Maid of Astolat

Today, one blog that I miss the most is http://maidofastolate.blogspot.com/. An undergraduate girl, this anonymous blogger used to write extensively on teenage life, unlikely romance and her untreated crush on classics literature. Like her, many good Bhutanese bloggers have stopped blogging (for better or worst - I hope for the better). And here, I share one of her stories that I loved so very much. Read it below:

Five-minute taxi ride

“Hey stop!!!' I screamed as usual hurrying past the gate of my house. Oh, it’s 8 am and the school assembly starts at 8.15. I was getting late. Darn!

My tego was still half-worn, my hair uncombed - half flying, half tied. I’ve my packed lunch bag in one hand and water bottle in other. And the bag on my back. It’s my usual routine though. I was a student of Yangchenphug HSS and always I would run to my school late. Everyday, I would wake up at around 7.30. And it would be 8 for me to wash up and get half-dressed for school.

Every morning, at 8, I’ve to run frantically and it’s not at all easy to find a taxi here. I lived in Jungshina, about 7 km north from Thimphu City. Sometimes, luck would fetch a cab for me right away. But every day was not Sunday, and my name would be already called out by my captain in the school and be marked absent.

However, today was another lucky day for me, for the car that I shouted at had stopped for me. “Thank god, at least…I won't be late today,” I sighed in a sheer relief.

I dashed into the backseat of the car and without looking at the driver, I shouted, “Auu, please reach me at YHS.” Meanwhile, I started shoving my hands through my tego’s sleeves and doing my hair - hoping that the car would zoom off immediately.

But the driver even didn’t start the car’s engine. I looked up at him, angrily. And I saw the driver turning back, looking straight at me, as if I had horns sprouting out of my head.

'Auu, be fast la. Please, I’m already late for school,' I pleaded, still trying on to get my tego on.

He showed me his regal face, and I wondered that how come a cabbie being so rude to his passenger. I just stopped for a moment and looked at him again – he is a good looking young man, well dressed - presumably, in his 20s. How come a taxi driver so good looking? I wondered again. But since I was in a rush, I didn’t dwell on it for long.

“Yes madam!” he obeyed my instruction, uttering it all in a mocking tone. He started driving. But a sort of an amusement flashed on his face before he said that.

I felt angry and disgusted at the driver as when I treated him well he acted sarcastic at me. Since I was getting late, I concentrated back on my tego, pulling it on properly and start folding its sleeves and wonju. Then, I started doing my hair. I pulled out the comb from my pencil bag and combed back my hair looking on the mirror to make sure it was being tied properly. I saw the driver's eyes on me, his expression amused. I ignored him, murmuring, “Irritating driver, huh.”

Then, I fetched out the lips gloss from my hand case and started pushing it against my lips. And I applied lotion on my hands and face. I could see the driver glaring at me in his rearview mirror. But, I purposely glared back at him, annoyed.

His face turned into a huge grin. Laughing, he asked me, in accented English, “Do you always get dressed in the cab?”

“I don't!” I replied him in a bitter tone. But I was still engrossed wearing myself.

“It looks like you are dressing up for me,” I remember him saying. I noticed his accented English and I must have wondered how a cabbie could speak English so well. But I ignored it as I was busy wearing my make-ups and only worrying about getting late. You would hardly meet a cabbie who speaks so good English in Thimphu, but jeez, this man had British accent. 

I replied him, “It’s just ah...small modifications”. Somehow that made him laugh loud, throwing his head back. I threw a dagger at him with my eyes.

“Alright, alright, I give up,” he said raising his hands as if in defeat though his smirk said otherwise. I arranged my books in my bag. He continued starting at me in the rearview mirror in a grin expression.

“Hey, do you mind driving faster, I am getting late,” I remember ordering him.

“Laso la madam!” he mocked at me, turning back and staring at me. I ignored him. 

I reached my school gate. All done by then- I put in my water bottle and arranged my bag and did little tidying up with my wonju and tego, still ignoring the driver. My hair perfectly tied. My tego neatly folded, wonju perfectly made. I looked like a typical good school girl. The driver looked at me and smiled broad, appreciatively though.

Annoyed, I hit at him, “What?”

He just laughed and said, “Nothing Madam.” I glared at him.

The school students were still walking towards school. And my friends were waiting for me on the footpath. Thank god, I was not late, I sighed. The anger left me, instantly. Though the driver has been intrusive and annoying, he reached me school safe and on time.

I asked him the fare, “How much?”

He stared at me, his eyeballs rolled for a while and replied me, “Tell you what, it is free, you don't have to pay.”

I didn’t expect that. Since I didn’t like him and I didn't want to remain in debt to this rude man, I shouted at him, “No, take this money.” I threw Nu 40 on his lap.

He simply smiled and said, “You’re one stubborn lady, aren't you?” And he continued, “I bet your teachers are having tough time keeping you under control.”

My anger resurfaced. “Mind your own business,” I said and came out, slamming his car door.

His only reaction was a loud laugh. 

