Last glimpse of Autumn

One crispy morning, very recently, I sat daydreaming nearby the window of my heated room. And my neighbours’ children were run-rounding around the courtyard, when I spotted the brief, stunning glory of the brilliant yellow, orange and red tree leaves fluttering by the window to cover the ground. They’re falling slowly, gently twirling on the ground. 

This is the time I realized how engrossed I was in the triviality of everyday existence. You know what? We, mortals, let ourselves be lulled into the enchanted sleep of our humdrum existence conclusively. The moment we rise from our bed, we’re preoccupied into the dress we wear, looks, conceitedness, foods we eat, etiquette, relationship, romance, cars, jobs… (Fill in the blank).  

It’d have been déjà vu for me if I hadn’t woke up from this enchanted slumber. I nearly missed miraculous autumn this year, ugh!

At once, I picked up my camera. Push aside my quilt. Jump over the stack of novels, note pads, pen and laptop. Out of my room. Out there in the cold, I was capturing the rich and jewels painted nature in my digital lens.

This was a moment, I thought, Mother Nature swollen to its fullest meaning for the nature lovers, photographers and poets. It was so rich, reminiscent and the light on the trees at sunrise and sunset comes somewhere beyond the giant mountains, beyond the reach of my logical mind. In the middle of shooting, I stopped, wondering at times-even enigmatic.

And as I took the pictures, I fully internalized the aroma of beautiful nature. It rejuvenated my otherwise muddled heart. And this was the time when I wanted to conquer the world.

If you've taken trip to countryside you’d see hundreds of acres of golden cornfields and sections of forest turned gold and deep red glowing in the afternoon sunlight. You’d also see the crops are being harvested, cereals gathered and taken to the warehouses.

And here what other fellow bloggers say about autumn. Langa wrote on his blog,

As I squint up into the sky,

all I can see is the deep and vast blue sky;

without a trace of clouds hanging-

a perfect form of sky we talk about.

Thimphu is getting colder and colder.

 

For some, the season of fall is all about love and craving for the warmth of their lovers. Aurora Karma posted on her site, 

she knew she loved him,

and he loved her as much.

She wanted to be closer-

under his skin-

with no time and space

between them.

She wished

nothing mattered but-

their love. 

Photo courtesy: Last two photos by Stephen & Dominique

Letter to my father

Dear Apa, 

I hope all of you’re doing well without any sickness and problem in the village. My prayers are always with you all!

With the blessing of Kenchosum, I’m doing quite well here. And it’s been two years that I started working as dzung wokpa [civil servant]. You remember, Apa? When I graduated with BA, you always urged and wanted me to try for a job in the civil service and that you wanted me to sit for the RCSC exams. And you arguably told me that once I become a dzung wokpa, I will be invincible. Or more aptly, you used to remind me that the repeated storms of joblessness can never touch me once I become a dzung wokpa. Also, I’d have easy access to get loan.

Moreover, I was assured that in the civil service I’d have enough quality time for my family and myself. Restful weekends, CL, EOL. I still remember the time when you told me that even when I become old and weak there would a cheque every month being sent in my name. 

But you know, Apa?  In the beginning, I found myself in such a jeopardy as you’d never dream of. I was nearly suspended from my office. But I was only being exceptionally industrious and suggesting breakthrough initiatives to my bosses.

Instead of describing our job responsibilities and teaching us the work, bosses only try to discipline us. We only do what those above us order us to do. Our bosses are never accustomed to the subordinates asking questions. It’s unbelievably funny to say that what our bosses tell us is not always right. But it’s not our job to ask why. If we all began to ask why, there would be only ocean of whys.

