Go Youth
Go, a group aspiring to bring positive change in our society, has been formed very recently in Bhutan. This group formed by young people aspires to register themselves as a local public-benefit youth organization in a
few years.
The group’s committed members are mostly young
people, of ages between 16-24 years old. Its tentative objectives are to
address youth problems, engage youth meaningfully, empower youth and to bring
positive social change in our society. However, its vision and mission are yet
to discuss.
Meanwhile, this group has already started contributing to our
society. Last Saturday, seven members of the group have contributed their
voluntary work at the Department of Youth and Sports’ Youth Centre in Thimphu.
They helped in gardening, constructing fence and cleaning the campus to make
the Youth Centre attractive for youth.
“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your
heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get
over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live
forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back. And you come through. It’s
like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly-that still hurts when the
weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
One weekend, last month, I went out
for picnic in Paro with my siblings and their families and friends. The day
was-in a word-magical. Sunny and warm. Barely 20 minutes drive north from Paro
Town, our picnic spot was
an open grazing land, next to a river, below Drukgyel Dzong. On one side lay
luminous rice fields and amidst perched a few village huts and traditional
houses in ruins. Other side was covered with huge forest.
We
busied ourselves no sooner did we reach the picnic spot. Some set off to fetch
firewood, a few ferried water and others involved in cooking. It’s, more
importantly, a union among siblings and among friends. After long time back
though. As we held individual responsibility, we set about chatting. We talked about
our works, relationship with our colleagues and bosses. We talked about untreated
inflation on grocery, vegetables and car fuels. We talked about Rupee crisis,
economy crisis in Bhutan. And so on. We’re so fully engrossed, both with works
in front of us and with our incessant talk.
But
my niece, just 7-year old, stood ecstatically excited all day. Her exposure to
open nature-may be her first time-left her mesmerized. Unlike us, she wandered
around, noticing things everywhere. And she was overcome by constant wonder. She
watched on the colorful wild flowers, fishes in the river and flying birds. She
wondered at how a wild flower can be in full bloom (after the harsh winter) in
the midst of thorns. She wondered at how a fish swims so swiftly and can live
under water. She wondered at how long those traditional houses in ruins been
there, who had lived there. She asked me all this though, ah.
My
niece wondered about those wholly ordinary she saw around. But as adults,
we’re lulled in the triviality of everyday existence. We succumb to the
details. We hurry every time. We run after time. We run after appointments. We
run after deadlines. We run after money. We run after people. We run after
conflicts and controversies. Above all, we let ourselves be lulled into “busy”
humdrum of our lives. And alas, we wrap our minds and forget to wonder. We
forget to stop and wonder about those magical moments in front of us. And each
time, we miss moments of wonder.
It was late afternoon when we set out from Paro. Back to home in Thimphu. Inside car, my siblings kept talking
about everyday stuffs. I sat by window side. As car ranted on, air gushed
forth, so cool, fresh. Valleys, houses and trees perched sumptuously across the
terrains. Gorgeous rays of sunset kept dancing, flickering inside car.
I
looked up, up above at the dome of the glorious sky. So large. And eventually I
saw the setting sun glancing from behind the mountains, shining bright. A little
while on, the glare of sun was sucked out, leaving behind a wonderful marmalade
glow. Had I not looked up, that beautiful moment would never be felt again-not
exactly, not ever. And I wondered, duly, at how the sun turns into so magical,
gorgeous as it sets. I marveled at why the sun has to set and again rise next
morning. So miraculous, na?
And
flocks of paddy birds were taking flights towards the setting sun, towards
their habitats, filling the arc of the glow of sunset in west. I kept watching,
spellbound, until those birds vanished into thin air-over the horizon-in that
sky. And I wondered at how long those birds had to fly back to their habitats.
Where? Will they return next morning? I asked myself this over and over again,
wondering, wondering.
As
I continued wondering, I realized that I was also struggling to find the
language that would connect me to them. To understand and feel the presence of
something that exists beyond our logic. And so miraculously, as if a voice
spoke to my heart, my consciousness was filled with accruing awakening. Like
we’re returning to our homes from picnic, those birds were also going back to
their habitats, to a restful night, to protect and feed their chicks. And the
sun was retiring from a daylong hard work as it had to again dutifully
illuminate the whole world next morning. I relate to that!
