The trees, tall and mighty are saying hello and the yellow flowers which shone so brightly in the morning, are now vanishing at dusk. Everything is alive and moving. But, how do you keep up with things which are constantly changing? I have come to a place which is so different, so new. I find myself looking up and taking in deep breaths, reminding myself that I have arrived. I am in Bhutan.
Yesterday, we went by the brook nearby and I watched my parents turn into kids again. Our chappals were left by the bank, while we skipped and dipped in the clear water, leaving our worries far behind. I’d like to think they stayed back with the chappals. My Mum and Dad gleefully collected pebbles along the brook – flat and round, big and small, shiny and dull, a bit of its journey preserved in every layer. With every pebble picked up, I could see heavier bags and lighter smiles. At home, my Dad proudly smiled at his pebble collection. It has been so long since I saw him this happy.
My mom has raised a kitchen garden right in front of our house. She grows everything from potatoes to pumpkins. Everyday, I see her lovingly tending to each plant. She squats by the garden, pulling out weeds, removing stones, or just gathering the earth around for some support. I think we were raised pretty much the same way.
As, I sit here on my front porch, the sun has set, leaving the sky a dull grey. The breeze is fierce, waking everything from the winter slumber. Far away, I can see mountains standing like guardians, looking after the valley. Their blue pines are interuppted by clusters of white prayer flags, mounted on wooden poles. The Bhutanese believe that the winds will carry the prayers, along with them to heaven.
I have just arrived here, and it will take some time to call this home, but when I see my Mum and Dad smile, I know that Bhutan is creeping into our lives, slowing and steadily, but surely….