Losar: Bhutanese New Year

Greetings and happy Losar to all!

Recently, BBC covered Chinese New Year, which is believed to be a month of the highest mass migration of people. About 1.3 billion people migrate annually for the New Year celebration in China. Bhutanese New Year may not be known to the world yet, it is a joyous occasion for us.

My dad hardly cooks and when he does, everybody would savour items he prepared. Losar is one of the occasions he does. The day would start with my dad waking earlier than mom for the first time in a year. By the time he wakes us, we would be greeted by pepper-scented porridge. There would be two pots of porridge ready-to-serve categorizing each for vegans and non-vegetarians.

Every member would dress up to their best and sit together forming a circle of about 3 m dia. Our uncle and aunt would break the lists of guests we expect with their porridge and of course, Bangchang (locally brewed soft wine). The talk at our first gathering for the day would center about what one plans to do for the day. My dad always had tentative programs while brothers normally opted for either Khuru (traditional dart) or archery. Girls would prefer shouting with their friends playing Kolokpa (game played with large seeds of some perennial vines).

Lunch would gather us again. No matter in what financial situation my dad happened to be, he would prefer lavish cuisines for the day. Pork, beef, fish and chicken if possible, would make one of the best days of the year. Unfortunately, everybody used to be filled with sight rather than amount.

My brothers and I would visit our neighbours with a plate of our day’s items. We just have to hand over a plate and literally, they would find ‘this is ours and what’s your’ inscribed over our brows; uncovered with our smiles. They would unload and fill the same plate with their items. Way back to home often used to be slower for us; we would inspect what is different and appealing in their offer.

The archery ground right below our home used to host many ardent players and some oldies who used to be the champions of the game. Those oldies would instruct the archer; vicariously enjoying an archer’s hits and lamenting his misjudgments. Some workaholic men would change their status to alcoholic on that day; often acting something unexpected.

The most interesting part of the day is the evening. All boys and girls would gather and start dancing in every house (one could say a traditional jam session of our village). Clumsiness after visiting two to three houses on that day never used to drag criticism or rather advice; be it from parents. It is a day in 365.

Young people would be joined by some oldies (ones they could walk and spare sleep). My dad used to be oldest active member of the group. His endless songs would always keep us busy and often endangering us of cramps. By midnight, we would have visited almost half of the village and received what every household has in store for us. Bangchang usually used to rule our night. We would continue till morning and would disperse with sore throat yet, filled with joy.

This Losar shall be different one. My dad is alone at home for some reason and his day will be never be same and so is ours. I will be missing him and his tireless efforts to make this day memorable one for all of us. I would like to join rest of my brothers and sisters in wishing him a joyous day. A happy celebration to all my village folks and let us pray that we will celebrate together in future with all beautiful traditions of ours! 

Don’t Call Unkaal

It has been two years studying in India and, until recently, I came to know one more thing about Indians. They don’t like (probably, may not be all) being “UNCLE.”

Back in my country, Bhutan, uncle is the most abused title given to almost all elderly masculine folks. Especially, those brought up in urban areas have habit of calling uncle to almost all man with whiskers or not. Women are known for gentleness and in Bhutan; they use the word uncle as part of their courtesy. However, this may not be applicable to all, but I am sure about an abundance usage of the word.  If we happen to be in Thimphu, you will see how Bhutanese use uncle lavishly.

“Uncle, Babesa,” calls a girl from Babesa to taxi driver.

“Uncle, Tashi is beating me,” complains Tashi’s playmate to his dad.

“Uncle, no discount?” asks a customer at shops.

“Uncle, doma?” approaches vendor at bus stations.

Similarly, in many occasions, uncle is an integral part of our everyday conversation. Owing to the dual materialistic nature of nature, aunty has been explored in same line. I know that words like ‘Acho’ and ‘Azhim’ do have good stand, but not to the extent of uncle and aunty.

It was on one of the Sundays where I happened to visit a shop in our local market. There were two girls visiting the same shop. As usual, those girls with their Bhutanese look already made my morning. North eastern part of India has girls of our look. They wanted to recharge their mobiles probably; they wanted to heat up their mobiles on that day calling whosoever.

“Uncle, Vodafone,” uttered the taller girl with recent made reddish hair. I could see how happy her hairs were to reflect gentle morning rays. While another one was busy taking out her pink purse. Her handbag was pink and when she took out her pink purse from it, it was beyond one’s doubt to deduce her favorite colour. She gave me pinkish smile which was something I liked about her conviviality.

“Bhaya, Airtel.” I said following them.  The man instantly worked for me unexpectedly. Those girls were earlier than me. I pressed my number and as and when I passed back his old mobile, I saw some graffiti behind him on the sky-blue wall. “Don’t call Unkaal.” I smiled to myself. Unfortunate girls didn’t see his warning. As I was making way out of the shop, another man came with an utterance of “Bhaya, Airtel.”

