Photo Story

Tuesday, December 25, 2012

I took this photograph last year and named it as "Extra-ordinary league of women". The kith & kins in the villages wanted each of this photo to be kept as their 'possession'. I heard a photo studio in the East has kept it as an admiration to these generations of women.

From your right: My daughter, her mother, her grandmother, her great grandmother and her great great grandmother.

Interestingly, each is the eldest of their children. Now isn't it not the extra-ordinary league of women?

Little story

Monday, December 10, 2012

I am Sonam Peday Yangchen. I was born on 4 August 2008 in the old labour room of JDWNRH around 8 P.M. The older folks surrounded me and expressed their joys. My grandmother was so happy and so was my grandfather. A lady held me in her hands. Her face looked tired but through her pair of eyes showed lots of love. She was my mother. Just then a black man entered the crowd. He forced his way to look at me. He looked awful with an odd expression on his face. Did I see him wiping his eyes? My father, he said he cried that time.

I spent my first night in the hospital ward beside my mother. My father slept below our bed on the concrete floor.

My father told me that I did not cry that night when other babies wailed throughout. There was one particular baby boy two days older to me in a corner who troubled his father. I think his cry disturbed my father. My father woke up from his thin mat and looked at the other father. The other father, tired and fatigued, tried smiling at my father. The two fathers took up the conversation.

The other father said, “Zai, tengyen, he is not sleeping at all.”
My father could not stop laughing, “Boys are like that,” and leaned against the bed. They became friends and talked until the wee hours.

When it was time for me to get discharged that morning, my father did not look good. He was concerned I did not even pee that night. His concerns did not alarm anyone, not especially the nurse who walked by. The nurse left us smiling. My father blushed.

I was taken straight to Motithang where awaited many aunties who looked exactly like my mother. They caressed me, talked to me, passed me on to their laps but all through I did not even open up my eyes. I was watched like an alleged of first-degree felony criminal When I moved my hand, it made them the news. When I smiled in my sleep, it made them smile. Some aunties who missed me smiling waited for hours. But I did not smile as easy as that they would want me to see. I simply kept on sleeping.

After a month, I was taken to Kala Bazar. Here I met many uncles who looked exactly like my father. Of course, not all uncles were dark like him. It was the same routine repeated: they held me in their hands, talked to me and carried me around the house. The only difference was that their handlings were rough and voices hoarse.

Every weekend my parents took me to Motithang. I spent all day with my aunts. They talked about me on anything from the color of skin to what I wore. Later in the evening when I reached home, my uncles would have waited all day long missing me terribly. While they would not talk about the dress I wore, they would mess up my little hair uttering phrases such as ‘Beckham style,’ and laughed among themselves. Crazy uncles, I could have told them now.

                                                   not the end

An Artist

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Once upon a time, we were told that one does not need to teach how to make love. Today it looks like only a half baked story. Love making is an art. I am an artist.

An artist does not hurry up to ejaculate his yellowish hardened sperm until it is churned, nurtured and made ready to regain its original runny state and color. And it all helps when every part of other love maker's body is frisked, pinched, moulded, felt and plucked right from combing every strand of any hair to digging nails of toes and fingers.

Imagination is the key but diverting from that moment to another person is a sin. A ticket to heaven cannot be granted alone. Heaven is a bliss if both reach the destination together. Aftermath brings the smile on both the faces, hands around the necks, gasping, staring at the ceiling that it smiles you back. A water jug on the bedside pedestal cools down the souls but smoking cigratte is only a preconcieved idea of becoming 'cool' borrowed from movies that is very 'cheap' falling down to a level of pimp. After drinking water, go to relieve yourself and do it after you obeserve the status of your organ who took you to heaven a moment ago. If you don't appreciate the magic it can do, it is likely you will fall asleep straightaway and miss  attendance the next day. Otherwise, another sequel of going to heaven is guaranteed and hence the ceiling shall smile you back, once again.

