Laya Journal- The Last Lap to Laya

‘One day you won’t be able to do this, but today is not that day’

The morning weather was still bad but the news we received was good. Our five member team in Ponjothang has managed to get 15 horses. It was then I wondered how they must have spent their night in that muddy stretch of road. They later told us that they managed to slip into a tent-hostel prepared for the racers who would be spending their first night there.

O' talking about the race, four members from our team had stayed back in Gasa to take part in the Snowman Run. Unlike us they would be beginning the journey from Gasa Tshachu and run the entire stretch of muddy road we had covered in truck. While I had always feared if I would be able to trek to Laya these were the people who decided to run to Laya. God. Later in Laya we would learn that the winners had cover the entire distance in little more than four hours, which I took nearly sixteen hours. How did they do that?

From Koina it was a steep ascend but the track was fairly good compared to the stretch below Ponjothang where even the horses sunk half their body in sludge. Trekking wasn’t as social as I imagined, we couldn’t walk in group and chat; each had to maintain their own pace and it was a lonely affair. My heartbeat was the loudest sound I could as I inched my way up the hill, often thinking if I should wait a while for the person behind me. Then the internal dialogue began, I was in conversation with myself. Reviewing my life and debating over issues, big and small. Settling matters I had at hand, negotiating with myself and forgiving people, feeling grateful and even composing songs. Ok so that was the reason people go on trekking, to catch up with their inner selves.

When the board meeting within me had started I was lighter on my feet. I frequently had to take breaks from my inner meeting to greet young Layaps descending down to Gasa to take part in the Snowman Run. Looking at the way their feet were negotiating with the mountain trail I knew this race was theirs.

Upon reaching the final curve, from where I could see the Mo-Chhu river down below, the path gradually descended along the hillside. The view from that point was spectacular on the north and the south, stretching endlessly. Across the river it was all gigantic mountains shaped and colored so differently from anything I had seen before. The path was almost running parallel with the river, which could not be heard yet. Gradually I could hear the river, and then the path ran alongside it.

After recurring ups and down between the hill and river the path opened to a surprisingly wide riverbank. I suddenly felt refreshed and ready to undress myself on the Himalayan beach. Some of my team members who left ahead of me were waiting there, perhaps to share the same thrill they got upon seeing the place. We shared cold drinks and fruits and some of them took smoke break while we waited for the others.

There was a bridge across to the other side and within a hundred meters another bridge brought us back on the same side of the river. Dasho Sangay shared that these two bridges had saved us an extra one-hour trek over the steep mountain. He said this was a luxury Layaps could enjoy briefly during winters and this time it was only possible because of soldiers. Anyway, for horses and horsemen they still had to take that unforgiving detour because the bridge wasn’t suitable for horses.

With my motivation Menda and the mother of motivation Chimi

On my return journey I learned that Aue Nedup of Clean Bhutan, who left few days ahead of us, hadn’t known about the bridges and took the long way across the mountain along with his injured friends who had to be partially carried. O God.

At 40 km point there was a makeshift canteen that served us lunch. We had to decide weather to fuel up here or continue another hour to Tashemakha. By now we stopped trusting locals when it came to distance and time, they would say an hour and we land up taking over four. Before our lunch was served NC Chairperson Sonam Kinga and team arrived. They had begun from Gasa this morning and walked all the way from Ponjothang yet they caught us. I felt disappointed with my speed. As if this wasn’t enough his team left us behind from there. Dasho Sangay excitedly joined his chairperson who said ‘the house moves together’.

Our team from Ponjothang arrived with the horses. My friend Dorji was carrying a bag bigger than himself. He told me that the luggage filled with sleeping bags we had left in Koina couldn’t be adjusted on the horses therefore he had to be the extra horse. I felt bad but I was helpless. To his credit he made it to Laya without a complaint.




The horseman looked familiar to me. I recalled he stopped by at Koina guesthouse last evening. When we requested him to pick up our load from Ponjothang he showed us a chit wherein he was directed to pick up Dzongkhag load. He had no clue about the content in the chit. In desperation I even conspired to change the content of the chit but didn’t actually do it. But now I was wondering who actually changed it? Or could it be that there was not load from Dzongkhag so our team got him? I forgot to ask. I never found out.