After that day, I started being conscientious in addressing people. I was curious to learn the common trend in the area, so I started listening cautiously to the words people around me use.

“Hey, big bro.,” say students from African nations to their seniors and elders.

“Dah, kaho?” say friends from Nepal and Darjeeling.

“Arai, Bhaya,” say friends from India.

By then I realized how Bhutanese would annoy my young friends. They have very good coverage of hairs. The world of fraternity seemed more appealing to people around me. 

Letter from Son

Mr. Penjore receives an epistle on one of the afternoons. It is hazy afternoon and the hectic lunch makes it somniferous. When their messenger comes in, he collects letter lethargically. The temperature is high and fans are dangling over head calling for the power. ‘BPC,’ utters Penjore spreading lapels of his gho. Afternoon office hour for him is drowsy. He keeps the letter casually on his lacquered desk not even daring to read. Penjore looks up to the fans, the source of relief against scalding heat. He leans back against the cushioned chair.

‘Hmm…the address is correct,’ hums Penjore to himself. Heavily, he stretches his dexterous left hand to pick up the letter and sees something scribbled at the back side of an envelope.

‘From your son?’ reads Penjore with an unusual frown. It enervates him instantly. There seems no comfort in leaning against thick cushion. Penjore tries hard to predict the sender. He thinks that it must be his friends trying to prank and make his dull noon lively. Penjore, father of three gorgeous daughters giggles and opens the letter conscientiously. With curiosity at its climax, he reads the letter with an utmost attention. It reads:

Dear Father,

I am sorry if I ever don’t deserve to address you as father. It is how I was made to understand through all my road of education that parents, irrespective of their conduct, are still parents. With these instincts, I am quite confident that you wouldn't mind my reference you as father. Though you never fathered me, you are still my dad.

When I was in sixth grade, I knew the meaning of the word ‘Bastard’ (too young at my age to contemplate) when one of my seniors referred me as ‘the bastard.’ Thank you, you taught me words beyond my reach.

As per my birth certificate, I was born on 25^th July, 1986 in small, remote village at Pemagatshel. My mom, Thukten Choden has brought me up to all this way. She had woven clothes (more than an ordinary woman can weave) for my education. I was brought up indifferently like those who have masculine earners. There were no genuine financial shortcomings in my schooling. I had all what school’s norm demanded and everything was smooth despite few unavoidable falls (which I believe happens to affluent children too). Through her strenuous effort and immortal determination, I got to learn many lessons. We educated thinktanks should not ever underestimate poor, uneducated, vulnerable to many lecherous masculine folks, and dull village woman. I got to learn that as much as opulent sections have their way of celebration, penury folks do.

When I was in 10^th grade, there was an open essay competition in my district. The topic they selected was ‘the role model of my life.’ You know, I wrote about you. You were my role model for all these years. Sometimes, I wonder myself thinking the lessons I learnt without you. Had you been with me, I wouldn’t have learnt these things. You have been a great teacher and still you are. I wrote about how you taught me to be a man when it’s age to be a child. You taught me to be emotionally strong whenever I have to fill your name in CVs. People often called me ‘Golapo’s son’ and I trained myself to remain calm as I don’t actually become what they call me. Few friends, when they were angry, called me bastard. I swallowed the word and later it was easy to accept the word. Whenever I had shopping to do in faraway places, I used to go with my friend’s dad. Your absence taught me the alternative uses. Anyways, this is all I wanted you to know. I am doing fine and as news, I graduated recently and now I am a simple teacher. I convinced my mom to spend rest of her life with me and she does fine with me.

Lastly, you must know that I am not against what you have done. The society you grew must have added value over you. I would like to wish you success in every plan you draw. Under the grace of the God, may you have happy life!

With Love,

Yours Son.

P.S: I would be grateful if you could send your new ID photocopy to Punakha HSS.

Sweats trickling through his cheeks, Penjore folds letter exactly the same. The UPS under his desk beeps time and again. He kicks the UPS hard enough to disconnect. ‘Huh,’ says Penjore. He tries to recapitulate his moments of tour to a village in Pemagatshel 27 years ago. He thinks it is too old to be in his RAM, but it comes like it was just yesterday. He finds 10,000 he paid to Thukten is too less to bring up a boy. The light comes and he connects to his monitor. The screen warns him about his rough shutting down. He taps the enter button to start the computer normally and opens files randomly without an objective.

 

Letter of Reminiscence

The following is the letter I wrote in Nov, 2011. Mr. Yang T Dorji, the then principal of Nangkor Higher Secondary School had chat over facebook with me. It was his idea to inspire students of Nangkor with the letter from its alumni. I wasn't sure how far i inspired them, but it was rejoicing having got the chance. 

