Tshewang's Journal

Beneath a sun cloaked in the ashes of a faded love for humanity, Dhaka stirs. Rain falls sparingly, clouds a constant annoyance against the city's relentless rhythm. A cold breeze dances amidst the cacophony, carrying the early chirps of birds that haven't yet witnessed dawn. Crows caw, one leading the chorus with a mocking hump. Car horns blare, drivers sour-faced as they navigate the May Day chaos. Back in the room, an avalanche of books awaits. Medical and non-medical tomes stacked precariously, their bumps a testament to a quiet quest for knowledge. A Sutra, draped in an orange scarf, whispers the wisdom of long-gone Buddhist masters. A large fan hangs uselessly from the ceiling, a relic of a warmer season. On the wall, an old calendar declares 2014 a distant memory. Yet, a deafening silence prevails. The closet, five bars of soap, the study table, even the badminton rackets - all stand frozen in a silent tableau. Only the rhythmic tick of the quartz clock breaks the stilln...

As a freelance blogger for the 2014 Incheon Asian Games, I embarked on a unique photography project - capturing tourist hotspots in Bhutan using the "Smart_Torch Relay" app on my Android phone. It was an honor to be among hundreds chosen for this task, especially as the Torch Relay itself was being made electronic and accessible through smartphones. My journey took me to historical sites like the tallest Buddha statue in Kuensel Phodrang, Paro's Tiger's Nest, and Kichu Lhakhang. On the way back from Paro, a thought-provoking encounter unfolded. An elderly couple (around 70) hailed my taxi. The driver, blasting loud Hindi music, provided unwelcome background noise to our hour-long ride. As the couple boarded, they engaged in a philosophical debate. The husband, Meme Phuntsho, questioned the essence of our travel. "Are we riding this car?" he asked, "Or are we riding the money that bought it?" His wife, unfazed, countered, "We could walk or take...