Politics in taxi

One afternoon, a week ago, I was journeying back home from Paro. It was in a taxi; a 45-minute drive to Thimphu. We were five altogether - four passengers, and the cabbie.

A passenger, staying in the front seat, offered doma to the cabbie. The young cabbie accepted it, took a khamto. The smell of doma immediately gushed in the car giving me a feeling of nasty nausea.

She turned back and offered it to me. Such an attractive woman to decline her offer, by the way; but I shook my head. Two other passengers sitting on my left and right declined too.         

I never take doma, just to let you know. And I still remember warning a girl, “I will never kiss you if you take doma.” 

A phone rang. Everybody checked their phones - that’s the thing when we keep common ringtone. The cabbie received it, it’s his. The call got disconnected in the middle of conversation.

“Aw…this is the problem with the B-mobile service,” he tsked his tongue and grumbled.

He dialed his call; the service was unavailable. Frustrated, he added, “The government deducts five percent tax. And see, this is what we get.”

The front seat woman supported him, “The present government, PDP, is very fond of imposing tax on people. One after another. As all else, the vehicle tax is unfair. I think they would never let the poor to own cars. Moreover, we never see them improving public transportation service.” 

 

I agreed with her. Our domestic air service was defunct. The bus service was poor. The taxis were expensive. But I agreed more when she stated how “selfish” and “narrow-minded” our politicians were. Indeed, they burdened people with more and more taxes. Indeed, they walked tax-free.  

The young man sitting my right was a fresh teacher graduate. He too joined the discussion and he was unhappy with the government’s recent decision to select new teacher graduates in the schools.

On my left was a teenage girl who stood bored throughout the journey. Nothing really concerned her - neither the fellow-passengers nor the conversation. She remained indifferent, earpiece inserted into her ears.

Today’s youth are what they are - apathetic, a quick thought crossed my mind, and very soon she would face the consequence like this young teacher graduate.    

We rode on and our conversation bounced from one topic to another. We discussed a great deal about the power tillers and Boleros when we spotted these machines on the road.

Then, almost automatically, our topic became lighthearted and fascinating as we suddenly jumped into talking about PDP’s helicopters and the case between Dasho Benji and DPT.  

The cabbie asked, “Where is Jigme Y Thinley, our former Prime Minister? He is unheard after his fall?”

A vague response came from my fellow-passengers that JYT has been kept under home confinement at his resident called Jigmeling near the Royal Thimphu College. It could be a rumour, I thought. But long time back, I heard him offered the UN’s one of the top jobs.   

About 15 minutes’ ride down Paro brought us to the Chunzom. The road to Haa from the confluence reminded us about the corruption case of Lhakhang Karpo construction.

“Gosh, how could the alleged corrupt people get elected as the ministers? It happened in the past and now too. It’s an insult to the Bhutanese democracy,” the young graduate remarked seemingly concerned.       

We came across huge trucks lumbering carrying tons of hydropower project materials as soon as we stepped on the Phuentsholing-Thimphu highway. We talked, almost instantly, about the alleged corrupt practices in the hydropower business and subsequent surrendering of three government secretaries by the PM Office.  

A little beyond Chunzom, we caught a sight of the new road to Education City, an unpopular unfinished business of DPT.

“That’s the thing when we change the government. Conflict of interest. Clash of egos. Millions of ngultrums already spent there, and all of a sudden everything stopped. Complete waste of public resources,” the woman grieved.

I didn’t realize that we already almost reached Thimphu. For the last, we concluded our discussion stating “the democracy is not good for a small nation like Bhutan”, “the politics is often dirty and deceiving”, and “We prefer monarchy”.

Somehow, someway, I just wonder now. We didn’t know each other, at all, in that taxi. We never met before. But for the record, we gabbed about politics so wide open, free and fully vibrant. It’s quite strange. Perhaps that is the taxi’s own way of communication.

Happy V-DAY, dear reader!

The dark’s light

It wasn’t a perfect evening, if I say so. My mood wasn’t perfect too. So I retreated to my room, shut the door and sat looking out from the window. I wasn’t looking anywhere particularly; I wasn’t thinking about anything. 

Outside, the rain was falling silently. Cold evening, it was. And the dark clouds covered the entire valley of Thimphu. The January rain is pretty bizarre as I could catch a glint of meanness and cruelty in it.

