The Grace of a Chilli

There was nothing special than normal days’ menu for today’s curry. They served us potatoes, as usual, with lots of water. But, unlike the other days, I ate two plates of food today. My stomach is full and I am gong to sleep contended. I am sure I will have a great night tonight.

Image from Google.com

This is what I have been trying every day: to eat to my heart’s content and have a sound sleep. If you sleep hungry, I know from my experience, you will never be able to fall asleep. The moment, you try to close your eyes, the hunger pang, from your stomach will ring an alarm bell. But owing to the “not so good” curry that I get in the hostel, I have often had had to sleep half-hungry.

In a hostel like this, you get nothing special. Whatever the mess gives you is all you are entitled. There are hotels nearby where good food is served but to eat from there you need to have enough, as many people call, Kunga Doendrup (Kuenga meaning loved by everyone, and Doendrup meaning able to achieve our purpose) in your wallet. However, hailing from a poor family, this has never been my case, even in my dreams.

The food made at home is delicious, be it sweet or sour. But my parents are far away from my reach. Those parents who reside nearby our hostels bring food and feed their sons and daughters. They (my friends) go home on the weekend and spend quality time with their parents while having good food prepared by their mother. But for a person like me, who comes from far away forests in the eastern jungle, this has never happened to me. Some weekends, I feel like waiting for someone to come and pick me up for home but that would be a madness. The God would be surprised if at all someone should pick me up for dinner. The wise thing for me is to eat what I get from here. This is what I am destined for. If I do not have more than potatoes to chew, my fate must be only for that.

   

We had holidays for three days on the account of Thimphu Tshechhu. Almost all of my friends have gone home. I was at the hostel trying to swallow, down the throat, the food I hated. Yesterday I tried to eat but after a few mouthful of food, I could not. Today my mess in-charge gave me a piece of chilli and this pulled in, voraciously, two plates of food. It was a great feast for me.

Even if you have nothing more than a piece of chilli to eat, this means a great delicious food for the poor hostel dwellers like me who are deprived of home foods. 

Accept 'em Back Into Your Heaven, O Lord!

Your creation stands unparalleled,

My Lord! This second heaven;

Is indeed a better home to be dwelled,

I stand aghast and mesmerised

With my heart sweetly surprised,

You have woven artistically;

rivers, mountains, forests and creatures.

  

The history has a rueful story to tell

Of you creating and leasing the land to them,

The rude owned, modified and now sell

Your world for his own benefit,

Welshing your deal; making life unfit

O Lord! Throw the justices' stem,

And equalise them, O Benefactor!

Innocents are searching you, The Creator

Days and nights—from set to dawn—

The mundane world's inspirer.

On earth, they won't find you, I know

Unless they themselves find them now,

Come lord, descend gently down

Know your mistakes of early leaving.

What's the need of having you, My Lord

If you are a lord of no goodness,

There are rascals to kill and places to filter;

Not the villages' innocents and their homes,

Be selective Lord, in planting human genomes;

Understand me Bush's rudeness and Binladen's madness

Chinese's stubbornness and Dalai Lama's struggle.

Come on Lord, tell me what I ought to do,

Make use of your power—omniscience,

Not even a second's ado

Or the world shall burn in red,

Show me where beasts fled

What's nuclear? What's science?

Give me light, Give me Wisdom, My Lord!

What blessings does a straw-made God possess?

A shapeless mud? A ringless wood?

Connecting our hearts to you has a long process

For stones resembling you are born heartless,

They pray you My Lord—truly limitless—

As you were once sung by Milton;

What if you alter your woeful mood, forgive,

And accept them back into your heaven?

Do Not Talk About Happiness, Let Happiness Talk

It was raining heavily and I was thinking to take a nap when my friend invited me to the city last day. I could not deny him but readily accept to be in the town not later than 30 minutes. Looking for an umbrella and finding none, I left for town in the rain. I took a taxi and reached the city, Thimphu town. The taxi dropped me at the city bus station.