Tashemakha was a military base pitched on a low plateau. The place was actually called Tashethang. From there we could see our destination high up on the mountain like a diamond in the sky. While the beauty of the mountain was so inviting the distance was mentally exhausting. The man in makeshift canteen told us that it was just an hour more from here. I knew it meant another four hours, and I was right at my speed it took so much.

The inspiring banner and the inspiring people

Gasa Dzongda must have foreseen that anyone could feel like I did at this point in journey so he had put up a banner here that read, “One day you won’t be able to do this, but today is not that day.” I read it loud and felt it deep. It worked like a dose of steroid in my nerves. We regrouped once for the last time only to be scattered gradually by our pace. Our horses and chef had left us too. Good for us because it meant our tents and food would be ready when we reach up.

The Last Lap to Laya, the destination is hidden among the clouds

That last lap was the most agonizing with our muscles stiffening and the air thinning. I took rest in every ten steps or less. When I saw the historical gate to Laya I fell on my knees. I knew I made it. Just then my team member Ching Ching came running down towards me. She said there was someone on the road, probably drunk. It was Jigme our chef. There went our food! He said something strange happened to him and we blamed his countless bottles. He showed us his bottle, still full, and said he wasn’t drunk. He said the spirits affected him. We half-believed him. He had however delivered his bag with a local friend and even asked to serve us tea and help in preparing our meals.

From the gate to the village was yet another struggle by then the darkness had set in. It was hard to envisage that a village so vast, stretching out across the hill could possibly exist. I couldn’t wait for the morning to see the sheer beauty of this place. But for now where was our camp? The third house called us in for tea. It was Jigme’s loyal friend. We declined knowing that we were so close to our camp. We headed for the huge campsite in the field only to find that it wasn’t ours.

For sometime two of us were lost in Laya. We didn’t have an address to seek direction and no one knew about our team. As we lingered in the dark we heard someone calling out Ching Ching. There we found our campsite. Our tents were still on the ground and Penjor was struggling to set them up. He was the only person other than Aue Karma, who was yet to arrive, who knew how to do it. The horses soon brought down the kitchen tent that he had worked on first. The two of them who had arrived with Penjor were sent back to look for us and the remaining who were still coming. When they returned with the rest of team they thought we didn’t make it. We actually made a wrong entry to the village to be found by the search party.

The kitchen team, even without the chief chef, was quick. After the dinner I went straight into my tent and wrapped myself in the sleeping bag. I didn’t have energy for mischief and even whisky didn’t taste good.

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Laya Journal- Rest Like Zhabdrung in Koina

Our team leader had to take a decision; to wait for horses with the entire team or go ahead of our load. If we had the strength to make it straight to Laya then going ahead won’t be a problem because we would get some sort of shelter and food for the night but if we land up somewhere between nowhere we would be in trouble without tents and ration.

There was no cellular network in the area. (Of course we were told later that there was a small patch of land close by where the non-smart phone could receive network). There was no guarantee the horses would come, and even if horses did come they weren’t like taxi to make endless trips. Animals would need rest.

Five from our team stayed back to wait for the horses and rest of us began our journey. I was separated once more from my two staff. In little more than two rainy hours we reached Koina. This was said to be the place where Zhabdrung took rest during his long flight from Tibet in 1616 and therefore it was named Koina, derived from Ku-nyel-na. The place had a guesthouse for travellers. It was merely a shelter with three empty rooms. Retired army Tenzin and his family who ran the canteen occupied the fourth and fifth rooms.

Leki was the logistical official at Koina for this festival period. He welcomed us with tea and backed it up with a much-needed lunch. It was still early in the afternoon though the overcast weather made it seem very late and it was still possible to make it to Laya or somewhere closer but without any form of communication with our team in Ponjothang we couldn’t risk leaving the shelter in Koina and Leki’s hospitality.

Leki offered us an empty room to crash in for the night in case we had to. We spend the whole afternoon talking about everything like in good old times. We literally relived the legacy of Zhabdrung by taking the longest rest in Koina. People who were there before us left before we finished settling down and others who came after us took brief tea breaks and carried on.

Dasho Sangay talking to Soldiers in Koina Guesthouse

We had all the time for ourselves with nothing to distract us from telling stories of our lives that would otherwise never be told in smartphone era. While we were digging out our memories and laughing endlessly our team leader received the message that he dreaded. There won’t be any horses for the day to bring back our load. But before our smiles faded he announced that Chef Jigme and Artist Dorji from our team in Koina had volunteered to go back to Ponjothang and get us our sleeping bags. I was simply awed by the compassionate courage of these two men to walk back the whole stretch and return with our sleeping bags. I couldn’t thank them enough for the giving us the beautiful night in Koina.

