Trying out on Photography

Saying Goodbye

On the fifth of August, 2013 I started my journey to well known place, DOWN UNDER, known but to place I have never been before. When I came, I was very excited, as I stayed along I started to miss my home very dearly. Cooking for self, and eating alone was very difficult. I really missed sharing meals with my family. Life even got busier, very busy that I started counting days to go home. Managing or adjusting time for work, study, and sleep was another greatest challenge I had to face. Most of the time I had to compromise my meal time for leisure time, and settled for egg fried rice or quick noodles. Despite all these hassles I managed to complete my course. I don't know if I learnt more, I don't feel like I did. After more studies and trying to learn more, I still feel there is more to learn. However, I am proud that somehow I completed my course as I expected. 

I really wanted to attend my graduation ceremony, but it is disheartening to know that it is not happening anytime soon. And now it is time for me to go home. So to comfort myself, I borrowed my friend's graduation gown and took this picture.

I felt little happier after taking this picture. Above all, I am very much indebted to my BNLI Family for giving me this opportunity to become student once again. With the shifts from being a student to being a office goer and back again to being a student, it seems that I understood differences between the two quite well. I therefore, extend my deepest gratitude to the Hon'ble President, BNLI, Director, BNLI, and my fellow work friends.  I must also thank University of Canberra and my lecturers for the support and guidance; for equipping me with yet another tool which would enable me to take another step further in my life. Away from home, I met and befriended with quite a few of Bhutanese, they made me feel homely, I will miss their company, and I am very thankful to each and everyone of them. 

Apart from experiencing yet another student life, I had this opportunity of experiencing the life of a cleaner. I am proud to have worked as a cleaner, not just because it was good source of earning but it was quite a good experience in itself. Am I ashamed of being worked as a cleaner? Well I find no reasons to be, after all everyone is equal. After all, it is cleaner who makes place greener. 

People might look down up on cleaners, but how does it matter? People need cleaners to make their places look better and better for them to live. 

How would it matter? They too live a life of human. Similar to the lives lived by all. 

I have found new friends, even closer than that in groups of cleaners, APC Team, and Majura Park Team. In the beginning it was hard, very hard that I felt like I need to leave and walk away from doing those jobs. As I settled in, I started to like it, and we worked together and enjoyed doing so cracking jokes about one another. We, as a group constituted of different nationalities. This cleaning job opportunity brought us together, and I found new family in them. I would like to thank everyone of them for giving me new experiences in my life. 

Now that I am leaving, after counting days to go home until now, I feel like I will miss this place and new friends I have made. However, home is home, and nothing can beat that. Therefore, I must bid farewell, and it is time to say good-bye to Canberra and hello to my home. Canberra and beautiful people I met will be missed, yet I must go and find happiness in the reunion of my soul with my home Bhutan and my family. Fare the Well...........We will meet again!!!

I remain motivated

It has been very long year for me, my time here in Australia has been busy yet worthwhile. As my stay here is almost over, I remain very excited to go home. To meet my family and relatives, and to join my office and stay busy yet again. While I am here I tried to work, every Bhutanese who comes here work. You can indeed make quite a money if you can give all your energy, but it was very daunting task for me. You could if not more, at least earn equivalent of Minster's pay in a week, yet it has not been my greatest motivation. There is no natural feeling or drive to do work. However, it was and is different experience back home. I never felt like not going to work, and never felt like taking very lightly while doing my work. I have always enjoyed working on the task I was entrusted with despite of limited knowledge or experiences I had or have. My salary or a bank account never dictated my state of mind when it concerned my job. Frankly, I could have earned little higher had I joined a private company or a corporation. Yet I decided to join government service.

If I briefly give my salary and expenditure details. The rough net salary I get in a month after all deductions is approximately Nu.16000. I pay Nu.8100 as a house rent, I end up clearing credits for groceries not less than Nu.6000 in month. Now I am left with another Nu.1900 which is not even sufficient to buy me vegetables, or fuel my car. Fortunately, I am blessed with working wife, and caring too. More than half of her salary ends up paying car loan, and the remaining hardly suffices to buy reasonable clothes, meet other necessary expenditures and family or relatives' demands. I wonder how family of only one working parent survive in Capital City.