Make love while heaven pours down for it gives you freedom to moan louder than usual. Hear your partner but keep check on your manliness for hard yellow bristles will spoil your bed too early. Haha, forget it. Got to go. :) It is for you Coco, thanks for reminding to update this blog.

An animal

Thursday, October 4, 2012

A silhouette of her figure captured my line of sight even before nearing her. She had an average figure but with heels, she was capable of making any male to have a second glance. She wore a darkish brown small checkered mathra that stayed fit to her skin. Her bottom was firm and tight, the very sight made a shift in my groin. Her straight shoulder length hair was another complimentary. I had a second look and saw a face that could sink my heart. I saw a twitch in her eyes and even heard a moan she could make. My groin shifted further out and it stayed longer even after her figure diminished from the overhead mirror and disappeared behind another car.

She had changed her dress on the second day. The long hair was same, her bottom firm and tight.

On the third day, the hair had changed the shape but her skin revealed more than any other days. She had worn a silky dress and that made her bottom round and firm. My fingers wanted to see if it was tight. My groin responded fast.

I brought her with me to my home in the form of thoughts. In the bathroom, the thoughts changed to wild fantasies and my whole body became stiff. I thanked god I had my strong hands. For several times, I nailed her against the wall. She did not mind the cold tiles brushing her naked body and I did not feel the pain of her weight penetrated through my thighs. On her second moan, the floor tiles was wet. It was all jelly-like. The taps had run out of water. I tiptoed out of the room.

On the fifth day, I slowed the car, all thanks to the rain that started to pour. She looked at me, damn, those eyes, how many times they had closed from the wall. And her lips, she kissed me all over that could not last me another second. Even after the successive fourth time, she had the capability to take out every drop of me, the quantity remaining all the same.

I opened the door and she hitched the ride. I asked her expressively where she stayed. I waited for an amorous voice that could send shivers all through my vein. That one word could last me nail her permanently in my bathroom wall forever. I waited her to speak, my iron hot ears all lent to her.

My little concentration from the road diverted to look at her. She had not bothered to look at me. A quizical look, she took time and nodded her head. The same head I had held her pushing to cover my mouth. I saw her hands slowly raising higher up to her ears. Her fingers flagged. I went, huh. Her hands took to her mouth and fingers flagged. And I another, huh.

All the aphrodisiacs I made from her suddenly went off. My amorous lady was just deaf and dumb who needed a companionship of a human being. An animal just could show his small gesture by dropping her to a clinic which she visited every day, everyday.

A day at Sangaygang

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

The last day of Thimphu Tsechu took us to Sangaygang. The road was empty apart from a few of those tourist ferrying vehicles. We chose to sit under a tree on the side of foot trail. It was an anticipatory day for our plot was coming to an end. It meant a skeleton of a movie script would be formed. Flesh and blood awaited the next.

The leaves rustled. We were not concerned. We concentrated on the flipping sound of the chart papers.

And yet the leaves rustled. There was the reason to be concerned this time because I heard a murmur behind the bush. My old ears did not play the trick when Ngawang (Penstar) also heard the same.

I craned my neck and peeked through the colorful fallen prayer flags hanging across the branches of trees. Indeed it was colorful, I sighted a red robe. My hand signalled for him to have the glimpse. We retreated almost together. He had the company, a lady in tsechu dress.

"A monk and a lady?" I whispered.
"No no boss, they can't be," he whispered back.
"Why not?" I said.
"If they are, they would have shifted the place. They heard us coming," he replied.

There was logic in his words. They knew about our presence and they did not stir. But what the heck they were doing like a couple when the whole population of Thimphu was either at Tendrelthang or watching from their living rooms. I had my own logic.

"They did not panic to subdue our suspicion," I said after we settled back to our work. My friend doubtfully looked at me. "Let's finish our skeleton."

The excitement built up when we were almost through our work. "Flesh and blood will be next," he said triumphantly.

"Indeed," I could not agree more.

A cell phone rang. It was loud and clear, a melodic sound of Zhungdra. Her "Hellow" was louder than the ringtone.