As I stared outside, my mind started bouncing from one thought to another, one problem to another. So automatically. Then my heart raced abnormally. I felt it, I heard it. Too loud. Too much. I was left shaken, anxious.

Meanwhile, in the room, I picked up my phone and logged in to my Instagram and Facebook account. To calm down my racing heart, probably. I randomly liked and commented on some of my friends’ pictures and statuses.

Simply put, this year’s January has been the roughest ride of my life. Unending hurdles encountered, both personal and career. It was never stopping and clearing away exactly like the cruel dark rain and clouds outside. I got muddled, I slogged, and I stumbled.

However, I kept scrolling up and down my phone’s screen when my attention suddenly stopped at a Facebook status. It reads,  

       

I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.

I scrolled up to see the writer; it’s Yeshey Lhamo. I hardly knew her; however, she too studied at Sherubtse. Quite wondrously, her words soothed my heart. The power of the words, the wisdoms expressed, the inspiration inspired so instantly cleansed my cold dark thoughts.

Immediately, I stood up and looked up as wide-eyed at the sky. I was, indeed, quite surprised to see the clear sky; I wondered where the rain and clouds disappeared so quickly. And deep in the sky, I caught a handful of stars blinking mesmerizingly.

Then, a realization struck me - all true and insightful - without the darkness I could never see those stars. It’s meant to be like that - you like it or not. Similarly, without experiencing hurdles and dark thoughts, I could never understand and see the bright side of my mind. Joy. Happiness. 

Today, right now, as I write this post the vast saying buzzes so beautifully in my head, my heart. I can see that I feel better and peaceful. As the adverse weather does, the difficult period of my life has just passed. 

Of darkness, of light

People touch our lives; a few words impact the way we take on our life. Sometimes they don’t know just how much they do, or why.  

How safe is our transport service?

Last Wednesday, I travelled to Gelephu and as always, I did in a public transport service. Passenger bus, Bumpa Transport Service.

The moment I entered the bus, I was very surprised, nervous too. The door almost collapsing. A few windowpanes about to come out. Holes appeared on the bus’s floor and the cold air and smoke gushed in as the bus sped up.

Each time the driver changed the gear, it produced horrible sound that of a true symptom of rokho gari. That morning, before the departure, the RSTA official was there but I assume they inspected only whether the buses were departing on time.

I must say that this was a terrible journey. I was like riding a death race, literally. But I was lucky, there wasn’t any mishap. 

However, those 17 people traveling in a passenger bus, Bumpa Transport Service, from Phuentsholing to Tsirang weren’t lucky. They met with an accident on January 10, fell off the highway at Taksha more than 17 feet and got injured.

I arrived at the accident scene at around 5:00 pm that day and the injured passengers were still being taken out in DCM truck and ambulances. The people at the scene and passengers had many explanations about the cause of accident. “Deadly speed”. Driver chhang dim nam mey”.  And the Kuensel reported, “the bus stopped twice for maintenance- once at Semtokha and again at Hesothangkha”.

Now it boils down to one concern – how safe is our transport service? And this concern hits hard person like me who travels in a public transport service. I pray that soon the concerned authorities would remove all those rokho buses from operation, or at least change the road safety regulations, or strengthen enforcing the rules.

I earnestly pray!

As we are

Most of today’s morning, I sat in my office alone. In fact, particularly, I was contemplating on the first week of 2015. So I was asking myself questions. Has the New Year started out the way I wanted? Was the first week of 2015 enthralling and significant?   

After mulling over the questions, it has left me shaken and anxious than usual; mostly by a thought how fast time flies. I feel that we have just entered into this brand new year, and now we are here, end of the first week, already.

So I walked off my chair, and marched towards the window. As I pulled the curtains aside, I watched outside, across the City and over the valley. The dark clouds were still hanging in the sky; gradually cleared away. The snow has fallen too. Not heavy though, not yet – only a promise to come.    

It fed a warm pleasure in my heart. Almost instantly, this weather, this feelings brought me to the subject I wanted to tell you today.

So here I begin. Paro, the name of the place. January 1, 2015, the date was. A handful of words, the subject is. 

That late afternoon, my friend Sonam and I just parked the car outside Ta Dazong, the National Museum of Bhutan and we walked leisurely on the road chit-chatting. Randomly though. About family, love and life.

