AN UNKNOWN VIRTUOSO FLAUTIST

It is dark outside. Inside, a lone kerosene fed lamp flickers to light up the sooty dark room. Embers are still glowing red in the wood fed oven but, cuddling under the warmth of blankets is always more enticing than getting warmed up by fire in front while flanks and the back cools uncomfortably by frosty air seeping through the crevices of walls.

Before the sleep takes better, I stare at the flickering light and the red embers, raising my head from the pillow from time to time. There is nothing in particular to think of but, wait for the sleep to overtake. It was a childish curiosity. Soon I would be in deep sleep.

Sometimes I would wake up to the sound of a melodious flute. The flautist to me was virtuoso as his melody is carried by the night breeze to the ears of those who are not yet asleep.  No one, I think, can deny that his rendition is always a masterpiece. Had it been day time, I would have always loved to follow him wherever he went playing melody, like children following the pied piper. But, he played his flute always in the dark when the night is cold at its extreme. I think, it is the silence of the night that makes the melody even more mesmerizing. How I wish, he would sit down somewhere nearby and keep playing the melody and lull me to sleep. But, he always walks on.

I wondered why he should be playing his flute at the odd hours. I was told he is a monk and they have to live by strict code of conduct while at the monastery. And every time he walked the cobbled path in the dark, he plays his flute beautifully. I always wonder where he is headed to at the late hour. Is he walking back to the monastery, located right at the other end of the village after spiritual errand or walking away from it to his nocturnal duty? I just did not know.

There were many monks in the temple, from small novices to learned teachers; I was told bald monks with sizeable girths were the learned teachers. The monks are respected by our village elders and small children inherited this value to hold monks in high esteem. I still do that to the sangha community.

I can visualize the majestic temple with its boundaries secured by bamboo fences. Majestic willow trees are used as live post to tie fences. All day long monks in maroon robes and elderly people keep circumbulating the temple round and round. Somewhere nearby is a huge cylindrical prayer wheel. And elderly man rotates it permanently. At the completion of each round, a small protruding wood hits the small hanging bell giving the intermittent tring…tring sound. On the eves of the temple are small bells that chime when the breeze gathers momentum towards the afternoon. The decorative peripherals hanging alongside dance in the wind and children our age used to watch at it amazement.

Although, I and my friends want to enter the temple gate, the sight of intimidating Tibetan mastiffs with ferocity of wild carnivores is always too intimidating. So we sneak a peek through the gaps of the fence to see and guess who the flautist was. We all wanted to learn how to play so melodious a flute like the monk. Sometimes, an elderly walks from outside towards the temple and some of us follow but not beyond the temple gate. The prospect of losing a chunk of our calf muscle to those giant canines was always a formidable risk. So we play with water spouting out of a phallus shaped spout that rotates a water prayer wheel fed by a long wooden channel that sends water gushing to the blades of the prayer wheel before returning back to our homes.

And again by the nightfall, the melody starts coming back; first a faint one from the distance which then begins to gather momentum as the flautist nears our home and then slowly fades away as he walks farther away until the winds can no more bring them to our ears.

That was a memory of my childhood, many years back in time when life was so beautiful. We had nothing but realize we had everything.

Happy Reading!!!

Gyembo Namgyal

February 4, 2014 11:50 PM

MY MAIDEN FORAY INTO BLOGGING

                                               MY MAIDEN FORAY INTO BLOGGING

“You are always a student, never a master. You have to keep moving forward.”

                                                                                                                       -Conrad Hall.

This is the very reason why I have decided to begin writing a blog. First, I always considered myself as a student of a lifetime; eager to learn from anything and everything at all times believing that the process of learning only ceases when we die.

And secondly, I wanted to keep writing in another form from where I left and keep moving forward in life. For me there is nothing half as beautiful as reading and writing and this is where I intend to learn more interacting with likeminded people, sharing and enjoying diverse views and writing styles.

I have always been a keen reader throughout my life and writing has been something I will always have my hands full learning in this life. Nevertheless, I have never allowed this shortcomings get the better of me and despite the odds, my resolve to write on have only grown stronger with time. May be I am already in love with reading and writing, if not; I may be falling in love then. That’s because I believe it is never too late to be falling in love with reading and writing.

Oh, I said that I was a keen reader right from the beginning. Let me explain how. Those days, there was hardly any newspaper or alternative reading material available even in schools and believe me what is available in school’s scant libraries do not necessarily interest students who face difficulties comprehending what those voluminous books contained and what good is a reading if you don’t understand anything.

 But, that never deterred me and I kept reading whatever alternative reading material I could lay my hands on. Sometimes, they were the Indian newspapers used as wrappings in the shops and other times old magazines. No matter what it took, I always felt the urge to read what were written in them. It somehow entertained me, true to the media’s role as a source of entertainment that I learnt later. This is how I first developed my reading habit. Even today, while I am not a voracious reader, I read regularly. The good thing now is that, reading materials are available widely today.

And as reading and writing go hand in hand like the two sides of the same coin, it had to hold true for me. I began writing by taking baby steps away from classroom writing. You know, the best way to begin creative writing in the school for me was by writing love letters.

When I say, I wrote love letters in school, don’t get me wrong. It was not that girls flocked and swooned over me that prompted me to begin writing love letters. I was bit too young to understand all that and far too short in looks for girls to be attracted to me. Yet, I was always trusted enough to be able to write love letters for my seniors and friends and also keep the secret inside me. Honestly, I ended up keeping too many cupid secrets of friends. I was everyone’s confidant. I was a virtual clerk in the class. Sometimes, I ended up writing for my friends and replying them from the girl’s side as well. But believe me, it enabled me to learn within the limited horizon, but that was a good beginning. Had it been today, my clerical services would not have mattered as love notes would have exchanged through, text messages, chats and phone calls.

Today, when I look back, it gives enough reasons and potentials to evoke stomach churning laughter but, that has been beneficial for me. I learnt to take small baby steps in writing and I am still trying to learn every day.

Well, let me write some of those memories over the time because I don’t want my readers to get bored right from my maiden post.

Meanwhile, keep reading and writing. Cheers and be happy.

Tashi Delek

Gyembo Namgyal

August 07, 2014