There’re two rules about the bosses in our line of work. We’re to be mindful of the rules for all time. They are:

                          Rule 1: Bosses are always right

                          Rule 2: If they’re found wrong, refer rule no. 1

Apa, you must’ve heard or seen on TV our senior bureaucrats unhesitatingly and unashamedly lauding that youth are very important and guardians of the future Bhutan. But the irony is that they (heads of different sectors, divisions, departments, ministries, agencies) never invest in young officers. All the ex-country training opportunities are grabbed by them, secretly though. No fewer than six times in a year they visit to attend the ex-country trainings (more than what they are entitled) and countless in-country workshops, seminars and short-term trainings.

Funniest of all, most of these people are in their early 50s and will be retiring after a few years. Our government is mindlessly wasting the budget on them. I think young officers should be the priority because we still have three more decades to serve in the civil service.  

Now, I will tell you why they frequent ex-country trainings. Though old, they never twirl the rosary and practise dharma like you. The last few years of their service is to earn as much as to buy new prados with the available quotas and purchase plot of land to erect buildings. And their children’s job is only to finish off their savings and destroy their properties. Sounds strange!

I forgot to tell you that in the dzung wok, we stop living truth. Blunt and straightforwardness in the matter relating to office management would only do more harm than good. Those hardworking people are never acknowledged and rewarded. I’ve a beautiful poem written by someone like me which can better explain you the situation of dzung wok. It’s here, Apa. Read it below,

When I do something without being told, I’m trying to be smart,

When my boss does the same, he is taking the initiative.

When I make a mistake, I’m an incompetent,

When my boss makes a mistake, he is only human.

When I’m out of the office, I’m wandering around,

When my boss is out of the office, he is on business.

When I’m on day off sick, I’m always sick,

When my boss is a day off sick, he must be very ill.

When I do good, my boss never remembers,

When I do wrong, he never forgets.

This may interest you further. In every dzung office, there’s a bunch of people who are the boss’s favourites. We called them chamchagiri. The boss is always surrounded and accompanied by this group, treating with domas and tshom from their rural homes. They’re extraordinarily sincere in front of their boss but bunk office as soon as he is outdoor.They've discovered that the secret to success in  the civil service is not in hard work but in the chamchagiri. 

We’ve another group of people who assemble together, do tea and doma party during the office hour and gossip non-stop.

Most people in the office broadcast their works they are doing. They pretend that they’re really working hard in front of their desktops. The reality; however, is that they would be busy chatting on yahoo messengers or printing or photocopying their children’s assignments or project works.

Don’t worry, Apa. I’m coping up quite well with the system here. It’s only a time of change for me, from innocence to reality. Now, I’ve honed all the necessary chamchagiri tricks and concocting plans to build unshakable rapport with my bosses. It’s little weird, but I’ve to do all this for the ex-country trainings, fast-track promotion and more necessarily to sustain in Thimphu.

Yours beloved son.

On a Bhutanese film

I don’t like the Sir Wang Drugay, a Bhutanese film. Honestly. The filmmakers  have, dare I say, mindlessly strayed away from their responsible professionalism. 

Let me tell you why and here you will fairly understand my protest. One of the characters in the film is caught into a miserable circumstance and she needs money terribly. Eventually, the character comes to a sad conclusion that she sells her kidney. After the kidney transplant, the character holds a huge sum of money.

And after watching the film, I had these sickening feelings. Firstly, if I were in a miserable situation I would only resort to this demented idea of organs selling business. For, I would think that there’s no other approach and alternative for me, except this damning way out to sell my own kidney. Secondly, the way this character grasps a huge sum of money after the kidney transplant only intensified my desire and greed. Plus, it grotesquely disrespects and demeans the stature of human beings as it glorifies money over our own organs. Above all, this gruesome storyline is very unlikely Bhutanese. 

I understand the predicament of this character, but the director should have thought other alternatives. Mind you, this is Bhutan, not India or other countries. Bhutanese are, generally, generous and helpful. That being said, our society is very protective and people in destitute and wretchedness are never disregarded.