Meanwhile, we disengaged from our chat and turned attentions to the valley and filled with wonder. The valley was beautiful, to say the least.

Sonam told me, “Riku, now, right now, I remember Anaïs Nin’s words. And it goes like this,

‘We don't see things as they are,

We see things as we are’.”

As he quoted it, he smiled radiantly at me. The way he said it, the way he emphasized it made my heart lurch.

“Well, I see concrete jungle. You see wonders. I see problems. You see beauty. And someone else might see something different,” my friend supported the quote.   

I simply agreed with him, “Yes friend, it is something to do with our mind.”

My eyes kept wandering over the giant piece of valley delightfully adorned by rice fields, farmlands and river. Amidst, the Paro Town perched still preserving the traditional architectural design.

“Umm…The way we see something and interpret it or how we try to understand and make judgement talks more about us as a person than about the way we see it,” he pushed on his words, as we watched the valley, this time louder.

We, as humans, are almost limited by our own belief, experience, perception and emotion, Sonam explained further.

How insightfully true! I read and contemplated his words in my mind. Oh, how I loved listening to his words, the resonant power of his messages – all relevant and searching!

Right here, in my office, this handful of words of my friend got me thinking again. As I pondered in retrospect, it helped me to listen to the inklings of my heart and re-evaluate my life’s sojourn.

With these words in my heart, ever reverberating, I am hoping that this year would become a lot meaningful and happier. And most importantly, I am hoping to see things as they really are and not as I am. 

The New Year’s proposal

Yesterday evening I had a date. I believe I can call it a date; at least on my part. Believe me, for there isn’t any better way to name it. Maybe – just maybe – it’d be called as a blind date.

“So tomorrow’s the New Year’s Eve. Any plans?” she started conversation as soon as I returned after placing our order at the counter.

I responded, “Don’t have any plans; just being grateful for the wonderful year 2014. But I’m excited and look forward to embracing, living each day of the New Year.” 

It was a small restaurant with cozy and intimate ambience. As I pulled out my chair and sat in front her, a mojo of feelings ran through me. Nervousness too. Yes, we were meeting for the first time, but I’m still not sure it’s a date. To tell you that she was fair and slim; and has a shy manner, a gentle voice.  

Looking straight at me, she smiled expansively and reaffirmed, “So your name is Riku Dhan Subba?”

I nodded and then I pulled my jacket tighter because it’s was very cold.

“I thought it’s your nickname,” she ran her fingers over her phone and burst into a laugh.

“Everybody thinks like that,” I laughed with her.

Meanwhile, the order arrived on our table. Coffee and some snacks.

As we sipped coffee, I continued, “Because my name is very strange. Actually my late grandpa gave me this name. And nobody knows its real meaning, not even my parents.”  

“That’s strange. I wonder you are as strange as your name,” she inquired quickly, this time rubbing a bit more.

“I think I am,” I answered.

After a moment, I joked laughing again, “Of all, I feel that I am extraordinary. For my name is extraordinary. Joke aside, I still wonder from where my grandpa got this name and why he chose the name for me.”  

Inside, the sound system came into life and the COLDPLAY sang a live version of “A sky full of stars”. A warm, intimate mood took hold of me as the song enfolded the room, as two of us talked into the gentle evening.    

“So how have you spent 2014?” I asked my date - I called her date for the lack of better word.

She took a moment to think about it. She summed it “a difficult year” but instantaneously justified, “Life isn’t fair, you know, but it’s still good”. Then we talked a great deal about life’s struggling and miracle and together agreed “the more we praise and celebrate our life the happier we become”.

Quite typically, we jumped into talking our New Year’s resolutions.

“I have three: to study abroad, write a book and get married. I would be happy if I could fulfill even one of these,” I stated.

As soon as I stated my resolutions, oh goodness, I started sweating hard. For my resolutions are not at all easy. All entail a lot of perseverance and hard work; most importantly, the luck.   

She expressed a big surprise; however, consoled me, “It’s always good to have the resolutions even they may be too ambitious at times. I wish you all the lucks.”

I thanked her.

We cleared our bills and slowly walked out of the restaurant. It was unusually cold outside, the air blew deep chill and the mountaintops were blanketed in snows.

I turned back to her and declared, “I am considering proposing you one fine day. I like you.” 