Few embarrassing situations, sometime you meet friends in town, you really want to invite them for a dinner or a lunch, and you offer the invitation with greatest pain of worrying what kind of a meal who would be able to serve. All you have at home is cheap vegetables, meat can hardly be afforded, and fruits hardly find place at your home. You think of sitting together with friends in a restaurant or bar and share a bottle of wine, but you see your wallet can afford no wine? You think of taking your family for lunch or dinner outside, it is good to do that quite often, but it is not affordable. Some of your friends or relatives want lift in your car, and you can't say no, but your car is almost empty of fuel. You end up borrowing Nu.500, sometime even as low as Nu.200 to fuel up your car.

This isn't a complaint, it is a reality. However, this hardship never stopped me from going to work, or never gave me room to complain about work load I have to go through. I can now say one thing, that is, salary wasn't and is not the motivation for my work. I love my job, and the new challenges I am placed with before me, that is my first motivation. I have supportive and understanding wife, who helps me through in her own ways even if my job demands working on weekends, government holidays and other odd hours, that is my second motivation. I have a visionary boss, who thanks me even for very minor work I do, even if that work is not done for the boss, but as part of my job. The encouraging boss who says that if the work or the program goes well, you will be proud of yourself. This is my third motivation. I am indebted to the people and country, for the education they have given to me, from the pre-primary to my master programs. I feel I am morally bound to work in the best possible way I can, and that is my fourth motivation. As long as circumstances do not force me beyond my resistance, I will always remain motivated. 

Letter to My Daughter Yet Again

Dear Sweetheart,

I am writing to let you know that your Mom and Dad misses you very much. Though we are daunted by work loads demanded by environment around us, we have never stopped missing you, and nothing will stop us.

I usually keep my pain inside, but this time when I saw this picture of yours, my tear started to roll down. I felt so different, so different that I have no words to describe it. It is said that tear can be of two types, tear of pain and tear of joy. My tear was mixture of both. May be this added up to make my feeling so different and unusual. Tear of pain because, it made me miss you even more knowing that you misses us too. Tear of joy because, it made me proud to see that you are learning at great pace. Tear of joy because, I see in you a potential to grow up to be a better person in the future.

Just few more months, and counting days for family re-union after a year long parting. Distance is far beyond, and duration have been very long but, you still remain in our hopes, wishes, and prayers. Good to know that you miss us because, it helps us to know that we have been good parents to you, and you indeed care for us. I know support and care given to you by in-laws and relatives at home are immense and very commendable, thank you for still finding other reasons to miss us.

Keep learning, and keep surprising us with your developments and growth.

Your loving Daddy.

Stolen Crayon Box

A Village Boy

CHAPTER THREE

Stolen Crayon Box

It was a beautiful Sunday. I was a reserved boy; the crowd and loitering around were not my passion. Many of my friends would be gone to play. That day I remained in hostel trying to mend my torn uniform. The uniform that served different purposes for more than a year. It will have to continue to serve same purposes again and again until my parents can afford to get new one. I knew that day wouldn’t come any time soon. Therefore, I will have to keep on mending, stitching it to keep myself warm and clothed.

I would never harm anyone. I would never share my pain to anyone. I kept everything, that is odd, to myself. I won’t steal anything belonging to my friends, not even if someone would have taken my pencil at night, which was cloaked inside the jachung of my gho. I had jachung (the thin cloth stitched on the inside edges of gho) in my uniform cut with my teeth to fit in my pencil. When the classes are over, pencil and eraser would be cloaked in through; to make sure that it is not misplaced. The fear that Mr. NK will throw me down on the floor for not having pencil to write in class didn’t give me enough courage to steal something which didn’t belong to me. But, not every friend of mine was same. Some didn’t care about others’ innocence. Two of my friends broke into the class and stole a crayon box. I knew they did it because they came to hostel with it.

Tomorrow was different taste for us, more specifically to me. Our Headmaster knew about it, because boxes were in countable numbers and they left wooden windows wide-opened. He wanted to know who did it. No one claimed the responsibility. Headmaster then decided to punish whole of class, that is, caning again. Who would like to get caned, I never liked it. I knew no one in the class would like it. However, I didn’t know that it would be only me who would get caned at the end of the day. Very two friends of mine, who broke into the class stood up and pointed their fingers at me. They got up and said, “Sir, it is Nima who did it”. I was totally surprised and frightened. What a betrayal! What did I do to deserve that? I didn’t harm them, I never thought bad of them, but why me? These were questions running through my mind. The Headmaster shouted at me, “Get up and come here”. I was so frightened; I got up immediately and went to him. He made me stand in front of class. “Why did you do that? Who told you to do that?”, he continued to scold me. “I didn’t do it Sir”, I replied. Did he believe me? No he didn’t, instead it got worse. “Now you want to lie to me huh?”, he repeated these words many times continuing to cane me.