Also, today there are many established NGOs in Bhutan and still many are coming up. The government in partnership with these NGOs has been relentlessly working towards addressing the problems of the underprivileged ones in multi-pronged strategies by providing necessary and timely interventions/aids. And this kind of film only spreads misleading message that our country is another failed state-that our country has no systematic mechanism for the people in wretched conditions. Moreover, it would arouse anger in viewers and drift them apart from the government.

Perhaps the filmmakers were insanely inspired by the Hollywood and Bollywood and were trying to apply their ideologies here to make this film more dramatic. But they should have realized that the reality in Bhutan is starkly different. They should have been mindful that the films they produce have a huge impact on their viewers and that Bhutanese viewers are mostly semi-literate and can hardly think critically.

BICMA, the censorship body, perhaps is also dreadfully failing its duty. I think this authority too lacks expertise to censor the content and impact of any production on its viewers. The BICMA should be mindful that this kind of film only misinforms, misguides and misleads its viewers. I, as a responsible citizen, earnestly throw this urgent suggestion that please recruit some professionals to censor the films.

Is my English strange?

Last week, I was watching the English segment on BBS TV. The TV anchor magnificently began the programme in pure British accent. She, then, fluttered her accent to American and more head scratching…sob, sob, she was caught into Drukpa accent. For the record, she was not even remotely aware of it. I don’t mean here to criticize her flamboyant anchoring style, but from this watching I just observed that how lost are we into different accents that we do not really distinguish. Or we’re rather not bothered; perhaps, we consider it least important or simply unimportant.

It’s little weird, but even we write we’re unsure of the American and British English. Labour or labor, realise or realize, criticise or criticize, centre or center...all mixed up, yuck! This probably, though woefully evidences that ours is lousy English-khutta bhache ko, broken English. If you flutter in your English accent and are unsure of the British and American English spellings, I wouldn’t blame you. I will tell you why. Listen.

As was the good intentioned national education policy, the education ministry strictly monitors the school curriculums in British English. We’re to follow the British English, stringently and religiously, both in spoken and written. You agreed with me? True enough, but the funny thing is that teachers in Bhutan were mostly Keralan (Indian). With them, they brought their own accent in English. They taught us lowe for love, yam for m, yan for n. Interestingly, they’ve further puzzled us with their typical Keralan da and ta suffixes. Good examples here, correctta for correct, notda for not, youda for you, okda for ok. It is what it is. Cliché, but true.

We’re also taught by Bhutanese teachers. At times Dzongkha lopoens did. Teacher shortage, they reasoned. But their accent has been badly marred by their non-stop doma chewing habit. Doma in their mouths, they say somm for some, wherrr for where, fayav for five, colock for clock. And each time they speak, they pause. An example here, “I, uh, will, uh, ahem, ahem [he spits in the dustbin and comes back] beat you, uh, if you eat doma,” he would bark good words at his students. Very ironical, right? And a slightly bizarre observation here: the way he frightens his students, he too murders the English language, for god’s sake.

Dzongkha words, like divine saviors, jump in between his English lecture and speech to replace the missing English words. That’s how the notorious Dzonglish came to existence. The brutal truth is that now we came to this sad conclusion that we cannot do without it.

You may not agree with me on all this. But you can do yourself a favour. Go to your home, swivel in your sofa, pick up the TV remote and flip the channels. I bet you that you will find almost all the TV programmes are American. Or put on your PC, open the Microsoft office word and you will see that also in American English.      

Joy to Behold!

Lingshi, the land of medicinal herbs, is also blessed with beautiful landscapes. Lingshipas depend on wages earn from collecting medicinal herbs and extraction of cordyceps. This place is also rich in cultural heritages and sacred places.Some beautiful photographs of Lingshi for you below:

   

Photo Courtesy: Sonam Dendup

Something quite out of the ordinary

Tashi Choezom, a teacher at Norbuling MSS, Gelephu, is my childhood friend. Last month, when I visited her place I was profoundly moved by what she is doing. At her place, my eyes feasted upon two little gorgeous kids stuffing themselves with delicious food. They looked identical: a boy and a girl. They’re chubby, neat hair cut and have dimpled face. I thought these kids are her students but just out of curiosity, I asked her. Tashi replied me, “I’ve a Mahabharata [long story] to tell you about them,” adding that these two kids are twins.