Among the many who came inside the Koina guesthouse that day after us only Dasho Sangay Khandu decided to stay back with us. His entry was the beginning of the next episode of our night in Koina. Taking advantage of our friendship I complained about the road conditions to his Gasa. He said he could only ask for it like the rest us and that it was Lyonpo Damchoe I should complain to. He however said that the having that mere road in itself was a blessing Gasa could enjoy only recently. Gasa had to endured with minimum development because it had been a Dungkhag under Punakha Dzongkha for a long time.

Upon asked how Gasa could even dare to host a festival of this magnitude without having so many basic logistic in place, he said that an able leadership would have the foresight to see order in chaos. While it also seemed like a nice justification to our innate complacency but the words went echoing in my head for a long time. And it made perfect sense to me when I finally saw the magnificence of the festival later in Laya.

Good Night's Sleep in Koina

If it weren’t for that night I wouldn’t know that we still could spend hours at end talking with fellow human beings. If we were dots, our stories were lines connecting them and at the end we were all interconnected. Even our retired solider host wasn’t left out; he confessed he was among the group of soldiers who bashed up Dasho Sangay and Chimi Zom’s mate in Sherbutse. To add special effects to our tales there was continuous supply of beer at much cheaper price than any club in Thimphu. One thing was confirmed, unlike road and mobile network, beer was everywhere. Learn from beer!

No experienced traveller would stay up so late and drink like we did ahead of a long journey but I further proved how big an amateur I was by continuing my night with Leki. Two of us became the voice in the silence of the dark night. Often we could hear giggles muffled in thick sleeping bags indicating some of our roommates were listening to our conversation while still pretending to sleep.When I finally got into my sleeping bag I felt so lonely. The silence in the room was deafening so I said a few lines of humor to check if they were really asleep only to find that all of them were trying hard to sleep. Except for little Menda the rest jumped back in conversation while I quietly slipped away into my dreams. From deep inside my sleep I could hear them curse me for disturbing them.

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Laya Journal- Waking Up in Gasa

October 13, 2016

I woke up early to feast on the magnificence of Gasa. Doctor’s quarter was perfectly located below the Dzong facing the overwhelming mountains. The moment I came out of the door I was face to face with the stunning mountains. The peaks of every mountain looked as if the naughty children of gods playfully handcrafted them.

The next thing I wanted to open my morning eyes to was the Dzong. I had always seen it in pictures, standing against a formidable snowcapped mountain. But to my dismay it wasn’t there. The utse of the Dzong was under renovation and without it, it didn’t quite look like Gasa Dzong.

After a quick breakfast in the same restaurant we had dinner in last night we climbed up to the parking lot near Dzongda’s quarter. The town was no bigger than a small village with single storied wooden huts. Even the bank was housed in one of those fragile structures.




In the parking lot we found out that the road to Ponjothang was too bad for Bolero Campers we intended to take. The only way to get there was in the two military trucks. The parking lot was filled with people who were equally lost and all eyes were on the two trucks. We even heard that our horses were ‘hijacked’ by some teams who went ahead of us, which was a nightmare because we had enough loads for at least 15 horses.





When the military trucks readied for the journey people rushed like herd of wild cattle, each trying to get ahead of the other. Our loads were lying on the road, we were left looking at each other’s faces. There was a big empty space inside the truck but the back entrance was already cramped with people who wouldn’t give us way. These were people from Thimphu known for being so nice in good times. If only they knew that we all must get to Laya anyway.

Utterly disgusted I climbed up on the truck with some force and asked my team to pass in the bags. One by one most of our bag were adjusted but it wasn’t without some resistance from the herd. 

The Third Truck

Third truck appeared in the parking lot. It was a non-military one that won’t make it till Ponjothang but we had to take the chance. It filled up easily and I was in the company of some of my teammates and some other good friends. I thought it was going to be like a nice ride on the back of truck. But the moment truck moved we were displaced from on side to another and everyone bounced in some random pattern. The floor of the truck was a pool of mud and we were careful not to get muddy but after a while we gave up. We were like popcorns in a frying pan; all those branded bags, pants and boots were covered in sticky mud.