It was an unusual and difficult Monday. That day I had friends who betrayed me, and a teacher who didn’t believe me. I almost lost hope in everything; I missed home then, needed to see my parents, more desiringly my mother who would hold me in her arms. When that class was over, I would have gone to those two friends and picked up a fight. Did I do that? No I didn’t, I don’t wanted to, I just kept my anger, frustration and pain for myself. I wanted to let it pass, and never think of it. But, sometimes it is very difficult to let it go when your nearest ones let you down. The pain continued for few more days, it haunted me for quite a sometime.

The Curious Ball

A Village Boy

CHAPTER TWO

The Curious Ball

“Good Morning Sir”, said class together, standing up for our teacher. The teacher must have been in his thirties. He was also the Head teacher, known by then as a Headmaster. He was definitely not from Zhemgang Dzongkhag. “Good morning children”, he said. “You can now sit down”, he continued. “We will start our class as usual, are you ready?”, the teacher asked. “Yes Sir’, we all replied excitedly. ‘Ok then let us start, one, two and three”. “Today is Monday, it is sunny day…” It used to be quite a long singing, which I don’t remember now. “Ok, very good, children”, he used to say. That is how, our classes used to begin, we used to sing many songs together. We used to love singing ‘Nima Karma had a farm’, ‘Ten Green Bottles Hanging on the Wall’, ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’, and in Dzongkha “Alo tshu pang na ma jo’, ‘Chap-di Chap-do Chep-chep’ were some of our favourites.

We had around five teachers including Headmaster. They were all male teachers. In the class roughly we were twelve. It was male dominated class; we had just one girl in the class. Her name was Kinley Pemo. Don’t misunderstand me; I remember her name because she was only girl in our class. Not because I had some kind of feeling to her. Unfortunately, I don’t remember many names of my male classmates. I almost forgot! We had a ferocious Dzonkha teacher. We used to call him within ourselves DLT. Everyone feared him, I wasn’t exception. Dzongkha teachers are well known for disciplines. My concentration would be most of the time drawn more towards fear than his teachings. If we were to measure wealth by ability to torture students, he could have been the wealthiest person. Caning, pulling of ears, slapping were part of his classes. Another male teacher was also not very short of these characters; he was not very poor indeed. Other two teachers I can remember were two Indian teachers named NK and John. We used to fear Mr. NK very much, he was scary man; if he was not pleased with one of us, he used to lift us up placing his palms over the ears and throw us on the ground. What a pain it used to be, we had a status no more than bell or a drum, or an animal. Mr. John was lively, we used to love him, and he was not so scary. Sometimes his pinching used to be quite painful but comparatively better. We didn’t enjoy classes as much as today’s children would enjoy. There were never a time we could attend fearless classes.

However, around all these fears and difficult learning there was one hope, a place of happiness; a curious ball. Right after class I used to run to the playground and watch enviously our seniors play that curious ball. I used to wish, if I could get to play that ball on that lovely green playground located on the peak. The playground was beautiful, on the left hand side there was a volleyball playground, on the right hand side, it was grassy slope leading to school vegetable garden in the valley. It was not merely a vegetable garden, it also had three aged plum trees. Those trees must have been there for many years, and must have witnessed many students graduate from the school. Those trees bared fruits very rarely, and those trees may not have ever witnessed their fruits ripe. Too much for the plum trees. The curious ball again, football or a soccer ball, whichever name you like it. The desire to get in, let my feet tease it was unattainable dream. I was too young, and too small comparatively to enter into the field; seniors never allowed me to be part of it. I never got that chance, it remain a dream. It was very unfortunate, I never became a footballer instead, I became a ball boy. It was not that I was forced to become one, but out of my curiosity and love for the ball. I used to run through bushes to the plum trees valley to get the ball. I used to love doing that, to hold it in my hand, hoping that there will be so called one day for me in the future. Once, it so happened that I got injured myself. The stem of a grass went piercing all through my leg muscle (bjemthag). I still have the scar, which is visible from both side of my right leg. That was all out of love for the curious ball.

