To Teach and Learn

Bhutan , the land of Drukpas, blessed with the hereditary kings since 1907, has always remained  a happy, independent and proud country. People in our country wear our unique national dress and take pride in doing things differently with the foremost goal of “Gross National Happiness” the royal vision that the whole world respects and appreciates today. Bhutan was continuously blessed with benevolent kings and the process of modernization came to this last “Shangri-La” in the 1970s and with modernization Democracy began to step in. A Century of Monarchy brought Democracy. Democracy is young in Bhutan, but it is greatly praised for its unique origin. Democracy has come to this country in the most unusual way. The people were happy and were unwilling to creep out of the monarchical wonderland. People did not demand for democracy but it came as a gift from the Golden Throne despite the peoples’ reluctance. Therefore, the irony here is t

If you ask a tourist how easy is it to get directions in Bhutan, he or she will tell you they never got  lost in Bhutan, not because our towns and cities are small but because most people living in the urban area understand or speak English. However, the situation in the classroom is different and belongs to a completely different context. Though we learn English right from our elementary classes and though English is the medium through which other subjects are taught still only three or four students in a class of thirty five are good in English in most classes in most schools. Now when I say good in English you may wonder the scale with which I am measuring my students and qualifying them as good. My standards are shamefully humble and I have to do this not because I want to but because I have to. If a student is in class nine and doesn’t know the difference between ‘there’ and ‘their’ or if a student is in class eleven and doesn’t know the

I studied my favorite poem when I was in class ten, back then it was not my favorite. Not because I didn’t like it or didn’t understand it but because there were not many poems I read or took interest in. But still there was something about the poem, few lines imprinted in my memory.  ‘ How dull it is to make a pause, to make an end, to rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use’ , ‘To follow knowledge like a sinking star, beyond the utmost reach of human thought’. May be it was because of the stylish way in which my teacher read the poem to us or may be because it was my teacher’s favorite poem, so that’s why the interest in teaching the poem came to him so naturally. And later on when I had to teach the same poem to my class 12 students I was excited with a nostalgic atmosphere surrounding me in the class. I tried to replicate the lesson like I experienced it ten years a go but my memory failed me and I knew I was too ambitious. But when I too

I have not written anything for sometime now and this feeling is suddenly making me afraid; what if I can no longer write what I feel, what if the words that I use can no longer give shape to my feelings. If this happens, I might lose a precious part of my life. The part that helps me reinvigorate my senses to the happenings around me. It helps me not to act on my impulse but gather a ground from where I can contemplate my doings and bring about maintenance to the life I am living. Writing has opened my soul and made it ready for me to look at myself through critical eyes to bring better changes. The things that I write have made me aware of my own feelings that I record in words to revisit them later. Sometimes I relive them. In reliving those moments, I gain control over in studying, understanding, and realizing myself in a much better and sometimes improved way. Thus, I am thankful for this gift, which helps me understand myself and the life that I am living. I want to write p

A teacher is known to mould, The young minds as told. We give but don’t take, For theirs and our conscious’ sake. The tasks are mighty high, But still the limits are like sky. We toil on the trace, Keeping our face. We are said to be the light, That shine through the darkest night. But people don’t know a teacher’s a mule, Working and burning his fuel. Day and night, Fighting like a brave knight. We follow the tiring tread, To earn the future bread. We give but not know to fake, To serve and to make. The future with our touch, But it is only this much. Sad it is to know, That every one is a foe. Every voice is cruel, Forwarded to a crazy duel. It is not warm, Like a barren farm. Every thing is strange, Which needs a swift change. To lift up the spirit of a teacher, Like a filmed feature. Motivate and raise desire, Like the warm bright fire. Thus I urge, To let my soul merge. With the heavenly dove, To bestow love. Not bothered with critics,