I cupped my hands over my ears and concentrated towards the direction of sound. The strategy that I had learnt from a book on war by soldiers to grasp the sound waves helped overhear what she conversed.

"Yes, brother," she spoke. "I am fine, yes, I went, no, ok, baby is fine...." So far I was clueless. The next few moments she listened with utterances of only 'yeses' and 'nos'. I only waited if the person at the other end asked her where she was. The soldier in me got it right. "Brother, I am not at home," she said. "I am at Olakha, at a friend's house." My logic came to the conclusion.

The leaves rustled further more. They got up and walked away, deeper into the jungle. I threw the marker pen on the ground and sprinted to their place.

"Where are you going?" Penstar shouted.
"Well, you guessed it right, to see the trace of flesh and blood," I replied back.

This time too, the luck was not on my side. But my enthusiasm to put flesh and blood to the skeletal plot with renewed energy was only a consolation.

A day in Botanical Garden

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Today was the second day of 'attempting' on a movie script. Mr. Ngawang (Penstar) wanted us to shift the location from Kuenselphodrang Park to Botanical Garden. He believes the serenity of place is important on fueling the imaginations. I agreed right away on a sole reason - Kuenselphodrang Park is nearer to my home and far away from his. On the first day, he drove all the way from Babesa. Today I drove from Chang Gidaphu to Wangchutaba. On car's wear-tear-fuel-consumption front, we are at par. :) I am already thinking on the location of third day. It should be at an equitable distance between us. And that falls somewhere near Olakha. Hopefully, it won't be in the premises Automobile Workshop. LOL.

At 10 in the morning, there were fewer people in the park. We grabbed packaged water, snacks, a laptop and roll of chart papers. We paid 40 bucks and chose a place under a canopy overlooking approach road to RTC. It was truly a beautiful scene. But before that, a young couple came to our sights. Their heads were cocked together, so lost that they did not notice us standing right behind them. My friend hesitated and crept over to the cliff. I just coughed. The heads moved and two pairs of eyes balls bored my face. I pretended not noticing them, placed the materials on the floor and grinned. The two dead serious faces greeted me back. And that chilled me.

When I was his age, I was only a prick that was used only to pee. My lips had touched only the rims of wooden cups or worn out Chinese mugs. No girl resided in me and my heart's task was only to pump the blood. And the girl? Any hormome packed male would not have looked at her if she bathed naked by a river side. As they left, I looked at them. She wore a short jeans showing off the tight skin all through her ankles. The pair of legs only confused me with the realization that those were a medium capable of sending shivers to both of them.

As soon as the couple disappeared, Ngawang came back with a wonderstruck expression shown on his face. I left the canopy and scanned the nearby bush. He shouted at me what I was doing. I only replied I did not want to defy my childhood days.

Whatever, I did not succeed finding a freshly used condom.

Football Fantasy

Monday, September 17, 2012

I have many brothers at home, some just landed in the job, some just graduated and some still in  the college. There are only three females - my wife, my daughter and my only sister. Everybody's favorite is my four year old daughter. She would be in their room (I call it boys hostel) playing with them, distracting them from playing soccer in PS and switching off TV.

Growing up with lots of males has made her become one. She does not sit with her mom who watches Hindi soaps and she hates to sit near my sister who is always into FM radio or desktop listening to music. She does not disturb me reading or typing on the laptop unless she wants pocket money even at late hours of the night. Munching any snacks her uncles brought for her, she would be cuddling inside their blanket. She screams whenever there is the score, be it on PS or English Premier League. Drogba, Henry, Beckham or Rooney, she knows them all.

Yesterday, another brother (first cousin in the service who recently moved away from us) came to visit us. After handing his set of edible presents to my daughter, he asked her what new things she learned from her half-day day care center. She remained silent. Just then another brother from the boys hostel came to the living room and asked her a question. "Zamin, where did Drogba go?"

"Shanghai," she answered, munching a flake of potato chips in her mouth.

First cousin laughed. He said, "I don't know that."

"Zamin, where is Rooney?"

"ManU," she replied.