Tashi Namgay Kidney being careful

The Rough Ride

Our truck refused to climb somewhere on a steep uphill climb and that was it. The two military trucks waved at us. We dismounted and started walking. Two friends stayed back to with the bags, hoping the military trucks would come back for us. We met a Bolero Camper returning from Ponjothang. How did it make it there? Who said it was impossible? Ok there was no time to repent because we had to request the man to pick up our bags. It was quite a feat to persuade him. When he came back with our bags we jumped in as well and on the way up we witness how his beloved pickup suffered all sorts of damage from the harsh road. Despite everything the man asked for just Nu.1500. Aue Karma T just couldn’t help adding Nu.1000 more for humanity’s sake. 

Dumped on the middle of Nowhere! 

Walking the gap with my team leader Aue Karma T and Aue Sonam (ABTO)

Ponjothang was not a settlement as I envisioned it was just point on the road beyond which the truck couldn’t go. There was a tent serving as makeshift canteen where we could eat for free by showing our official card. For now more than lunch we needed horses and there was none. They told us that it all messed up after 120 horses left for Lunana. Nonetheless they comforted us by assuring that the ones in Laya would be on their way back.

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Laya Journal- Long Road to Gasa

The weather hadn’t been good all week and frequent news of bad road condition worried us. On 12th October morning the sky faked a brief sunshine. We took it as a good sign. Our four cars were loaded with bags and people equally. My two friends Che Dorji and Dorji Phuntsho got into the Bolero Camper that was loaded with camping equipment and ration. I didn’t see them until later at night in Gasa. They made it to Gasa three good hours ahead of us.

I was in a car with three talented gentlemen; Dorji was an artist, Sangay was a musician and Dr. Tenzin whom I knew for a long time was a dentist, dancer, social worker and a good human being. But after Dochula even these three extraordinary companions couldn’t keep me awake because I had seen this stretch of road a thousand times. I wanted to save my wakefulness for the road from Punakha to Gasa, which was a road-not-taken for me.

 

With Trekker 360 in Thimphu

We stopped for lunch in Khuruthang and I was all prepared to enjoy my maiden journey to Gasa. Road to Gasa began all bumpy and miserly squeezed in between steep hill and the roaring Mo-Chhu, with nothing much to see on either side. I waited for some time to see if there was anything else to see besides the raging river but the road continued that way forever. I tried to go back to sleep only to be woken by frequent stops at roadblocks. We could see fresh landslides but thanks to the many dozers deployed to handle the situation across the stretch of the road.

The road didn’t at all seem favorable for Gasa to dare such an event, not even on a normal day. Hundreds of people had to travel on the road that was a ticking time bomb. It was miracle that nothing bad happened. Perhaps this was to let Thimphu feel the pain of Gasa.

We reached Gasa in the darkness of the night. The farmhouse the team had booked was all lite and waiting for us with steaming tea and dinner. Che Dorji had already arranged three of us to put up at his friend’s, who was a doctor in Gasa. Dr. Wangchuk had come to pick his three guests and he knew where exactly to take us for dinner and drinks. Gasa was so alive that night with more people and cars than it ever saw.

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Laya Journal- Excitement in Thimphu

Laya is a beautiful place everyone heard about and most are guilty of not having visited it. It's just there within our reach but many of us have just managed to visit it in the pages of magazines. In few years road is going to reach Laya, and then there is going to be more cars than yaks. Then Laya will be just another place.

Gasa Dzongda, Dasho Dradul briefing BTO team in our office

In August I received a mail from Gasa Dzongda asking my office, Bhutan Toilet Org to take part in Royal Highland festival in Laya. The festival was going to bring in huge number of people to the pristine mountains and the last thing Dasho wanted people to leave behind was their crap all over the mountainside, therefore we were invited.

Preparing for Laya

It was therefore an official invitation to travel to a dream destination. My toilets have taken me to so many places and Laya was literally the icing on the top of the list. But Laya was a beautiful girl protected by deadly father of a journey. My confidence faded at the thought of the arduous journey. I haven't tested my trekking ability in years. The last thing I wanted to be was an extra baggage on my team members.

Checklist

It was 10-year-old Menda who motivated me without saying a word. She had already done Jomolhari trek with her parents and now she was joining us to Laya. I was like a child telling myself, “If this little girl can do it, I should be able to.” It helped.