A Village Boy - Chapter One

A JOURNEY  TO SCHOOL

It was bright sunny day. Few kids (all boys) were lined up. I was one amongst them. I didn't know what was going on. It was very unusual and I was very scared. We were taken in one after another. Before, it was time for me to get in, I decided to escape. I ran as fast as I could. But unfortunately (unfortunate atleast that time) I could not out run people who ran after me. I was taken in, and there were three or four people sitting in there. I was still not sure what was going on. One of them asked me to put my right hand over my head and try to reach my left ear. I tried stretching so hard to make sure I reach it, so that I could get out of there as soon as possible. I didn't know why I was made to do that, but all I knew that time was, that I need to get out of there at any cost. Other guy said, you are good to go, now you are ready to go to school. School!! What was that? I didn't know anything about school. 

My parents tried to explain me about school, but still it didn't interest me. I had no option, after few weeks everything was ready, and I am to go to school. May be new dress might have inspired me to go to school. That was only time when I got to wear something new. My mother packed something for me. We are ready to go, my younger sister came to me and said, "Acho!". "Yes", I replied. "This is for you", she said, and handed me a two Ngultrum Note. Two Ngultrum was very huge sum by then, it would fetch me around twenty lollies. She gave me her saving out of love to me, I could feel her love. There was no time to say farewell to my other family members, they have already left to attend their daily chores. I was escaping from my share of works, I would usually cow herd. That day was different for me, I was leaving home to place I have never been; a place away from home. My mother and I, along with other two boys accompanied by their parents walked, crossed rivers, mountains, deep forests, farms, fields, bridges. Still I could not see so called school anywhere. It didn't matter, I was still with my mother by then. After almost a day long walk, we reached at new place. Place called Lichibee. School was located on top of the hill, my school, 'Goshing Primary School'. Many new faces, some well and smart looking boys, some beautiful girls, some even dressed worse than me. Some were wearing something on their feet. I didn't know what it was that time, if I could recollect it now it must have been shoe and slipper. Not many had it, may be teachers' children and some health staff's children must have had it. Did I envy their looks? I don't know if I did, but very hard thing for me that day, which I can still remember is that pain I had to bear when my mother left me at that new place with new people. 

I could not talk to anyone, I was not brave-hearted, was always a shy and reserved boy. Didn't make friend very easily. I started to worry; what would I do alone in this place? Where do I sleep? Where do I eat? Where do I find toilet? I cried whole day that day. I missed home, I wished if I could find a way home, if I had strength and heart to cross rivers, thick jungles. I was too young, too subtle at heart, I could not do anything. I stayed close to my other two friends from my village. To make sure that I don't get lost somewhere in the crowd of new faces. We were taken to a traditional house, a two storied traditional house. The top floor and half of down floor housed boys. In other half of the down floor there were few girls. There was nothing inside, I had one small bag with me. I didn't have mattress, I didn't have quilt, all I had was that new school dress. by then I knew that my that dress will have to serve not only its original purpose but also be my mattress and quilt. I missed my home that night, I don't know how much, if there were devices to measure that, it must have been immeasurable. I missed, my mother, my father, my brothers and sisters, the dinner we used to have together. I could not control my tears, tears of loneliness, tears of fear, tears of missing home. I cried that night until I was totally exhausted, slept a night with salty smell and taste of tears running through my cheeks, wondering about tomorrow; thinking about what it would be like, how would I be able to see through tomorrow.      

The Prisoner of my Mind

This stupid mind fails not in making promises,
And setting deadlines, which are rarely met,
It makes me fly, and kiss the moon,
It makes me dream of undreamt,
Yet it has no guts to make my limbs move,
The guts to convert it into reality.

So sick I am of the unfulfilled promises it makes,
So tired I am of the endless promises I have to attend to,
Why can't this mind make it happen?
Why is it not ashamed of cheating upon itself,
It pours upon me rays of hope,
Yet again, so boldly puts thicket of clouds over my head.

It pushes me so close to the glory,
But when I touch upon the edges,
And when I am ready to conquer the world,
Yet it want to pull my legs without a bit of hesitation,
So is nature of my mind, stupid awkward mind,
I remain a prisoner of my mind.

*************************************

The Advice from a Stranger named James Lee

Today I met a Stranger, a man named James Lee. He is a mechanic by profession. Man in a jeans, old fashioned though. He looked younger than he actually is. I think he was very happy to see me. 

He asked me, 'I didn't see you before here, when did you start to work here?" 

I told him, "been few months now". "Where are you from?", he asked me. "I am from Bhutan", I replied. " "And where are you from?", I asked him. "I am from Korea", He replied. 

He looked around in the room, as if he was looking for some lost articles. He pulled of a card box from the corner, and took out pen from his pocket. He started to draw something. At first I didn't understand, what he was trying to draw, in few minutes time, he came up with a rough sketch of a map. 