In fact, I meant it, more than I could tell her.

She smiled radiantly at me and answered, blushing, “Oh I look forward to that fine day.”

The autumn's last bloom

This year's December has been the busiest month. You know it well how we Bhutanese are. We drag everything towards the end and here I am struggling to complete works before the year's end. However, last weekend, I spared a handful of minutes and walked around my office and was awe-inspired by hydrangeas growing so beautifully for us. So pictures here.

Photographs

You know it well that the autumn has just gave its way into winter and it's unassumingly cold here in Thimphu. Hope all of you are keeping yourself warm and happy.  However, I bring to you here some pictures of my village Chuzargang that I took during my last visit. Hope you enjoy going through all. Have a lovely weekend!

The place least explored

So we set on our journey. We called it road trip; and by then, it was already noon. Our destination was Haa, and then Chelala.

“We have to drive fast; else it will get dark,” my friend Pema who was driving the car told me. Then, he upped the speed.   

Quite frequently, we do this, travel outside Thimphu on weekends and holidays; for no better reason than to rejoice our time together and meet other friends. So this particular trip was our fourth time together to Haa only.

A day before, then, a colleague of mine wondered at me, “Of all place, why Haa again? You crazy? I think you have girlfriends there.”

And my colleague spoke it all. Haa, also know as “Hidden-Land Rice Valley”, is still one of the most isolated and least visited dzongkhags. The description list of the place goes on: “tough people”, “dry town”, “cold place”, and “tiny”.

However, Haa is a different and wonderful place; at least for me. My favour for this place comes not misplaced; for I didn’t have any girlfriends there.

There again, Pema and I were travelling. This time was autumn; now we’ve travelled the place in all four different seasons. Once we hit the Haa road from Chuzom confluence, the road became extremely narrow, thin. 

The frequency of vehicles greatly reduced; we came across hardly any. We raced on and on and all anxious to reach our destination.   

But quite surprisingly, the beauty of autumn and its allure grabbed two of us. Several times, we stopped the car and marveled at the colourful and infinite variety of fields and houses that consumed the landscape. It was overwhelming beautiful. We grabbed our cameras and snapped shots.    

All along, the road has amazing views of more spectacular villages and valleys adorned with prayer flags and pristine alpine forests. We simply enjoyed driving, never like before, and all the more fascinated by the innocence and smiles on people’s face and rural peasants toiling humbly. We joined them.

As we neared Haa, the cold air started blowing and the alpine trees appeared richer and dense. Well, the proper Haa is a steep valley with a narrow floor and the entire valley has been so preciously guarded by the venerated three brotherly mountains known as Meri Puensum. The serene Haa River runs right in the middle of valley, feeding the valley and human settlements for ages. Such is Haa. Such is beauty.  

After meeting our friend in the town, we set on to our next destination, Chelela. This route has got a gorgeous road and it has amazing views looking down at Haa valley. Oh, I wished that I could fly across the mountaintops for an aerial view of it all.

We were only halfway to our next destination when the sun already started to set; we were worried that we cannot see Chelela. However, we stopped the car again, came out on the road and shared a small talk. The dazzling grass stirred in the air against the yellow, pink and blue hues of the sunset as if enjoying our company.

At that moment a thought crossed my mind, the joy is found not in reaching the destination, but focusing on journey. When we constantly anticipate for the destination we lose sight of all the present moments, isn’t it?

Similarly, our life is not so much about beginnings and endings, and starting and destination. It’s about going on and on and on, and treating the present moments and time as the essence, life.

So we charged forward. So we took our time to appreciate the journey.  

Note: Few pictures by Rima

You’re still beautiful to me

My unfocussed eyes wandered around the room. It was sparely lit; only a few dim lights illuminated the entire room. Several sets of couches spread over, and then my eyes’ focus ran over the people huddled together face-to-face and drinking beers.

A little farther, one dark corner, I spotted a handful of neatly dressed young men. They were holding microphone each and singing to rigsar song that appeared on the screen mounted on the wall. This is one fine karaoke in Thimphu, I thought.

Then a little right, at the counter, my focus stopped abruptly. A strikingly attractive bartender kept mixing and serving alcoholic drinks. Oh my god, her arms, so slim and graceful; her eyes, so bright and flirtatious! She was at the peak of her beauty.

