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International Women’s Day


Buddha never told us to be born in Man’s body first in order to get an enlightenment and in fact, Buddha told us, if we find anybody on our spiritual way who says he/she is a buddha then kill it. It’s because true buddha is always found within oneself. Always be proud and happy that you are a woman and make best use of this day to realize how beautiful you are both inside out. Make best use of every opportunities which give you chance to grow stronger, wiser and independent. …Keep books and pen close to you for they are the strongest weapon to raise your voice and stand against any kind of discrimination.
During my college days, I read a research paper that said women undermine women when it comes to taking lead role in politics. If that is true, let us take today as a day to empower each other and be less selfish.
The sound of one hand clapping cannot be heard. Therefore, we need our society, which includes men, laws, culture and tradition, rules, and religious text interpreters, to give respect and support for women and work towards empowering and educating our girls and women.
To all the women and girls, Happy Women’s day ((((^____^)))). You are ••°°°°••••°°BEAUTIFUL••°°°°••••°°, SMART••°°°• and *°•➷ ➷ ➷➷ ➷INNOVATIVE *°•➷ ➷ ➷➷ ➷May all women be free to become what they wish for their daughters and may all women live, laugh and love to the fullest throughout their lives. May good health, happiness and success follow us. /\

Kapitalistischer Weizen

Ein amerikanisches Märchen vom Bauernhof


Es war eine kleine rote Henne, die auf einem Bauernhof scharrte, bis sie einige Weizenkörner fand. Sie rief ihre Nachbarn und sagte: „Wenn wir diesen Weizen pflanzen, werden wir Brot zu essen haben. Wer will mir helfen, ihn anzubauen?

„Ich nicht“, sagten übereinstimmend Kuh, Ente, Schwein und Gans.

„Dann werde ich es tun!“ sagte die kleine rote Henne und tat es.

Der Weizen wuchs, reifte und trug goldene Körner. „Wer will mir helfen, den Weizen zu ernten?“ fragte die kleine rote Henne. „Ich nicht!“ sagte die Ente. „Dafür bin ich nicht zuständig.“ sagte das Schwein. „Ich würde meinen Status verlieren.“ sagte die Kuh. „Ich würde meine Arbeitslosenunterstützung verlieren“, sagte die Gans.

Dann werde ich es tun!“ sagte die kleine rote Henne und tat es.

Schließlich kam die Zeit, da das Brot gebacken werden sollte. „Wer hilft mir, Brot zu backen?“ fragte die kleine rote Henne. „Das hieße Überstunden für mich.“, sagte die Kuh. „Ich würde meine Sozialhilfe verlieren“ sagte die Ente. „Ich habe zwei linke Hände und nie gelernt, wie man das macht.“, sagte das Schwein. „Wenn ich die Einzige sein soll, ist das diskriminierend.“ murrte die Gans.

„Ich mache es!“ sagte die kleine rote Henne.

Sie backte fünf Laibe Brot und hielt sie hoch, um sie den anderen zu zeigen. Jetzt wollte alle etwas davon abhaben; sie forderten sogar lauthals ihren Teil. Aber die kleine rote Henne sagte.“Nein, ich kann die fünf Brote ebenso gut selbst essen.“

„Unrechtmäßiger Profit“, brüllte daraufhin die Kuh. „Kapitalistischer Blutsauger“ schrie die Ente. „Gleiches Recht für alle!“ forderte die Gans. Das Schwein grunzte nur. Und sie malten „Unfair“ auf Transparente, liefen um die kleine rote Henne herum und riefen Obszönitäten.

Als der Regierungsvertreter kam, sagte er zur kleinen roten Henne. „Hör mal,

du darfst nicht habgierig sein!“. „Aber ich habe mir das Brot doch selbst verdient“ erwiderte die kleine rote Henne. „Genau“, sagte der Regierungsvertreter, „das ist das wunderbare System des freien Unternehmertums.

Jeder auf dem Bauernhof kann so viel verdienen, wie er will. Aber unter unseren modernen Regierungsbestimmungen müssen die produktiv Tätigen ihr Produkt mit denen teilen, die nicht arbeiten.“

Und sie lebten glücklich und zufrieden, auch die kleine rote Henne.

Aber alle am Hof wunderten sich, warum sie nie wieder Brot gebacken hat.