                                                               Pic: Tashi Choezom

Early this year, Tashi Choezom accompanied one of her school colleagues to Chuzargang, about two km away from her school, as she desperately needed a babysitter to look after her kid. The day has turned beastly hot. After applying sun block cream, they walked down the rice fields fighting against strong sun, leeches, insects, mud and sweating all along the rough road.

“People of Chuzargang are mostly poor,” said Tashi adding, “They solely depend on rice and maize which often being rampaged by wild jumbos and boars before each harvest.” She also discovered that shortage of drinking water is another major problem in the village. “I was shocked to find out that only elderly people live in the village. All young people have left for Thimphu and Phuentsholing,” she told me.

At the end of the day, they reached one bago, a hut roofed with banana leaves, walled with flattened bamboo which looks like crumbling down at any moment. A nervy-looking couple, seemingly drunk, marched out of the hut after they saw people outside. The world’s poverty was inscribed on their faces. There’s nothing inside the hut, just a frayed rug, a few kilos of kharang, a pair of mattresses, and a kerosene lamp.

When Tashi inquired about the babysitter, the couple (originally from Zhemgang who resettled in Chuzargang) instantly dragged out two kids from their hut. They’re twins, just seven-year olds. Apparently, Nima and Dawa looked unkempt, starkly hungry. Tashi and her colleague were stabbed at seeing this. They couldn’t imagine employing one kid of lesser fortune to babysit for another of greater fortune.

It’s even more shocking to Tashi on what this man had to plead them, “I don’t want any wages of my kids. Lopoen, jus take them away with you. Do whatever you want to do to them. I cannot raise them. We don’t have foods. We don’t have money. Look, we live in a wretched condition. I don’t want these two kids of mine suffer with me without food, without cloth, without education. Just take them away!”

To Tashi, it seemed like she had just stepped into a poverty-stricken state. She never knew that people in our country are so poor. She discovered that these people live unconnected and miserable in a perpetual expectation of external interventions/aids because their situation has become intolerable and out of their power. So, they came to this sad conclusion of surrendering their own children.

Tashi gave another curious look at the young twins, this time rather empathetically. She discerned that the twins were malnourished, without basic necessities of life and everything about their life was a struggle. And unhesitatingly, she took an audacious decision to adopt the twins. That evening, Tashi bathed them, and offered good foods. It’s perhaps the first time in their entire life they’re filled with good foods, clothes and sleep.

One weekend, Tashi took them to Gelephu town, bought them clothes, school uniforms and done nice haircut. Then, she talked to the school principal and enrolled both of them at Norbuling MSS in class PP.

Initially, she had difficult times as the twins have experienced behavioral and emotional problems and slight personality disorder due to lack of love and care from their biological parents. However, Tashi’s unwavering parental care and support enriched their life.  

                    Pic: A new family (From the left: Tashi, Phub Zangmo and the twins)  

Nima and Dawa’s arrival was boon in disguise for Tashi. The twins created a family in her house. Earlier, she was mostly alone, understandably reckless and lazy. Now her lifestyle is changed completely. She wakes up early to wash and cook for her kids and helps on their home works besides doing shopping for them. Above all, Tashi loves all this!  

Today, Nima and Dawa have grown up strong, beautiful, smart, and well-disciplined. Their favorite leisure time is watching TV besides reading. When asked whether they miss their parents, they replied me, “No!” Surprisingly, both wanted to become teacher because they think that teachers are happy, rich and kind-hearted people.However, the twins are in a dilemmatic situation. They’re not yet registered in the general census. But Tashi is trying all in her power to register their census as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Phub Zangmo, another teacher of Norbuling MSS is bearing the expenses of one of the twins.