Sam Higginbottom Institute of Agriculture, technology & Sciences

Allahabad,

Uttar Pradesh.

Date: 1/11/2011

My dear principal, teaching staff, supporting staff and colleagues,

It gives me an immense pleasure to join you all in wishing our fifth Druk Gyalpo and Her Royal Highness Azhi Jetsun Pema in your UNESCO newsletter. Kindly give me chance to wish them. I join you in wishing them a successful life and prosperous life. May Bhutan be all the time a peaceful nation with happy citizens under their generous guidance! May she be the heaven on the earth with intact environment and rich biodiversity! May all people in Bhutan find happiness under their farsighted visions.

The memories of Nangkor are so fresh to me and will be fresh for me in times to come. Thanks to all of the faculty members, principal, non-teaching staff and students for making me realize the need of leadership quality, peer working and co-operation in team work. With countable falls, me as president of Student Governing Body (SGB), we made everything end successfully with the year 2010. I remember who I before was and who am I now. I take pride in what am I in terms of attitude, working ethics, socialization, integrity and aptitudes now. What I am now is what I learnt in Nangkor. This is tribute to all my teachers and friends who were beside me in all weathers. Today, I am here in my college with same confident as other students. I stretch my neck with confidence. If some of you see me here, you will notice trace of Nangkor in my confident eyes.

How about your studies my friends? I am sorry I couldn’t wish my colleagues of X and XII in your trial, moreover, I was engaged in my mid semester examination. Hope this is not proving you all as the lamest excuse after all; exams are the important part of our life as learner. Anyways let us forget that. Let me assume by now you all are studying hard, right? I am happy if you all started working hard but remember I will be happier if you all learn systematically. Remember all students study hard for board exams but few make it through. No magic is involved in it. It’s the system one adopts for learning that make them excel in studies. Our principal used to say us last year and hope he does same this year. He used say us how it is not good to read too much for too long and how effective it is to concentrate fully for thirty minutes. Hope you are following his advice and it the peak of pyramid if you consider studying method is pyramid. Refer past questions paper and identify the areas vital for examination which we often find it as the least important part. That’s true I found as I passed through the stage you all should pass this year. Helen Keller writes in her autobiography: “Yesterday has gone forever! Tomorrow will never arrive, but today is yesterday’s tomorrow within your reach. What are you doing with it?” She questions us. Sometimes such words from great people are reminding us in many areas. Do what you can do today itself. Procastination is one of the main reasons making people poor performer. We all have same brain; let us make use of it. I may be sounding like blowing my trumpet; it’s not of my concern if my words bring little changes in one among hundreds of you.

Friends don’t be tensed for your board examination as it is not the Battle of Chanlingmaithang but do take it seriously for it will be deciding who you will be in future. Please do take my words as not advice but I would appreciate all my friends if you take it as reminder. Remember sometimes you will learn a lot from reminder. Is a falling apple an advice for Sir Isaac Newton on gravitation? It was reminder for him that objects fall all the time towards earth. That reminded him of earth’s gravitational pull. Take many things as reminder and try to learn something for life is full of learning. Learning ends when your ventricles stop pumping blood.

In conclusion, I would like to thank all my teachers, supporting staff and all my dear friends for being somebody important part in my life. It is tribute to all my teachers for all I am. I had wonderful experience working with you all and these memories will always adorned my memory cells till it functions. Happy teaching career for my teachers, best of luck in your coming exams for my friends and let us jointly pray for long live to their Majesties. Thank you, principal for offering me the opportunity.

                                                                                                                 With love,

                                                                                                                 Chezang Dendup

                                                                                         BSc. Agriculture

SHIATS,

    

Golden Oldie

As a young, I loved sleeping near my grandpa, Khando Tshewang. His endless stories were the most enjoyable and at reminiscence of his tale, it is still rejoicing. I would spend long hours listening to his story and vicariously, enjoying with the joy of characters and paining with the sufferings of characters. His stories were more of emotional that immortalized those stories passing orally through many generations. My Maymay’s (my paternal grandpa) was an adroit narrator. He had different versions of narration as per the listener. I used to get the story characterized by the profusion of detail owing to my intermittent enquiry. Those were the times I loved my Maymay as a narrator.

Maymay Khando

Later, when I attained reasonable age, with my Maymay still healthy, there was a lot of story about my Maymay. I not only enquired his age mates but also Maymay himself. His years of darkness were rather important to be recorded not as his grandchild but as succeeding generation too.

My grandpa was faithful and loyal man. His loyalty and faithfulness were often used by our village heads abusively. In his time, village heads so-called Garpa, were the lions in villages.  They had power of king as they were the only educated (in Dzongkha) folks. Their authority over people was huge that my Maymay endured for long years of his life. When I make critical analysis now, I feel my Maymay so loyal who served his leaders with utmost dedication.

