Having lived in the mountains for almost 3 decades, getting out of the mountain wasn’t comfortable. Yet excitement of getting near an airplane, boarding on and flying off to another country, inflated my breathing lungs. Finally I boarded the Drukair on a bright day from Paro airport, a run way, I thought was the largest and longest (not any more the same thought). Flying felt like a bird. Fear occasionally crept in me.She sat on the left and occasionally glanced at me; made me believe in mortal beauty. Chinky double layered pair of eyes, bright and shiny face took me over to blink (I wish I could wink at her).
Chin carefully carved. Nose rightly placed. What must have taken god to have created that sparkling mole just an inch above her left jaw line? I wonder. Watching her got me drowned in wine.
Her hair, pure black, a small bunch hung floating in between the cleavage of her breast, a blue T-shirt much lower than a normal Bhutanese girl would wear. Her bright shiny skin and a calculated amount of smile was too hard a scene for me to ignore noticing. If not for anything, for my own happiness I wanted to know her name and age but I was numb and lost. Sometimes “silence” yields, I consoled myself and just kept my eye balls alive instead. And guess what? she was grownup enough and could be ready to become anyone’s wife but 10th December 1992 was her birthday and I know her name now (I wouldn’t spell here for respect of her privacy)—how did I get to know her birthday and her sweet name. Remember I didn’t speak a word; something I should have done. I kept watching her moves and read her passport as she filled up the Drukair form. Her passport spoke that she was too young for the size of the blue T-shirt she wore. And since then I saw her as a small kid not mature and ready enough for men’s eagle like eyes—I swear.