"Come here", he said. "I will show you something, this is Himalaya, we started our journey from here. We then moved to china to help them write letters. We didn't stop there, we kept moving until we were stopped by nature. This is history of Koreans", he continued. "This is Bhutan, in Himalaya", he said pointing with pen on the map he just drew few minutes ago. "We share same family history, same ancestors. See how we look, no different", he said. "If you come to Korea, no one can make out that you are from Bhutan", he said. 

I kept on listening, and nodding my head whenever necessary. First language in the world as he claims was Sanskrit.  

"All other languages are derived from Sanskrit, including Korean", he said. "In Korean we call father, Apa and mother Ama. And in Bhutan too, you call same right?", he asked me. "Yes you are very true", I replied. "That is because, we shared same ancestors and language", he said. 

He continued to talk, and I continued to listen. He talked about many things. About religion, about how children in Cambodia are abused. How women in India are exploited. He told me something about, rightful path. I am still not sure if I understood it correctly. 

"In life, you should consider four things he said, first always comes spiritualism, then intelligence, after that physical, and then materialism", he said. "If you break this order, you are going in wrong direction', he said. 

I am not sure, I understood him in this part, but I didn't ask for clarification. He was almost, going to leave, and reaching to pick up his tool box, he asked:

"When did you come to Australia?" "Last August, 2013. I will go back to Bhutan this August, 2014", I replied. 

He immediately dropped the tool box, and started to ask: 

"Why do you want to go back?" "I don't know, but I have to go back", I replied. "You came for studies?", he asked. "Yes, you are right", I replied. "What do you study?", he asked. "Master of Laws", I replied. "Ah, law, do you know, law means right path?", he said. "I have a daughter who is studying law too", he said. "You didn't reach Australia by chance, you are destined to come here, learn and return to your country and serve your country", he said. "Not many who come here, want to go back and serve their own country. Most of the people come here and this country becomes their new country", he said. "Since you are going back, I have my blessings and best wishes for you", he said. "Thank you, that is, so kind of you", I said.  "Are you married?", he asked. 

Instantly, I thought why did he ask me about my marital status. Did he intend to ask my hand for his daughter (that is just intended for joke). 

"Yes, I am married", I replied. "Do you have kids?", he asked again. "Yes, a girl", I replied. "I will tell you something", he said. "Family is very important, learn to love them. I make a point that, I at least cook one meal for them in a day, and eat together", he said. "I am 52, and my wife is 50, but I still hug her quite often, and say that I love her. I hug my daughter, and smell her hair. It really smells good", he said. "You try doing it, you will like it", he said. "You should not just stop there. You have to love others; poor, women, disabled, and other most needy ones", he said. "Start by loving your family, if you don't love and care for your family, there is no possibility that you can love and care for others", he said. 

"Look at me, I am just a mechanic, I can't do much. You are still young, and you did law. You are already in right path. You have all the tools to love and care for others", he said. "I am doing all I can, my daughters are doing fine, I have a flat now. I have enough for my family", he said. "Now only dream, is to help and care for others, I have decided to go to Cambodia, and help abandoned children. I want to cook for them, teach them what I know", he said. "I may not be able to change world, but I can help at least some", he said. "You may work very hard, and decide to own a house in Australia, a house in Bhutan, a business elsewhere. That would be so selfish of you. You don't need too much, one house and daily subsistence is enough. Rest, share it to others, who don't have", he said. "That is what I do", he said. 

"Your wife may say, do that, don't do that, etc. That depends on you", he said. "Talk to her, your daughter, share your dream. Love and care for them, then they will definitely listen to what you have got to say", he said. "All you need to do is talk, and today people are so busy that they don't have time to talk to their family. That is very wrong", he said. "You will need to talk to your child, explain to her why sky is blue, what are the reasons for mother being so upset, you will need to talk to them", he said. "That is what I do to my family, and now we are one very happy family", he said. "Many friends of mine, envy us", he said. "My wife agreed that we will go to Cambodia, and do what we can to help abandoned children there. This won't have been possible, if I didn't love and care for my family. They would have blatantly said no, but they didn't", he said. 

"You can do many things, Bhutan is very beautiful country. You can make it even better, teach others how to love and care for their families, and then others in need", he said. "Remember, as I earlier said, you can't care or love others, if you don't love and care for you own family", he said. "Going after wealth is very wrong, he said, even if you go after wealth, you should be using it to help other in need, but ofcourse help yourself and your family first", he said. "If you don't care to love your family and others in need, and if you keep going after wealth, you cannot live happy life. True happiness lies in loving and caring for others", he said. 