But soon I had to worry about the travel expenses and logistics. It was again Menda's parents who rescued us. Aue Karma T and Chimi Zom included us in his Trekker 360 team and took the burden of worrying about everything for us. This pro trekking team was scheduled to do Dagala trek this time but when Laya made its calling they changed their mind easily. It was blessing for us. My three-member team only had to report with our stuff in Dorji Elements’ parking lot on 12th October morning. That's it.

NEXT  (Long Road to Gasa)

Civil Society Organizations- Fragments of The King's Dream

The following article was written for The Bhutanese's special issues dedicated to the 10th Anniversary of His Majesty's reign. It was published on 9-12-2016. A week later on the 109th National Day in Trongsa 23 CSOs were awarded National Order of Merit (Gold). 

Read the same article below.

At the World Toilet Summit 2016 in Malaysia members of toilet associations of different countries took to stage and shared great stories about their works but one tragic twist in all their stories was the lack of support from the leadership of their countries. They were yet to convince their leaders on the significance of what they were doing. They were fighting to get their leaders’ attention to their cause.

I was to speak in the afternoon of the second day of the summit. By then people had heard enough toilet stories to have any more appetite. Attending the summit for the first time that was the best slot I could get. But I have enjoyed so much attention in two days just by being in gho. Even before I went to stage hundreds of people took pictures of me or with me. They called me Mr. Bhutan Toilet.

When I finally went to stage that lethargic afternoon I could see that I had all eyes because of my dress. I soon projected the photograph of His Majesty and me on the giant screens across the hall and told them stories of how I have the blessing of my king on what I do. When I told them that His Majesty the King gave me the title ‘Chablop’- The Toilet Teacher, I heard the loudest round of applause in that hall. That made me the only country representative at the summit who, with a little guilt of having to contradict with the rest in the house, spoke proudly about having the support of the King of his country.

When elsewhere in the world Civil Society Organizations fight for benefactions from their countries’ leadership here in Bhutan our leadership inspires people to take up social works. In 2015, during the Royal Bhutan Flower Exhibition in Paro His Majesty said, “Where we live must be clean, safe, organized and beautiful, for national pride, national integrity, and for our bright future. This too is Nation building.”

I was then experimenting with Bhutan Toilet Org as an online campaign but that royal message seemed to me like a personal command. I immediately began working on making toilets across the country ‘clean, safe, organized and beautiful’ and that was the beginning of this long journey I have started.

Who wouldn’t desire for an audience with His Majesty the King, but when His Majesty summoned me during Paro Tshechu I was least expecting it. I knew I didn’t deserve it yet. What I didn’t know was I was summoned to be blessed, to be inspired and to be guided for the long journey ahead of me.

I still have vivid memory of that auspicious moment. Dasho Zimpon made me wait on the bridge. I was the only person kept on the bridge and the next person I would see was His Majesty. I could see thousands of people on both ends of the bridge waiting to get a glimpse of His Majesty. I was frozen. I didn’t move an inch even though no one was watching.

Then came the moment, I couldn’t look up directly but I could make out from the radiance that His Majesty had come. I bowed down to pay my respect and froze back to stillness. His Majesty right away congratulated me on my team’s work during the Tshechu and told me to walk alongside him across the bridge.

I had crossed that bridge thousand times in my life but even in my most beautiful dream I haven’t seen myself walking with His Majesty the King and talking about the work I am so passionate about. I shared Bhutan Toilet Org’s Roadmap and the challenges faced in maintaining public toilets. His Majesty talked about the importance of behavioural change in making our efforts sustainable. The bridge seemed so short that day, at the other end of the bridge His Majesty stopped and shared stories of toilet issues in our country and how thing are in other countries. He blessed me with his guidance and assurance of royal support henceforth. Everything seemed so possible suddenly.

To make this priceless moment live with me forever His Majesty granted a Kupar with me with the permission to share it on social media. It was as if he knew I would need this to remain motivated each day and to influence people around me.

I couldn’t quite convince my mother to appreciate my new work after I left teaching until I sent her my picture with His Majesty. It worked magic with her. She finally began to accept and appreciate my work.

Few months later I received Royal Command to participate in the Royal Bhutan Flower Exhibition. It was only during the last Flower Exhibition that I was inspired work with toilets and now I was going to setup toilets at the event, it was too good to be true. It was granting the biggest platform to showcase ourselves and we took it up with challenge and with great pride.