First cousin said, "That I know."

The other brother turned his question to him, "What is Rooney's status these days?"

"What status?" first cousin was puzzled.

My daughter rescued him though she accused him of not knowing it, "Rooney sho injured gila."

Let her grow up some more, I will take over from them and we shall cocoon in our bedroom, each holding a book and then I shall ask her, "Zamin, who is the author of The Bikini Murders?" just to raise the curiosity of the male-dominant-football house. ;)

The correct answer shall be given, perhaps, only by her. :)

Journeys of two men

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

One is young. Just recently he bought a  car that has a 'heater' in it. He travels from West to East from the northern highway. He has many experiences of freezing inside his previous car. Today he is satisfied he won’t face the bitter cold wind. He starts the journey early in the morning from Thimphu.

He is old and drives a car which has both the options of making the interior cold and hot. Today he drives towards east from the southern route via Bengal and Assam States. He starts the journey early in the morning from Phuentsholing.

Young man reaches Pelela while old man has just entered into Assamese soil. Both have something to say, almost at the same moment.

Young man grumbles, “This heater is nauseating me.”

Somewhere in the plains thousands feet below, the old man utters, “The compressed air from AC is making me sick.” The young man thinks, “If only I have taken the southern route,” while an old man thinks, “If only I have taken the northern route.”

The two men have never met.

At the crossroad of my career

Friday, June 22, 2012

A friend called me up to share the news on the vacancy announcement in Punatsangchu. I followed up on the notification and tried to fit into the slots. EE (Executive Engineer) post seemed to conform to my number of years of experience. But the basic salary of Nu. 26,350 was not alluring to what I have in the civil service until I rang him up. He told me to add 190% on that. “What?” I shouted. “190%” he confirmed.

190 or 130, I had to come to the conclusion. I opened up the spreadsheet and did the rough analysis based on the SWOT analyzing tool. Some of the striking points that still confuse me to come to the decisions:

Strengths in Civil Service:
1. Secured job although my mind says the heck about it. (Life is not secured by itself).
2. Quality time in Thimphu with family. (Back of my mind, Thimphu is an illusive city.  Living cost is higher than the living standard).
3. Trainings abroad. (Not so much guaranteed though).
4. Off on public holidays. (Ah I like it).

Weaknesses in Civil Service:
1. Always remain broke.
2. Delusion of grandeur. (Many have called me Dasho several times. Want to die an honorable death (with a crystal clear conscience), can this happen?).
3. Mechanized human being. (Innovative ideas tend to die before the bosses; on off, off on, off off).
4. Retirement plan. (Financing is asking for a moon).

     Opportunities in Civil Service:
1. Philanthropic job.
2. P3 to who knows EX1 (EX without shift key is ‘ex’. Shhhh).
3. Foreign tours (In America, it is like this. In Europe is like this. Bloody, why you are not implementing what you have seen?).

Threats in Civil Service:
1. 30 years is half of the life span. (Don’t want to step into others’ shoes and see what civil service is actually about?)
2. Unintended mistakes – scape goat (bear with it otherwise it will be any of the sanctions of the intended mistakes).
3. Intended mistakes – transfer/demotion/go home without benefits. (Prison is not that a faraway place).
4. Family pack. (It is a joke for many and serious for many).

Well, the points are not exhaustive. The list tends to go very long. I am gathering the information on the vacant post and will do the similar exercise. Right now, 190% if it is true seems to tackle many of the weaknesses of civil service. But money is not everything though it is many of the things. After getting extra information, the spreadsheet will poke me to the next crossroad of my career. Is lifespan a 200 years?

Kuzuzangpo sirs

Friday, February 17, 2012

Few questions that were asked to me in an interview held recently. They have asked me many questions but can’t remember all. I have left out the expressions and who asked what, or the situation that I went through on certain questions.

1.      You are an engineer and why do you want to be a manager? Engineers make good money in corporate or private sector and even in government organizations.