I was half drenched as I had walked up the road in the rain to catch a taxi. When I reached the city bus station, there were people who were fully drenched  by the rain. The small spaces that the shops in the premises had were all occupied by the first comers and the late comers had no option but to remain the rain until the bus arrived.

Bangalore City Bus Station: Where you can wait
comfortably and board easily. 

One of the passengers waiting for the bus was an elderly woman with her two or three month old child in her arms. Except for a towel, she owned nothing. No umbrella. Her child was wrapped with the towel and she stood in the rain. She was shivering coldly. At another point, a school going child had come back from his school. He wore a mud stinted shoe with shabby Gho. He carried a bag that, I assumed, contained books. He was wet. And his bag was wet too.  

Similarly, many were standing in the rain. Buses did not return fast. I watched them in the rain for about half an hour. I too stood drenched with them. It was at that moment that I recalled how well passengers in the foreign countries are treated. They not only have efficient bus services but also good waiting halls/rooms (in case they have to wait). Even along the road, where there are bus stops, they construct good sheds with chairs fixed. One can sit, relax, read and write while waiting for the bus.

But this is not the case in our country. Forget about building sheds in the city bus stop spots,   along the highway, not even a shelter do we have in the main station where hundreds of people wait daily for the buses to get home after their work in the evening.

I wished for waiting rooms built by the concerned authorities, where by passengers could not only protect themselves from cold rain but also sit comfortably and read papers to spend the otherwise wasted time in fruitful manner.

We talk about building five star hotels and instituting mega projects in our country but we have forgotten (or do not consider at all) what people need in reality. We talk so much about happiness not knowing how happiness can talk so much. We have gone abroad preaching GNH. When they come to Bhutan, believing what we teach, they see such "unhappiness" in the country and thus turn away from us. We are making ourselves fail. It is always wise for a small country like ours to talk small and begin from small. 

It is a wonder for me to see that our city is naked and unprotected. Is it because GNH people love rain and enjoy being in the rain (and scorching sun during sunny day)? Or is it because people are happy when they are kept standing in the rain? 

Generation’s Flag Hoisted: Thanking My Savior

Even as I walk amid thousands of graduates, I sense, within deep inside me an unfathomable emotion that oozes out from my elated heart. These emotions, as torrential as summer’s flood, are powerful enough to erode every unforgettable troublesome situation of my school days to transform into several yet tiny precious tears that drenches my face. It has been a long wait and arduous journey to reach the present stage. If my father was alive, how happy he would have been to learn that his son has successfully acquired the highest qualification from whole of his past and present lost generations.

Today I call my mother far away in the darkness over the phone to inform her that I am one among 1800 graduates and I find her speechless. May be she wanted to say that she has finally been successful in pushing me up atop the hill with other affluent children. May be she wanted to congratulate me but her heart seems not ready as she had reared no dreams of anyone from her family to be successful in pursuing the road of so-called bourgeoisies. I could only hear her sobbing incessantly over the phone.

My success is my mother’s. Ever since my father passed away the society named her ‘widow’ and her sons (me and my brothers) ‘orphans’. We were seven brothers, strong to serve the country, when born.  However the opulent disease took the handsomest three and the other three while negotiating with the death got handcuffed to the mud. No prophets must have ever liked to prophesize that the weakest like me would ever make to the top.

Obtaining degree is no longer a pride for elite urbanites. The path they walk is a lively tune owing to the fact that they have all the supports required. The road I embraced was unthinkably adventurous and heart throbbing. Yet I didn’t stop at the road blocks. I risked my life and broke in with the thought that I must bring what my parents have failed.

Life is difficult when you have to lead a hand-to-mouth existence. You find amusing yourself someday discerning over your inevitably down-trodden status while that very moment is also precious for working for the next meal. While others lived I was looking for my survival.

