Missing Home with the Tunes of Romantic Lyric

The past two weeks has been very hectic and tiresome. The much-delayed external exams of my semester finally started beginning this month. With a total of nine courses spread over 21 credit hours per week, we have lots to study for the exam. In the semester of five months, resting almost more than four months idly, spending sleepless nights and relentless efforts at the last minute brought no peace in mind, but it only exacerbated the pressure in my brain and strain and pain to the tiny muscles of eyes. I burnt the mid night oil to trace the light at the other end the next day and as days passed by, the exams were finally over. While in some subjects I did very well, others dragged me down to the mere cross mark of failure but I should be optimistic that I would not fail. Nevertheless, it is all over but the results are waited. 

I am not a music freak but I do listen as and when I feel like listening. My room has been a total mess with grubby cloths heaped like a junk of clutter in the cupboard. My study table was disorganized with sheets of paper and books scattered everywhere, and the dustbin behind the door was no less than an urban litterbin that is filled every now and then. As exams were over, I was to bring my room back to order so I swept the floor, cleaned the tables, planned to wash the cloths the next day, and emptied the bin. Gone are the days of dust and grim and so are the thoughts of untamed soul. It’s getting warmer as the first shower of the season has already cleansed the parchedness and dirt. Therefore, under the fan I laid on my bed and started listening to shuffled list of modern Bhutanese songs. 

As the comforting music from the feature film ‘Sem Gawai Tasha’ flowed on uniformly, it brought a relishing feeling in my mind but as the lyrical tune flow on, it brought the romantic scene of Kelley Dorji and Tsokey Tshomo Karchung vividly in my mind. But I am not taken by such thoughts, rather I longed to reach home and share the warmth of love and care with my beloved parents.

“..Yar nam khai Karsel Dawa,

Ma Chhu ye Ser Mai Nyamo,

Pha Gang ge Etho Meto tsu.

Nge me khar tsar ray thom dha,

Nge sem khar tsar ray charw dha,

Choe Chery tang may moo..,” and so flows the tune of lyrics.

I stood up from my bed and stared through the window. Up in the azure sky, just near the sinking boundaries of the heaven I saw the falcate moon in its waxing phase. In its shining crescent face, I could visualize the reflections of my tiny hamlet on the hills facing the early morning sun rays, adorned by pines and junipers.

Rhododendron arborescens

The swift flowing Nikka Chhu below my village drains the valley with profuse fertility.  The river is as clear as crystalline glass because the northern peaks are still so pristine and monsoon far beyond the rolling clouds.  So in this fresh water, the fish fly with fearless flap and rejoice without any tension of the hungry otters and greedy fishermen. 

By the opposite hills facing my village are the woods of different species, more temperate and more delicate yet never fragile as the trees in stinking towns.  Amid the pines and oaks, the rhododendrons of different species blossom with the shower of spring’s rain; it  adds an enthralling beauteous look to my tiny hamlet.

As such images evoked my thoughts time and again I was deeply perturbed and started missing my home madly. I started missing my gracious parents and loveable village kids, the encouraging village folks and of course my once classmates, who had to leave the school to serve their ageing parents by toiling the days with shovel and spade instead of pen and paper. I am lucky to be the youngest of all in my family, which is one reason why I got an opportunity to study. 

However, I do not have any reason to miss either a highland lass, or a dazzling urban damsel because love unless reciprocated equally and proportionately does not have a potential to keep lovers alive, unlike in the soothing music of the emotional lyrical chant. 

The winds from the south, it did not pause for a moment here to take my message to my beloved mom. Similarly, the river which came passing by my village to reach the Indian plains, it is too busy to halt for a minute there to bring the message of love and care which my parents intended to convey to me. But with springs of rising hope, I shall grow the lush of patience to stay here until I get myself capable of paying my gratitude in words and kind to my parents, though I miss my home and parents desperately. 

Image source:  google images, The rhododendron arborescens is the most common one in my village as well as in Bhutan.