My old wound pricked again!

May God bless me

On the evening of 28th August 2014, I and my wife decided to host a simple dinner for my uncle who was in Thimphu on a short visit. He is my late father’s youngest brother and he lives in Samtse. All his three daughters are in Thimphu and he was staying with them. So, we invited them all for an informal get-together. But what was expected to be a joyous family gathering ended up as a moment of humiliation and harassment for us.
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Don’t call it ‘Suicide’

Photo of school children in morning assembly. Image source: Google.

“If I have failed, my parents have warned me not to return home tonight, or I will be killed!” a 5th grade student in Thimphu had told her friends as they were walking to their school on the morning of 18th December to get their final academic results. Her friends tried to console her but it seemed she was already injured by the words of her parents that had hit her ears like lethal bullets. As they stood on the school ground waiting for their names to be called out, she looked more nervous and worried.
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Herbicides are designed to kill weeds, not humans!

Photo of a farmer ploughing the field. Image source: google

From the traditional practice of manual farming, life has become much easier for the farmers of today with the advent of modern technology and sophisticated tools. The Royal Government of Bhutan, through the Ministry of Agriculture has been providing various support services to farmers across communities in an attempt to make the country self-sufficient. Among so many services provided by the Government, the supply of herbicides to help farmers protect their crops from weeds somehow seems to be missing the intended target especially in Samtse Dzongkhag.
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My first True Love

Love Sign. Image source: Google

It was a peaceful Sunday afternoon, blest with the warmth of the shimmering sun and light gusts of cool breeze. The world was brimming with life especially for students since it was the only day of the week that freed us from routine academic tasks and gave us opportunities to do whatever we liked: play games, go for walk and chat with friends. The boys’ hostel where I lived stood facing the nearby maize-fields, as though watching the distant trees and bushes dancing to the rustle of the wind that blew over them. I was chatting with friends on the veranda of the hostel, while some junior students were playing on the front lawn. It was here where a girl who was on a Sunday walk from her school popped in, unknown to either of us that she was to become my first True Love later.

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