good journalism. But that does not mean the media has the right to come out in the open, crying foul, trying to settle scores and prove that they are an edge ahead of the other. What happened is a bad precedence; a little maturity will undo the harm. Remember saying this; “This story is in the interest of the public.” Many journalists would have justified when they are doing a sensitive story by saying that they are doing it for the public interest. If that is so, the medium belongs to the public. Journalists and editors are mere actors. So let’s not over-act. Bhutanese audience and readers have been so far forgiving. It is a pity that they can still be so forgiving. But may be not for long. It is time Bhutanese media comes of age.