Each time she passed the drinks to her customers and received money, her face glowed in an expansive smile, all the more prettier. She was a joy to watch, honestly.

Oh, I forgot to talk to you about my friends; I put blame on that bartender. By the way it’s a catch up party, after long time, with my old college friends. After we started working and have our own family, it’s quite difficult to meet often.

So five of us lounged on a couch in the karaoke and we sipped our whiskey. Meanwhile, we passed on microphones and sang to a song of our choice. It’s the Bryan Adam’s “You’re still beautiful to me”:  

Turn out the lights and close the door

Put your head on the pillow and let me keep ya warm

I wanna run my hands across your face

Ya lyin’ beside ya still the perfect place

This song – every word, every line, and every stanza – evoked ripe memories of our college time. The time when we were so young, so naïve, so passionate. We remembered those nights when we used to stay late and sing to this particular song.  

So once again, we said cheers to our whiskey, this time for our friendship. And we burst into the song, louder, reliving all those reverberating memories:

We’re still goin’ strong

So glad that you came along

Ya babe in every way

You’re still beautiful to me

I just - have to say – you’re still beautiful to me

So beautiful babe

Time and again, the jarim bartender would visit our couch and refill our whiskey glass. And always she smiled in that way, mesmerizingly; how my heart went just zinging and zapping.

I’ve no idea how it came to be, but my eyes following her so much of the time. Furthermore, I was fascinated by her long hair worn straight and swaying right and left where it met her shoulder. Sometimes, it spread wide and ran over her fair arms. Oh, she looked the classiest and the sweetest. Because I had this mysterious attraction for this girl, I don’t know why.

We selected another song, The Calling’s “Wherever you will go”. As my friends burst into the song, I turned my gaze to the bartender again. This time she glanced back at me and smiled when our eyes met. Finally, I made up my mind and walked to the counter. I ordered one more peg of whiskey and sat on bar stool in front of the counter, in front of her.   

“I know you,” she told me.

My head swelled with wilderness, and at a loss of words, I took another sip of whiskey.

“Well, you’re Riku Dhan Subba, right?” she asked me with a gleeful smile.

  

As soon as I nodded my head, she continued, “I follow your blog. You write very well. But I love your pictures the most.”

I thanked her genuinely impressed, but at the same time felt deeply saddened. Firstly, writing is my first love, not photography. Secondly, I asked myself, can I court my follower?

Instantaneously, I ran back to my friends and joined them singing,

If I could, then I would

I’ll go wherever you will go

Way up high or down low

I’ll go wherever you will go

………

Celebrating beauty, life

One morning, these days, I visited this giant river called Torsa in Phuentsholing. I’m not a morning-person though; I hardly rise before eight in the morning. However, just then, I realized what I’ve been missing in my life.

To my amazement, I was stunned by the picture perfect beauty of the sunrise. The way it shimmered over the river, over the Phuentsholing valley, absolutely wowed me. Like a young lad, I ran-rounded the riverside, stumbling at times, but still thirsting for more of the nature’s splendor.

Meanwhile, I sat on the riverside and just enjoyed the water running down so effortlessly, so incessantly like life in itself. The grass like needle that grows tall and abundant around the river decorates it all the more beautiful. Only a few humans were seen supposedly taking early morning leisure walk.

As I sat, my eyes wandered far afar, the other side of the river and then stopped awhile at a flock of birds catching and feeding on fish.

I mused, the early bird catches worm, revisiting the idiom that I learned long before in one of my school textbooks. That moment, I nodded in agreement, exactly after two decades understanding its true meaning. Had I not started my day early I would be missing all this beauty. 

All is not well, I thought, I should be living the moment not observing. So I removed my clothes and jumped into the river; ah, it’s very cold and bone chilling.

Soon the sun accompanied me, winking its light on my face reflected from water and fetching me fresh warmth all over my body. The birds swarmed over the river, over us, making harmonious noise. The needle-like plants danced gently blown by the morning breeze. As if all were celebrating beauty, life with me.

So we swam, we danced, in all joy, as if for eternity!

The harvest season

It is the paddy harvest season in Paro. I’ve been long wanted to visit the place and take pictures. I have made it last weekend, but was little late. No matter what, I took some photographs and brought it to you here. Hope you would enjoy la. Have a good time!