These are some of his advices, I can recollect. I don't know how truly he practise it by himself. Whatever he said, I think is no less. If every family in our society could be like his family, there would be peace, and true happiness. His words were priceless, I may not be able to practise what he told me, but I remain inspired. 

"If you ever come to Sydney, let me know", he said. 

We then exchanged our numbers, and now we are no more a stranger to one another. 

A Letter to my Daughter

Dear Sweetheart,

I am so sorry. I should have been there for you, with you on your birthday. Should have been there with you, holding your hand as you go to school for the first time. I should have been there with you, singing rhymes together. I feel sorry to myself even more, can't bear the thoughts of not being with you, and more so of thoughts and feelings of missing you.

Yet my prayers are always with you. As you begin your formal education, the journey to wisdom, I have a message for you: Many parents might say, study hard get a colourful result, decorate your life with successful degree certificates. I would rather say, study not merely to get degrees and knowledge but to gain wisdom. Knowledge and degrees may give you job, but you would need wisdom to do that job wisely. Now a days, many have knowledge, but very few have wisdom. Education is supposed to make us wise, but many seem to be growing wild. I would love to see you grow wise.

As you grow, don't try to land on moon forgetting your neighbours and countrymen. Don't try to become self-centred, you may not find happiness. Help others in your possible ways, brotherhood is one of the important values, rather duty so deeply engraved in our Constitution (Mother of all laws). I will talk to you about the Constitution and laws when time is right.

As you grow, try to question or raise voice when your conscience calls for, but forget not our traditional values, a respect for our elders, and being gentle. It is so beautifully woven in our society, you will not know now about its pricelessness.

As you grow, you will face many challenges, you might fail and you might make mistakes. Don't forget to have courage to face failures and make amend to your mistakes. When you fall, don't hesitate or let shyness beat you, get up quickly and start to walk yet again. Remember, you did not learn to walk, eat and talk in a day. It was a long journey you have taken. Journey to wisdom, and successful life is no different.  Take it light, keep smiling both in success and also in failures. If you never fail and make no mistakes, then you would never reach the height; the height so called wisdom. You will remain a mediocre.

As you grow, you will come across many who would like to pull your legs down. Don't panic, nor try to hurt them or try pulling their legs. All you need to do is, find out ways to make yourself strong and get out of it. Climb the height where no one could reach to pull your legs again. I have a long story to tell about my life, but not now, you have a story which starts with happiness with all environments conducive to make your story even better. It was different story for me by then, there were continuous pulling legs from different directions.

I would have never ending messages and words for you, but at the end, all you need to do is, grow up to live simple, yet contented, respectful and enjoyable life. Greatest gift I can expect from you is to see you happy in your life, and die seeing you happy.

Your Loving Dad

Beginning to the beginning of my Blogging

Friend of my told me I should start blogging. Here I am, trying to start blogging indeed. I have no idea about blogging, don't know how to begin with it, yet I thought I will still give a try. I will find time to write something, something which interests me. But I still don't know if my writings may interest prospective readers (If blogging is meant for readers). I start blogging atleast with intention that, it will keep me busy, busy when I have nothing to do, and yet it will let me learn play with words, though I may not be able to make words sing with musical sounds of flowing rivers, and make them dance with the dashing breezes. I may not succeed in crafting stories as beautifully as William Shakespeare, nor I will reach the height of William Wordsworth and make words to persuade readers to read them through.  

I start blogging in the midst of my submission deadline for an assignment; an assignment which I am yet to start on. It is very difficult to make a beginning, you are always stuck in various thoughts. How should I begin? where should I begin? You may continue to think, yet you would hardly find best way to start on. Similarly, as I start to blog, my mind stand divided; trying to think what I should type in, and at the same time worried about my assignment, though going through many scholarly articles, I am still not comfortable to make a beginning. I know, I should not and will not start to make a beginning unless I am perfectly ready, because I am firm believer that if I start well, supposedly it will end well too.

As I begin, I must think, type in the beginning, hit backspace bar. Think it again, type in again, and hit backspace bar on my keyboard again. This process will continue, till I find best possible beginning; the beginning when I will not have to hit backspace bar anymore. Consider this start, as not a real beginning, it is rather beginning to the beginning, I must travel miles before I decide to stop hitting on my backspace bar.