Präsident William P. Drake zeigte auf einer Aktionärsversammlung 1993 mit der Abwandlung des Märchens von der roten Henne die Stellung seiner Firma in der heutigen Gesellschaft. Später erschien dieser Text auch als Anzeige unter dem Titel „Warum an das System des freien Wettbewerbs glauben“ .


Unrequited Love

by Dorji Om

There was bright sunlight outside. The birds were chirping and a teacher in the next classroom was teaching Biology. All the students in our class were busy talking and doing some work. I was just flipping through the English text book when Tshomo whispered, “Hey Yangki! Did you notice a boy sitting in the third table in our row? I mean, did you notice him always staring at us. I am not sure whether or not he is staring at us, but I noticed him, from the corner of my eyes, always looking straight to us.”  “What are you saying? Which boy?” I looked behind and there I saw you for the first time. I might have seen you before this moment, but I had never seen you in that way. You didn’t notice me looking at you. You looked lost. Your eyes staring at the wall clock hung above the green board. Your pink lips tightened. Your one hand was holding your glowing-face and the other one on the table. I felt something cold running down my body. “Yangki, what happened?” “Nothing, mmm I was just looking behind. You know mmm Let’s go out.”  Tshomo noticed my blushed face, but she didn’t say anything. For a moment she just looked into my eyes as if she has seen a diamond.  Even if she asked, I wouldn’t have had the answer. All I could have said was “I felt cold.”

No sooner you looked at him, your face became as red as a ripened apple, you ran out of words while answering me and your body temperature changed suddenly. I know you are telling a lie to me because I already saw the truth in your eyes. For more than seven years I have seen truthfulness of your words in your eyes whenever we had conversations. Your eyes have always shown as a secret password for me to know the truth. Your eyes have always showed a cleared path to the transparency of your heart, as they did today. Though you lied to me, I am not hurt as I know you need some time to figure out your feelings towards him. However, I’ll be hurt if you don’t share it with me before it’s too late. I just want to deter you from defining your feelings towards him as love because I know it’s not love. It’s just an infatuation, a temporary distraction that will bring deception and disappointment in your life and thereafter you will blame me for drawing your attention towards him. To protect you as well as our friendship, I want to talk with you about it by hook or by crook. However, I don’t want you to feel as if I am ruling your life. Thus, I waited for you to begin first but you never did.

            Most of the time, you walked alone. During break hours and free periods, you either went to hostel or sleep in the classroom. My eyes always followed you. I started to love each and every attribute of yours. Whenever I entered our classroom, I looked at you first. In my quiet complicated way, I continued to observe you. However, you never seemed to notice me. In fact you didn’t seem to have any crushes or interest in girls. You hardly talk with girls. I never knew how people fall in love, but by the time I come to know about it, I was already in love with you. I spoke to no one about my feelings not even to Tshomo instead I waited for you to sense my feeling towards you and talk to me first. I waited for Tshomo to see the changes in me and ask me the reason behind it. However, a year has come to an end and neither of you asked me about my feelings. I begin to lose faith in both of you. I stopped believing in what I used to believe about one’s closest people understanding one’s feelings. I feel like I lost both of you forever.


I saw  the best minds of my generation destroyed by pressure and expectations, pushing them towards the world where they are boiled very now and then, which is actually  not meant for them.

Who are given their post before identifying their sex, before exploring the watery earth, before listening to their desire, thus, they cry and cry and cry as they enter the world of race and competitions.

Who see the world through others’ eyes, looking at the busy bees through a tiny window enduring the stress, sorrows, and pain secretly. And unrevealing their hopes and dreams though it erupts like volcanoes in the CPU of their computer.

Who are now and then reminded of what they are, ought to do, and where they belong, forcing them indirectly, emotionally, and comparatively, making them  lose faith in wisdom, interest, and knowledge and run after grade, experience, and qualifications.

Who counts days to their lives facing every new sun with a feeling of cow dung buds crawling all over their bodies and highlights vocab words, “sacrifice,” “tradition” and “duty” in their dictionary.

Who wants to howl like a howling dog but responsibilities, “love”, and fear inhibits them from howling, and make them to stand in the middle of a bridge scratching their head, biting their nails, and thinking over whether to bean “obedient” child or listen to their own heart beats.

Who finally jumps into the water, hang themselves from the fan, burn themselves in a closed room, and disappear becoming nobody or become somebody knowing something of everything but having no enthusiasm to give a push as they fall and alas, give off their breath forever just to terminate the contemporary weeds.

By Dorji Om