No person becomes a millionaire with the salary. As much as I have the choice to be in civil service or in private sector I have the choice to remain happy. Private sector means only one thing – minting money and that attributes to being selfish whereas being in civil service is being selfless. We all know selfishness brings unhappiness and I am not ready to join the rat race and slog in life. And by the way who guarantees anyone in private sector becoming rich and if it is so is there any rich person who is content with his wealth? I want to be happy serving people than serving myself. Working in civil service has wider impact than being individualistic.

2.      Why do you think you are the perfect person in this job?

I will be very honest here that I don’t think I can be perfect because I have not met and worked with any of my other competitors. But I am an engineer and if there is something that I am not capable of then don’t let me operate a human being or an animal. I can’t replace the work of doctors but there is a living proof of engineers becoming better managers throughout the world.

3.      If you are selected, how will you work as the manager?

First thing first, if I am selected and become a manager, it will never be a one man show. We will work as the team always.
As a manager, I have to prioritize the works in close consultation with my colleagues. Those works which are important, I will do it personally and make it on time. Lesser important ones will be delegated as per the skills of the colleagues and not randomly. Again it will not be ‘you do it yourself’ strategy. With the delegation, there will be learning process both ways. Finally we will work horizontally without hierarchy in place. As a team we shall be bonded with cohesive working relationships.

4.      There is difficulty in retention of staff. How would you curb this problem if you get through this post?

If people want to leave for better perks like in international organizations, the credit should go to our office because they find it a credible institute producing high calibre of professionals. We should be happy about it. In such cases, I will be the happiest person to let them leave. But if they want to leave because they are disgruntled, it is my duty to find out the reasons. I will talk to them over the cup of tea, during lunch time and mostly over the drink either in their houses or mine. There will be some hidden reasons in their talks and I have to grasp those, analyze them and come out with the solution like appreciating them, mentoring and encouraging them. Grass is never greener at other sides; it is greener where it is watered. Will try my best and I know these are not the readymade answers but so is the problem not very easy to deal with.

5.      We all know there are problems in Dzongkhags with the engineers complaining of having many works in hands and that they are unable to supervise well. How do you think you will tackle it? You don’t have to say on system, just the strategy.

I am a practicing engineer and have got enough experience to understand the loopholes in the regulations which I would have loved to say it but since I have to speak only the strategy, I am equally happy to say some here.

Do we skip the mails in our inboxes? I would say never. We always read our emails, sometimes even the spam. But we may skip reading the letters or papers cluttered on the tables. Most of them get lost though.
It was my hope that before the start of 10th FYP engineers would be sent to geogs like any other officers of GAO, HA, RNR extension officers, teachers etc. But nothing happened like that. When many sites are in geogs what point is there in stationing them at Dzongkhag HQ. People rarely visit from site A to B to C and return to Dzongkhag HQ. It will be rather Dzongkhag HQ to site A and back and Dzongkhag HQ to site B, why? we all know the reasons, a virus that eats the exchequer. Therefore, station them in geogs and connect them with internet. I believe internet facilities are there in most of the geogs. Let them report the status or anything to Dzongkhag through emails, seek technical advises through internet and share information through internet, the boss at the other end will never skip to read those mails, as I said, do we really ignore mails in our inboxes? Only on the urgent cases, let them come physically on the need basis. I think it will have immense benefit to building good quality infrastructure and my hope it will happen in 11th FYP. There will be challenges and reluctance from the engineers but that goes with anything new. Nation’s priority must come first than the individuals.

6.      Do you think there is GNH in Bhutan?

It is ‘yes’ and ‘no’. Personally I feel it is NO. I feel the link is missed in socio-economic development and having to be happy. Before the farm road, people are unhappy for not having roads. After the farm road, they are still not happy for lack of transport facilities or for high fares of taxis. I am not saying development is not necessary. I just don’t see the link right now. For me to say YES, I want everyone to be content without complaints or discomfort in their lives. May be I am asking for a heaven but GNH does sound one so. All the better if it happens one day.

7.      What was happening in India yesterday?

I don’t remember anything catchy but I definitely remember something that happened few days back. Three ministers were caught watching pornography in the Assembly hall in Karnataka.