The pepper (thing-nge) that ripens in summer has been my life joining essentialities during the lengthy summer days. My horse named Sermo has dedicated whole of her life carrying load to earn money for my education. My relatives summed up their forces and pushed me up. I was also supported by my magnanimous Principals (Mr Passang Norbu, Principal of Tashitse MSS; and Mr Namgay Dorji, Principal, Khaling JSHSS). And never to forget what my government have spent for me: I do not know if any government could be kinder than her.

Hailing from a far-flung remote place of abject poverty, pursuing higher education was not a piece of cake. Every step that you take ahead is embroidered with miseries. On my way, I have cried, laughed, suffered and lost hope several times. At one point, I lost my self too.

Today, never to think about future, when I am able to walk at par with the affluent graduates, I feel myself transferred from the ragging inferno of suffering to the beatific bliss of happiness. Though I do not possess more than a paucity of knowledge, I stand all in firm to serve my country to the best of my ability. My degree in an alien land have not only enriched me academically but also in terms of my experience. While I am ready to embark on my own, I also wish my father could know that he also has a son who is a graduate.

“You asked me to keep you proud from your deathbed; I have walked your words and hoisted all generations’ flag. May you be proud forever, Dear Father!” 

Written during the graduate orientation time, 2011

You Are My God, Ama!

Last night, I made a phone call to my mother. She said she was alone at home trying to swallow the hardened maize dough, Bokpee, for her dinner. Tears filled my eyes and I went numb to utter any word. I could not control my emotions and was trying to hold my breath when she asked me how I was doing.

In a broken sentence, jolted by reverberations, I told her, “I am doing well by the grace of you, Ama”.

Ever since, my father died and we left for school, she lived at home alone just like she was the only being born in the entire empty world. She gave birth to seven sons of whom four survived the test of time. She lost her other three sons to deadly diseases as there were no hospitals nearby the village. As a Gomchen family, my father and brothers did not work in the fields. She worked alone to keep us all fed throughout the year.

For so many years, she reached food and drinks to my father’s retreat place. After him, she reached the same to my elder brother’s retreat place. Having to work in the field and look after cows simultaneously, she would say, when she narrates me her life story that she felt like to manifest herself into several persons if at all she had powers. Or be torn into pieces that she could reach all places at one time.

Soon after the elder brother came out of his retreat, she again had to bore the burden of sending her youngest son to the retreat for about six years. In between two of her sons were sent to school (me and my second youngest brother).

With no sisters at home to help my mother, I had to help her cook food and prepare Ara to entertain guests as people use to do in the villages. I am a girl to my mother. As soon as the school is over in the evening, I would rush home and help her with all homely chores.

However in the morning, I would be engaged with my father who would give me teachings and ask me to perform morning rituals. He would not like to see me doing homely chores but sit and recite scriptures. But on the other hand, my mother was in dire need of an extra hand to complete her work. So the only solution for me was to give them each half of my time.    

I remembered all those talking to her over the phone last night. I live in a noisy city but I hear those words succinctly in my ears. My heart is not leaned towards anything but to these beckoning and nostalgic sentiments.

As always, she told me words of courage and hard work. She asked me to study well. “I have wasted my life and could not do anything great”, she said. “You must do well.”

Immediately, I returned her words saying she has done great and achieved many. I uttered the following lines to my Mom:

"Ama, do not ever tell me that you haven’t achieved anything great. I am a proof of your greatness. I am here, at par with all those affluent sons and daughters and this happened not without you behind me. What I have achieved is what you have achieved too. I have been the recipient of the Best Student and this award goes not only to the son but also to the son’s mother. Without your advice and guidance, would I have ever become the best student and a child?

"My father died long ago, when I was in class IV. Troubles of being unable to continue my education began soon after. But you never failed, Ama. Even as a widow, you could push me up the rung when other parents failed. Out of 48 in class PP, I am the only boy who owns a graduate certificate today from our village. This is your strength, a strength that few mothers have. Why are you saying you are weak?