Next week, Nima and Dawa will be sitting their life’s first exams. Let’s wish them a very best of luck!  

Phoja's Absurdity

I am a man. Bhutanese man. And phoja is a term that lauds the precious pride and honour of being the one in Bhutan. Some called it Kay phoja. Fortunate, I would be proclaiming certain personal merits and privileges by virtue of being born as phoja that my sisters are deprived of.

                 

“Tough guise” is the predominant ambience of being phoja. That being said, from my own granny, parents, siblings, teachers to my friends-they always wanted me to be tough, masculine, strong, controlled and powerful. In order to survive, to resolve problems and more importantly to prove the society that I am a phoja, I have to unmistakably show my strength. Sorry, I can never engage in dialogue and settle down any conflict coolly. I would say, “Who is that jhandey? I will hunt down him like a pig and slaughter him, jedhaaa!” Too aggressive and explicit violence, no? Perhaps this could be the sole reason as the international researchers have found out that 99 percent of rape, domestic and dating violence and murder come from men.

Meanwhile, wussy, wimpy and sissy are in stark contrast to my personality and they are unacceptable. Any of these traits had I imbibed, then the society would call me chakka or aumsu morem, a societal ego-bruising insult that I would better be a woman. Didn’t you apprehend here the societal prejudice to women as a lesser human over men? 
 
Pic: Typical Bhutanese foods to keep phoja strong. Perhaps 3 plates a meal

It’s even more interesting to note down another point here. In our society my personal merit is also determined by the number of women I would have sex in my life. Sorry for being overtly blunt, but, it is quite true. The mathematics here is very simple. As the number of women I sleep with increases, my merits and indestructible pride would climb on its graph and I hail it as a big achievement. Leksho! A lunatic achievement, though, ha-ha!

You may get ambushed, dare I say, married men are most active and never give up adding onto their number. Admire their sexathon, a sort of Casanova adventure.  

As our tradition would have it, a phoja must cut his kera after each hundredth woman he had sex. Sounds like crazy, doesn’t it? It is. Gosh, I came across many phoja who had cut their first and even third kera. They proudly assert to his friends or even to strangers about their coveted achievements. That’s also with real gusto. And there you see his listeners (even women) admire  his accomplishment and applaud and knight him, “Key phoja” I know it gave you a nasty shock.

However, the sad reality is that if a woman changes her boyfriends frequently she is supposedly the woman of low morale, slut-or in our own word, tshe-tom. It would cause me more head scratching if my wife or wives sleep with another man. Our society will consider me chochow, worthless that my wang ta lungta or shoey dha soenam, the self-integrity has been damaged irreparably and that I can never prosper or again live a happy life. This will be my inevitable fate. Just imagine what sort of chauvinistic fate my wife or wives would encounter? Even in this GNH nation, the gender discrimination is apparent and it is yet to fork out.

As a phoja, I wouldn’t whine so much. But much as I hated to admit, we gossip a lot and eve tease. And the women with whom we had sex are the talks or victims of our gossips.

I have this typical character. The next morning, my daughter would ask me Nu 10, for she needs to buy pencils. I get mad at her and shout, “Gachi gi tiru. Pha shong!” and I would chase her away. But when I visit a liquor shop (which I do it every evening), I would insist hard on my friends or colleagues to drink beers. Always, I am ready to sponsor. If they deny, I would even drag them to drink.  

And I am never old. Even in 70s I would be pleasuring myself in honour of the young ladies. Wealth is one of the factors. I would buy more kanchi with my wealth. However, to maintain myself sexually healthy would be a challenge in my old age. Never worry! I would order hornet from Tsirang and Dagana which stimulates healthier sex life.

I am proud to be a phoja. Are you?