As I walked towards my friends, how I wanted to tell them what a horrible driver I met that morning. But as I soon as I reached them, they waved and cried at me, “Who is that hot guy who just dropped you here?” 

Puzzled, I looked back and to my surprise, it’s not a taxi. Err…I had climbed into a private car. I had mistaken it for a taxi and took a ride and treated him very rude. I felt so embarrassed and to think, I paid him. As I looked back at him, realizing my mistake and blushing, he laughed glaring at me. The Nu 40 (that I threw on his lap) tugged in his fingers he saluted at me and drove past me back to the town.

Today I try remembering him, but I cannot. Even, I don’t remember his face. I’ve no idea of his working address, and his name. I don't think anyone be so kind to drop a crazy school girl at her school. I don’t think that anyone would tolerate my behavior and rude words like the way he did.  By the way, I tried looking for him, at least, to beg from him forgiveness and to thank him. And I looked at the drivers of all cars I came across, thinking he would be the one, but I never found him. But I know that I’ll always remember him – he stays deep in my heart. However, this writing article is one way to remember him, to thank him for his generosity. Since then, I’ve never mistaken a private car for taxi. But how I wish I’d mistake it again and again. Perhaps I would meet him.

Setting the right precedent?

The picture below I took during the DPT's first convention meeting at YDF, Thimphu on April 28, 2013. More than a hundred of cars (mostly the big ones) of DPT members and supporters were parked and lined up from the Swimming pool until Changangkha.

The other day, this man, Tshering Tobgay, the former Opposition Leader, handed over his official vehicle. He justified that the country’s economic was in a bad shape and buying a new set of cars for the next elected Prime Minister, Cabinet Ministers, the Speaker, the Chairman of the National Council, and the Opposition Leader would cost our government huge.  

And now, we see a huge outcry from the DPT supporters and the general public about it. Is it about setting the right precedent for our future policymakers? Does this mean “misuse of political authority” on DPT government’s part? Or is it a political game as our country nears the next elections?

Only time will tell.

Note: Second photo: BBS.

On walking

I’ve been waiting since a very long hour. Also, I was praying - earnestly though - this rain to stop. So that I’d take a walk in my neighborhood. It’s only in the early evening that the downpour was done. The grey clouds were pulled back on the mountaintops. And Thimphu valley appeared starkly beautiful, clear, fresh - after the rain.

I slipped on my fuzzy slippers, and instantaneously ventured out on a walk. As I walked, I was greeted by the brilliant green leaves of the trees, raindrops sprinkling on them. The flowers, on both sides of the footpath I walked, were blooming to their fullest. Summer was abundant, everywhere. Oh, how much I admired it! 

A little over a handful minutes of walking, I reached a tiny hamlet, perched on a gorgeous hill. A few huts, scattered over the hill, honorably owned the hill. Each hut was all surrounded by small gardens of potato and maize. It’s a peaceful place, even dogs here didn’t bark at you. The peasants were gracefully weeding and digging their gardens for the new cultivation.

I came across a middle-aged woman. Seated on a wooden tool, at her courtyard, she was reading a non-formal education textbook. I smiled at her. She looked me full in the face and smiled back, shy. And she continued reading, keenly. Deep inside her shy smile, I saw her insatiable determination to learn, read and write. Yes, even at this old age.    

I was genuinely humbled by this village, by its simplicity and beauty. Immediately, I removed my slippers. And I walked barefoot on the footpath, on soil that was slightly muddied by the rain. Ah, I loved this feeling of my feet on soil. It felt so good, so natural. It’s been so long that I didn’t walk barefoot. Like this.  

Continuing the walk, I came across a bunch of young nuns stuffing themselves on ice creams. As soon as they saw me, they hid their ice creams. “Taking ice creams la?” I asked them just out of courtesy. They giggled and gave out a small laugh, shy - their eyes all glittering. Then, I met a group of boys playing soccer on an open ground. I joined them and played this beautiful game - sweating, laughing. So much joy and fun.

I returned home, feeling elated and deep at peace. This simple solitude walk and noticing minute things taught me the power of opening my eyes and it fed my soul. Simple thing has the capacity to work magic. Only if you let it happen. 

Note: I took these pictures on my phone.

No women elected in the NC Elections 2013

                                          Pic: Two women contestants of Zhemgang lost to Pema Dakpa

It’s quite surprising. Not a single woman was elected on the National Council Election 2013 poll day yesterday. It means that the National Council Parliament will not have any elected women representatives.

It worries me, and I hope same to you. Will this undermine the voices of women? I feel that women’s representation in the parliamentary is utmost important because over 50 percent of the total population in Bhutan is women. Moreover, our women need many of their issues and expectations be addressed and met. Empowering them is another desired need.

Out of 67 Candidates who contested in the National Council Elections 2013, five were women. Now it calls for greater participation of women in the elections and policy making. Women need to come out of their “comfort zone”, be courageous, take risk and participate in the elections. Only through political participation,  you can achieve what you want to call “women empowerment” and “gender equality”.    