During the closing ceremony of the exhibition His Majesty made special mention of Clean Bhutan, and Bhutan Toilet Org and it was then that I was granted the title ‘Chablop’. It suddenly made me feel like I was doing a prestigious job. Thereon, it made us glorify the act of cleaning toilets; it felt like an art. We never had a problem looking for volunteers to help us.

Just last month, during the Royal Highland Festival in Laya, I had the fortune of meeting His Majesty again and this time it was right next to the toilets we set up. The first question came as a compliment to our team, “How do you manage to keep the toilet odorless?” We were surprised that His Majesty knew about our knockdown toilets that were travelling places during events. For the King to know about every little effort you make was the highest reward we could ever dream of.

Later at the end of festival, during Civil Society Organizations’ audience with His Majesty I knew how he has been instrumental in the formation of every organization and how they were guided by his vision. It was like we were gifted fragments of his dream with his blessings.

#MyWorkplaceToilet- Do you have access to clean toilet at work?

Lately we have been talking a lot about the horrific condition of our public toilets, now lets talk about toilets in our workplaces. Let me begin with mine; Bhutan Toilet Org office share one unit toilet with our neighbouring office. Five men and two ladies use it. It has running water, working flush, toilet paper, waste bin. What we don't have is stain on tiles, bad smell and wet floor. Oh yes, we don't have wash basin (-1 point). In short our toilet is like the ones you find in three star hotels. Thank you.

How do you manage to keep a three star hotel like toilet in a warehouse like office? Well, thanks to our landlord for building a good structure. They didn't build the toilet as an afterthought. And thanks to us for being the first tenant because good toilet needs good users from the beginning. Maintaining broken toilet is a difficult job. As for daily cleanliness we have the following toilet cleaning roster;

1. Monday: Jigme Nidup Gyeltshen, Program Assistant
2. Tuesday: Tshering Nidup, Program Officer
3. Wednesday: Dorji Phuntsho, Finanace Officer 
4. Thursday: Passang Tshering, Executive Director 
5. Friday: Che Dorji, Communication Officer 
6. Toilet Paper In-charge: Tshering Choden, Executive Secretary, Rotary Club of Thimphu

Actually it's that simple. Now, is it the same in other workplaces? Well, you see most offices have good toilet in the boss's chamber, and the boss doesn't even know where the employees' toilet is. He can only smell it, but his nose is mostly running. Employees blame the cleaner and the cleaner feels people are overreacting. This is the story of most government offices.

Think about the hundreds of construction workers and the mechanics in automobile workshops, do they have access to clean toilets? Even a sorry excuse of a toilet? I often wonder where the people working in hydropower project tunnels do their big business. Of course they are in the tunnel but that's their workplace too. 

First, employers are ignorant that access to clean toilet is a basic human right (perhaps even employees too are ignorant that it's their right to demand) and second, they don't realise that toilet in the workplace could increase productivity. The time wasted by employees in looking for a safe corner to defecate and the sick leave employees take due to illnesses caused by lack of sanitation could be translated into meaningful work if there is easy access to clean toilet in the workplace. 

This year World Toilet Day theme is 'Toilets and Jobs' and in Bhutan we are observing the day by joining the cleaners at Jigme Dorji Wangchuk National Referral Hospital (JDWNRH) to see how a day in their life feels like. Our little cousin Dr. Toilet is partnering with Bhutan Toilet Org to clean up all the toilets in the hospital on November 19, 2016. 49 medical students from RIHS are volunteering with us on the day. 

And for those of you who can't be with us physically, show us your support by sharing pictures of your workplace toilet (with hash tag #Myworkplacetoilet) on our event page. 

To understand how Toilets play a crucial role in creating a strong economy, as well as improving health and protecting people’s safety and dignity, read more on World Toilet Day blog.

Dechen, New Beginning

In April I shared a story of a lost girl called Dechen. I called her lost girl because her father never found her. Perhaps he never came looking for her. Barely 9, it was Dechen who went looking for her father who abandoned her after the demise of her mother. She parted with her brother too. She couldn't find them. But she found many families who wanted to keep her as their babysitter. At the end of her futile search she finally landed up with a family that took her to a village in Paro where she spent the over six years.

After discovering the whereabout of her uncle in Thimphu she left Paro. The joy of finding her blood relatives soon faded in the babysitting tug-of-war. She got herself into a construction job and married a co-worker to have a family of her own. She thought that would be the beginning of a good life but the young couple lost their first child and her husband lost his job after returning from his study leave. They took a loan from a friend and it haunted them every month. Dechen just earned enough to pay the monthly interest of 10% while the principle amount of Nu.43,000 kept them sleepless.