"When you talk about any
difficulties with money, a relationship, an illness, or even that the profits
of your business are down, you are not talking about what you love. When you
talk about a bad event in the news, or a person or situation that annoyed or frustrated
you, your are not talking about what you love. Talking about the bad day you
had, being late for an appointment, getting caught in traffic, or missing the
bus are all talking about what you don’t love. There are many little things
that happen each day; if you caught up in talking about what you don’t love,
every one of those little things brings more struggle and difficulty to your
life.
You have to talk about the good
news of the day. Talk about the appointment that went well. Talk about how you
love being on time. Talk about how it is to be full of health. Talk about the
profits you want your business to achieve. Talk about the situations and
interactions you had in your day that went well. You have to talk about what
you love, to bring what you love to you.
…To have a great life…give love,
talk only about what you love, and love will set you free!"
I mean it. Seriously. Don’t ever propose girls in Dzongkha. I’ll tell you why. Dzongkha is terribly unromantic language. Because, ermm, it’s a loud hectoring accented language and has far, far fewer romantic terminologies. You cannot admire a girl in Dzongkha, you cannot even like her. But you can only propose her. Bluntly. Unchivalrously. Like this, Nga gi tshey lu ga! And any girl would be shell-shocked to hear this, all at once. Huh, this makes your courting offensive and expression of love dull. That’s why, often, you hear many guys becoming penlop, rejected by girls. Whew, don’t propose girls in Dzongkha.
In the past Dzongkha was spoken in dzongs. This was the language used by Buddhist monks and the administrative staff in dzongs. And those days, during Zhabdrung’s reign and even after his death, the dratshangs and administrative posts in dzongs were all occupied by men. Now just imagine how administrative staff in those days would speak to each other. Full of masculinity, loudness. Again, imagine when monks were smitten with leather whips what kinds of words kudrung would utter. Unmerciful. Monstrosity.
And from where Dzongkha originated? Ahem, from western Bhutan, from Ngalong, isn’t it? Ngalong, in no doubt, are people with nga-gyel-excessive pride and promising ego. Sorry for being so blunt, but it’s quite true. With pride and ego, comes sternness and masculinity. Am I right? You see Ngalonpa have this attitude. Overpowering and dominating and are resolute to rule others. So, frankly, do I tell you their language, Dzongkha, too is equally astute and egoistic.
If you don’t believe me, watch people locking horns. Even if they’re Sharchop or Kheng or Lhotsham, they go raving and ranting all in Dzongkha-perhaps to potentially wreak terror over their opponents shouting with help of language. Dominating language, Dzongkha. Rolling up their gho or tego sleeves, they fight. Jedha. Shek taw mey. Jhandey.
You may grudgingly admit it, but Dzongkha is a language of domination. It’s one-way-traffic language. As was our customary, only parents (especially fathers) and officials holding high ranks do the talking. Barking orders. From top to bottom. Women, children and subordinates were kept silence and were speechless and powerless. Theirs only responsibility was to show respect. Bowing down, in due submission, so low, “Laso la, laso la.” That’s their only language, voice.
Dzongkha had worked to perfection for leaders of Bhutan-Je Khenpos, Penlops, Desis, Dzongpoens and Kings. Even today watch our leaders speaking, Dzongkha suits them so perfectly. But watch an ordinary man speaking Dzongkha, it proves a menace. Ugh, he sounds disrespectful and disdainful. It’s even worse when a woman speaks it. Because Dzongkha language contains so much of anger, enrage and loud hectoring accent. And anyone speaking it seems he/she is an angry person and overpowering.
And even today visit any government offices in Bhutan and ask for a small favour from officers. They’d only throw at you a scornful look. “Ahh! Nga meshey!” they’d scold you back, in Dzongkha. And all in your mind only, you’d react (tempers boil over), “Jedha!”
This could be one solid reason why youth, today, lost interest in learning Dzongkha. Today’s youth are in love and they want to express love, feelings. That’s why they write love letters or exchange greetings cards only in English.
Note: This post is overtly sensitized, and for fun reading only.
It seemed that spring had swollen to its fullest meaning, just for our King and Queen. It's something so rich, so evocative. Just extraordinarily beautiful!