8.      This is the last question. There are three switches in ground floor and three bulbs in top floor. You can’t see the bulbs but you get only one chance to go up. How will you find out which switch is for which bulb?

(Thought a lot and asked questions a lot too)

Hmmm, here it is:

Put on the first switch and wait for some time. Put it off. Put on the second switch and go up. The one which is glowing is obviously for the second switch. Feel the other two (non glowing bulbs). The one which is warm or hot is for the first switch and the colder one is the third.

Panel: Thank you; we had a very entertaining interview.
I: Thank you.

24 hours later, the result was declared and here it is: NOT SELECTED

Bark baby bark

Friday, February 3, 2012

Jadha, what’s wrong with you? And Jadha what’s wrong with me? Two negatives make positive and two Jadhas thus solve the problem between us. If there had been no neighbours’ cars I swear I would have broken your head. I just did that a few years back, in fact, I killed it, and I am never sorry if it was your distant kin for I swear you can’t be. Dogs at Kanglung cannot have relatives in Thimphu. Will they?

Back in Kanglung, I had bought a compound bow after one prominent civil servant nagged me to become a gentleman. He thought a man without a bow set is not a man. I bought it and on the very first week he enrolled me into his team. The novice player could not find the wooden target and my arrows landed elsewhere, either broken or lost in the bush. When the day ended, I was tired and when I calculated the broken or lost arrows I learned I had lost the price of two quintals of rice to feed me all through the year. I lost the spirit and feeling dead tired I went to sleep like a log. The log stirred disturbed when dogs started to howl around my house unceremoniously of my first lost game. When the howling did not stop, I had no choice but to pick up the bow, fix the broken arrow to the string and released it. I wonder whether other dogs learned the lesson and shut their mouths because I wasn't there. Searching for the empty jute bag, dragging the dead dog and carrying it to dump took hell lot of a time.
And now, at least I am kind enough to address as ‘you’ although you disturbed my very good night sleep. At first, I grumbled under the blanket and proclaimed this inherent word. Later thinking of you as just an innocent animal, I confessed my stupidity and proclaimed the same word to myself. Then I was not so angry to pull the string of the same bow. I had spent enough on butter lamps for forgiveness at various monasteries. And even throwing a stone at you could empty my thin wallet from negotiating with the automobile workshops repairing the neighbours’ cars. Maybe, I thought, you had the reason to bark and I could not help comparing you to Mr. Humjaiga although the reason of seeing evils was not ruled out.

Mr. Hamjaigo for his wrong doing was punished by letting him spend the night on the roof on a chilly night naked. His master, concerned about Mr. Hamjaiga and even thinking he could be dead from frost climbed the roof early morning assuming to see the corpse. But the naked man was seen sweating profusely and on the reply to his master on what he did to save from the cold only said he carried and arranged all the stone boulders covering every area of the roof. And I thought, you had the similar reason to keep yourself warm by barking all through the night while human beings like me had the choice of sleeping peacefully under the thick imported blankets. And therefore, I uttered Jadha to myself and allowed you to do your warming up exercise without any further complaints. Also, I am thankful to you for keeping my wallet intact though I sure know this old bone could have missed your head in that pitchy dark.

Now bark peacefully and I shall only wish you the best. If you have any complaints from other people, tell your friends to flock around my house. I will do my duty to go to the town and buy the ear-plugs.