My grandpa was known for his strength. It is said that he was the strongest man in his community. H e was a man who could easily carry 80kg of rice from Assam till our village (a day long walk). Tightly tied in the jute sack, rope over his shoulder and propping belt on his head, my Maymay used to see only the dust–ridden path to our village. Every male in his village envied his strength not his intelligence.  Some wise village men including my grandpa’s own brother never carried huge loads like my Maymay. They were involved in business. They carried light paper money back home. But my Maymay was strong who liked carrying huge loads just for few pennies cheaper in Assam.

Later, one of the village heads knew the strength of Maymay. He started using abusively. Labour tax in those time was as popular as PIT as of now. No household would escape labour tax unless you raise a pig for government (Garpas).

One day, one of the Garpas went to Dewathang for meeting and instructed my Maymay to come with his pig till Dewathang, two days later. The pigs raised in name of government were exchanged with rice by Garpas for his family. Assam was near Dewathang and they could easily get huge amount of rice with the fat pig raised by innocent villagers. Everyone in village knew their megalomaniac heads, yet none could complain. It was only the waste of time going to the court with complains. The court was at Zhongar (Mongar at present).

As ordered, my Maymay had to carry 60 kg live pig to Dewathang. With the help of his village men, they packed live pig in huge bamboo-woven basket. Poor creature started moving violently. With indisputable strength, my Maymay tied tightly to his back. With few wishes from his mates, he started his tedious journey. It was a journey which would take him one and half day. Solitary traveler in the elephant infested jungle was not fun. Moreover, the unfortunate pig kept moving; yanking for life. The village head would fetch huge amount of rice taking unpaid pains of my Maymay.

On the way, the pig moved convulsively, often threatening my Maymay’s life. The seldom trodden road was huge obstacle for my grandpa. When he reached Lazor Braag (The rocky steep slopes at Lazor), with the pig’s jerk, my Maymay was about to fall off the cliff. He became so furious that he cursed his head man. The anger he threw towards the innocent pig rather amplified the movements.

Finally, taking his large family in account, he slaughtered the pig. It gave him comfortable load. He carried the carcass so easily that 60 kilograms was nothing to the Hercules of my village. When the village leader heard the incident, he became so furious that my Maymay had to plead like a beggar. Later, when the village head came back from Dewathang, my Maymay was sued against disobedience. There is story that my grandpa had to give away a cow as the compensation for his misconduct.

The barren area as you can see in my grandpa’s head; it was the result of the load he carried. I am not sure what made him in that form, but he says it was the load. I go with his words.

When I hear such stories, I feel my generation as the lucky one. We now have the right to speech and we are never treated in that form. Knowing history heightens my sense of belongingness to my community.

I pray for my Maymay’s long life. He is 84 now and for your surprise; he collects firewood at present too. That’s his passion to carry loads!

Sonnet for my love

This is for you!!

That was a bud of an early spring

Calling the time for its youthful bloom

Wasn’t that bee lucky, though got sting?

For he knows the beauty without a zoom

That was the moment that bee nourishes

The summer shouldered its heavy duty

And the bud ruptured to a pretty thing

The bee hid his sting to show its purity

And flew the pretty thing like a king

Neglecting the world that surrounds it

The flower promised for its nectar

And the bee swore for its devotion

Their union walked up to this way

And they pray to walk till they stay

-Chezang

Magic of Football

From the moment I took interest in football, I realized that there are many magic involved in it more than what i thought earlier. By now, it has been almost three months playing football almost every evening. I thought it involves not only the skills to dribble and score goal which are both out of me. But now i am realizing what many things are involved in football. I am describing here the magic of football I discover though I am an amateur player as of now.

1. Punctuality: After I got scolded for most of the time turning out late in the field, I learnt that punctuality is must in football because football needs same strength of member from both the side. One of the members missing for some time owing to his failure in time management shall not be compromised.

 2. Co-operation: Every member in the team comprises of different strategies and minds but to play football as a team, there should be vibrant cooperation among the players. The team must be united as to stand as an undisputed team. I realized this when some of my friends whom I would like to keep their names confidential, kicked the ball violently displaying their anger for some one in the form of hard kicks.

 3. Interaction and Friendship: Football is not a mute game like chess. We need to talk and play. Every member must talk and there involves interaction. Through this we develop friendship. I realised how football builds friendship. You know, universities have got huge students and campus. We often don't know what is happening beyond our world. It is only through football that I got to know some Iraqi,Afghan, Nepalese, Libyan and all.....

 4. Activeness: The player is expected to be active in handling the ball and passing it to friends of same team. Activeness is almost 50% in the match. I felt this essence after my friends reminded me of my lethargic tactics in the game.

5. Exercise: After playing football i felt the lost of few pounds in my weight especially the thick belly I had.