However, there’s one last hope for women - that our His Majesty the King has power to elect five more members of parliament in the NC. I hope HM’s decision would solve this problem. 

For the NC Elections result, link here: http://www.kuenselonline.com/ncresults/index.php

Casting vote based on my mother’s recommendation

This morning, I received a phone call from my mother. All my parents live in a beautiful village called Chuzargang in Sarpang. It’s two-hour walk from Gelephu town.

But this is quite unusual of my mother. She asked me which National Council candidate was on my mind to cast on my vote for. I replied her, reflecting hard, “I haven’t yet decided on it. I am still thinking over it.” Three days to the 2013 NC Election, and here I couldn’t decide my vote.

There are five aspiring NC candidates contesting from my dzongkhag. That’s all what I know. I had never expected that I would be so poor in making the choice of my NC candidate this year. I don’t know much about them - their aspirations and manifestoes. I haven’t met them in person, too.

I read about them on newspapers, about their CVs and manifestoes. But I can’t really make up my mind to vote based on these materials. The brutal truth is that I missed the debate of the NC candidates contesting from Sarpang dzongkhag.

I blame myself for this because I was in a meeting that evening. But I too blame the ECB and BBS TV for the poor show management. Due to lots of distractions in between the debates, the shows have become way longer and inconveniencing for viewers.

I know that to understand the strengths of each contesting candidate, to make informed decisions and vote for the right candidate is imperative. But it’s also the duty of the ECB and other relevant agencies to facilitate and advocate better participation of general public in the politics.

My mother continued, “Vote for…That person is really good.” So here, I’m casting my vote based on my mother’s recommendation.

Photo courtesy: BBS

Dear Seday

I’m covering a book here – a gorgeous book by dear Bhutanese friend, Ugyen Gyeltshen. Dear Seday. The title of this book says it all - it’s a novella written in the epistolary style. To my surprise, the entire book is one letter. This letter, yes, this book astoundingly chronicles the author’s remotest memoirs, his delicious childhood days.   

Should you wish to read this book, I drop a few more lines here. Its narration though. Nadola, 32, is the protagonist in the story. He works as a road supervisor at Thrumshingla Pass. It’s “pouring rain” one day and the road gets blocked.

On that day, at that moment, he sees Seday, his high school sweetheart, inside a car stranded on the roadblock. By the way, he hasn’t met her for the past 15 years. It makes him jump in the rain. And instantaneously, he starts writing a letter to her.

He tells his readers that this letter “should have been written fifteen years ago.” It hits you with a fresh curiosity. Why he didn’t write it before? What has happened in their love? How they separated? Does he still yearn for her love? Many questions roll on your head, and this would urge you to turn pages of this book one by one until you know what happens to the last word on the last page.   

And his letter to Seday is this gorgeous book, Dear Seday!

As Nadola writes the letter, the book moves slowly, sumptuously, across the terrain of different places and time – his life’s journey that he has travelled in the last 15 years. And everything in the past unfurls. It takes you back to 15 years of time in a lovely place of the Khaling countryside in eastern Bhutan where Nadola is born and raised. Through his story, the book depicts the typical Bhutanese life in the rural farms and the difficulties of rural parents to send their children to school.

You would be brilliantly amazed at the way Ugyen Gyeltshen could remember and write down all his childhood and school memories. This is, indeed, a strange talent. He brings flashbacking everything; moreover, he has woven all that together beautifully, humorously. His first encounter with television. Nicknaming teachers. Night hunting. Digging in girls’ garbage. Befriending school cook for foods. His crush on Seday.   

Let me tell you one more thing. His words are full of bluntness, straight and punctuated with honesty in this raw and beautiful book. You’d feel like you’re listening to one of your best buddies. So much of his book reminds me of what was my childhood. It seemed to me that I was reliving my childhood life once again. And the story he narrates becomes a part of mine too.

This book is more than a love letter to Seday. It’s also about the change of time - from adolescent to man, from remote to urban, from being naïve to facing the reality, from being young and shy to growing old and truth-telling.

Final words. I almost can’t tell you more about this book than ‘read it’. I will tell you why. Because Nadola, the main character of the book, is so humble and dear to us that you would simply accompany him to the end.

About author: Ugyen Gyeltshen is an engineer by profession. Today, he is happily married. His second book is almost complete, and will be launched very soon. He is on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/Tukuli. Know more about Dear Seday: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Dear-Seday

Alcohol problem in Bhutan

Yesterday when I was going through my pictures that I took in the last one year I was quite surprised.  I have taken pictures of these people. All of them were drunk, lying in the Thimphu Street. And here Sonam Jatso has rightly pointed out:

"We need to deal with alcohol problem in our country soon. It is destroying our people—our families, our youth, our children, and our society. I hope and pray that the next government—elected leaders and parliamentarians—takes this up on a top priority."  

 

Note: The last two pictures were taken by Sonam Jatso and Tashi Namgay respectively.