My daughter is a fan of Sha Rukh Khan

Friday, January 20, 2012

‘Lalu chi gi nga, tayi tayi ra, Sha Rukh Khan zoom bey thong mey lo’ is the latest song that never leaves my daughter’s lips. And when I have the opportunity and when we are alone, I pose myself in the act of horse riding and jump two steps continuing her song, ‘lalu chi gi nga, tayi tayi ra, Salman Khan zoom bey thong mey lo’ virtually holding a towel in between my thighs. To become Salman Khan or not mostly depends on the unexpected audience I have around but mostly on the barometer of my mood. And whether she knows about Sha Rukh Khan or not came at a time when Don was featuring on Sony Entertainment channel.
“Zamin, that is Sha Rukh Khan,” I said pointing to Mr. Khan on the TV screen. The slow motion of Mr. Khan trying to look at his best and his face doing every trick to woo the lady captured my daughter’s attention. She stopped humming the song and looked shocked. I did not have the clue what went in her mind. I said once again, “He is Sha Rukh Khan,” this time touching the screen over the King Khan’s massive nose. The smile on her face confirmed Mr. Khan had won the heart of my daughter adding her to the league of other million fans. And next I had to watch the film one more time. That day I missed several of my favourite programmes. Her mother had already gone to bed.

The music is a lullaby and the particular song puts my baby to a fast snore. The music system in the bedroom corner has to be operated manually after its remote-control accidently went with the dustbin and perhaps now taking its toll to decay for the next million of years at Memelakha dumping pit. I still think it is the work of my daughter who slipped it into the bin but she is never going to confess it. Whatever and whoever did that has become a curse for me when I have to get up in the middle of the night to put off the music.

By the time Don came to an end, it was past midnight. I ushered her to bedroom and put her on the bed. “Daddy, put on the music,” she commanded when I prepared myself to slip beside her. The low snore from big momma was envious. My eyes were heavy and soon wanted to add few decibels to that snore. I complied with her command and played her favourite song and ran back exclaiming the icy cold night.

The warm bed had put me to sleep but the distant call made from my nearest bed-mate woke me up. I saw her sitting on the pillow and twitching my ears. Even with that twitch, my ears heard her Sha Rukh Kha song had had ended two tracks ago. She wanted me to play it once again. The fear of getting cold instantly brought two thoughts to my mind: the remote-control device at Memelakha and Mr. Sha Rukh Khan in Don. While I could repress the thought of lost remote-control, I hated myself to have introduced her to Sha Rukh Khan. But I had to try and make her sleep.

“Zamin, please go to sleep,” I said sheepishly.
“NO,” she slammed.
“Please Zamin, please.”
“NOOO......!” she shouted, her tone signalling she was not to give up anytime. The fear of cold grew stronger in me. Almost in self-defence, I dug inside the blanket and pretended heavy snore. She broke into a wail defeating my snore by her cry. The fearing cold turned to a heated anger.
“Why do you want to hear that song in the middle of the night? See how peacefully your mother have slept. Let’s sleep too, and I have to go to office in the morning by the way,” I said as if she is too grown up to understand everything. Whether she understood or not, that brought me some satisfaction. But she showed me she is still a kid by crying more. The other bed-mate started to move and by the time she ended her peaceful night, she saw her bed-mates were sitting next to her – one crying and one holding his head in his hands desperately wanting to sleep. She said nothing and as if she saw nothing, she peacefully went back to sleep. And that annoyed me. I felt jealous. I felt all the evil thoughts. I wished I was the mother, wished we did not lose the remote-control, wished that song was never composed and wished I did not tell her who Sha Rukh Khan was. Eventually, the evil thoughts inside were slowly turning to form into tongue-lashing words. I had seconds to be mindful what I had to speak. My audience was only three years old. If her age was the product of 3 by 10, the cousins sleeping next room would have rushed to the scene in boxer shorts and yet would not have felt the cold in their skin. So infuriated had I become that I spoke, yet in the best possible manner to be mindful. To get off from the bed was the most difficult thing for me to do.

“Zamin,” I shouted. And then I realised her age, the innocence and the fact she is my baby. I lowered my voice, “Zamin, Don ko pakar na mushkil hi nahin, na mum kin hai,” I said and pulled her back onto the pillow together. She went silent for a moment which confused me as much as her with what she had just heard. By the time I thought she would nag me again, the 30 years old bed-mate, stood up and went to the music system.

‘Lalu chi gi nga, tayi tayi ra, Sha Rukh Khan zoom bey thong mey lo,’ filled the room and by the time next track came, my daughter was into deep slumber.

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