"I have seen the great world through my eyes. But my eyes are not mine: you have given me a share of yours. And you have seen the world through my eyes. You are educated as I am. Ama, you have travelled across the world with me because I carried you always in my heart. They asked me to pray to God and I prayed to you. This is because I believed that there is no greater God than you on earth. You have seen the great palaces, temples and monuments through me.

"Ama, never say that you are unhappy now. I have brought home thousands of reasons to be happy. It is difficult for me to hold tears when I reminisce of our sad past days of abject poverty and penury. Our past was troublesome where you had to dig for roots for dinner but there are some prospects I sense for our future. My only wish is that if I can make you young so that we can begin a new life of joy and die together old. I have no obligations but to take care of you as you have taken care of me when I was young and innocent. I look forward to return you milk for water and life for your love. You are my God, Ama!"  

My mother who hardly weeps started sobbing.    

Persuade Men, Educate Women

Women's sickle in the handle of men's patang: Signifying
the co-existence of men and women in the society. 

On September 1, 2012, KCD Productions launched media programmes aiming at educating women and girls across the country at Terma Linca.

The programme drew lessons from Denmark where there are about 40% of women in the parliament today compared to our 14%. A short documentary film during the programme portrayed women in the highest positions of both the countries expressing their views and opinions of what inspired them to join politics and how proud they are to be one. They sent powerful messages to the women and girls to come out of the cocoon of kitchen to the decision-making table.  It was indeed a bold step taken forward towards realizing the promising future of our women.

However, one thing I observed in the gathering was that men were outnumbered. Except for the media-men, there were only a handful of them taking part in the programme. Those men were either husbands or friends of the women involved in making the document, “La Aum Lyonchhen”. Women were rejoicing, saying, “We have outnumbered men”. “Today is our day.”

But instead of celebrating, I believed there was something to be worried. Men and women in the society are but like the two wings of a bird. If either of the wings is broken, we know that the bird cannot fly. We need both to soar high.

If the organizer had not invited men, then the programme was meant only for women. But how far women are going to remain in their own circles chit-chatting? Will educating women be any help to them when there is a strong jeopardizing force in the society from men? I am certain that educating men to share the homely responsibilities would do great in fostering women’s participation. This is because of the general observation made that women cannot balance home and office life which ultimately leads them to choose one, home.

A man may be a dumb and deaf in the society but at home he is the King. Great many decisions come from him. If we do not “remove” the stereotypical notion and stigma of men who think women should be in the kitchen cooking food, washing utensils and taking care of children at home, no change is expected to be seen. Men will continue to rule and women’s education will remain within her. Therefore, if Bhutan is to see more women participating in politics in the near future, it “must” persuade men and educate women. These are two simple remedies that would turn the society in the direction we want. The programmes must also be aimed at informing men and educating them of how equal gender representation could foster the proper rooting of our young democracy.

On the other hand, if men have not turned up despite invitation, it shows they are least bothered. Unless we make them believe that a woman can do what a man does, we will not be successful in our venture. I see no reason in celebrating for only women being present.

Another change we need is in some of the systems where women are treated not equal to men. Systems, if not updated are store houses of mistakes. We must clean them from time to time. Whenever I talk of gender equality, I remember my village’s incidence. In my village, if a woman comes to attend the meeting she is fined Nu 10. But if a man comes, however immature he may be, for instance a school going child, he is not fined but considered to be fit to sit for the meeting. Where is gender equality? In such a system, will women ever be able to “feel” equal to men?   

It is therefore important to change the systems and persuade men to do away with their stereotypical thinking. They must give a new dawn of way to our women. If society is conducive, women will rise their own. Needs no quota and favoritism! It is only about small understandings that a husband and wife reach at home that brings drastic changes in the society. At home, the husband must be willing to share some of her homely chores, like cooking food and taking care of the child. A little change from men would do instead of trying to change a great thing in women.

If we are successful in changing the society’s outlook (especially men’s outlook), “La Aum Lyonchhen” can be a reality. But if we fail to alter the way we look at women, it may take decades before we could utter “La Aum Lyonpo”.