That was when I wrote her story in an attempt to find her brother and seek help from kind individuals to free the young couple from the debt. We vaguely heard that her brother was in Mongar but couldn't establish any communication with him. After I published that article I had to meet a member of her 'Paro family' who wasn't so happy. But I explained to them that I was not interested in starting what could be a very ugly legal battle.

I received a few messages from people willing to help Dechen so I called her debtor and tried negotiating with them. By then Nu.41,000 was already paid in interest and they stilled demanded full principle of Nu.43,000. I explained how 10% per month was insane, because legally allowed interest rate can't be more than 15% per annum while theirs came to 120% per annum. I begged them to humanly consider the couple's plight. I offered to pay Nu.30,000 to close the chapter because I got some people to offer that help. The debtor rejected the offer.

Then I asked the ruthless loanshark to take the matter to the court. They, like all loansharks, confidently accepted that because they have all the paperworks to eyewash even the court of law. We lost the case in Dzongkhag court. We couldn't prove to the court that it was a loan taken at 10% per month. We went to High Court and we still lost the case. I knew we would lose because the smart loanshark had all the tools to fool the court. Despite knowing that we still went ahead only to buy us time. I needed time to look for help.

For the last five months I have kept updating on the court proceeding to a Bhutanese lady well-wisher, by the name Tshering Choden, living in New York who offered to help Dechen right from the beginning. And I wrote to my friend Ugay Wangmo also working in New York to help. When the final verdict came I informed Tshering Choden and she offered to send Nu.12,000. Her cousin and husband came to my place to drop the money and meet Dechen and her husband.

My friend Ugay Wangmo immediately started fundraising among her friends in NY, like she always did and sent me Nu.22,100.

Yesterday, 26th September 2016, Dechen's husband handed over Nu.34,500 to their debtors in the presence of court officials and close the chapter to two years of sleeplessness.

I wish to thank Tshering Choden for being their from the beginning and giving me confidence, without your assurance we could have never dare to go to the court. Dechen and her husband are so grateful to you. I have shown your picture to them. Thank you.

I wish to thank my dear friend Ugay Wangmo for being my saviour for countless number of times. Dechen and her husband will always remember you for your kindness. They send their prayers to you and your friends Quen Tsho, Star Lhamo, Finso Om, Phub Gyem, Tshering Dolkar and Tshering Pem for giving them a new beginning. Thank you.

Ugay's fundraising Sheet

Dechen's Husband formally joined Bhutan Toilet Org after months of internship.

*I want to thank my wife for pushing me every day to get this done. I wish you peaceful sleep too now.

Why Bhutanese Hide Their Toilets?

In November 2015 over three hundred volunteers helped Bhutan Toilet Org clean all urban public toilets in the country. On the World Toilet Day we put up a modest photo exhibition at the Clock Tower Square in Thimphu to showcase the state of our public toilets. The pictures were organised district-wise and the name of the Dzongkhags were printed in bold.

As intended people who visited our exhibition went first to their Dzongkhag corner and the most common remark we noted was, "I didn't know there was a public toilet there." Of course they didn't regret their ignorance after seeing the disgusting pictures. Among the visitors were the members of parliament, who actually came for another event there but nonetheless paid us a courtesy visit. I took lot of joy in showing them their constituency toilets. Interestingly most MPs didn't know about the existence of public toilet in their constituencies.

That's the level of success we have achieved in hiding our toilets. We are like squirrels who hide acorns and never find them. In Thimphu there are over a dozen public toilets and if you can find five of them you are Terton. In Bajothang there is a public toilet that's never used because no one knew about it. In Trongsa there are three toilets you will never find. In Tsirang and Haa have a public toilet each that are covered in overgrowth. In Bumthang even if you found the toilet you won't find the toilet pot. The story is no better with other Dzongkhags.

In one year we have put all the toilets on the map, at least for the locals but we couldn't do anything about the location. There is no way we can relocate them. But started wondering why our toilets were hidden.

The answer came to us as we began building and managing toilets during public events. The organisers would give us locations where no one can find us. Because they 'know' toilet will be dirty and therefore the act of hiding the toilet is a good-intentioned precaution. 

Continued in August 2021:

The misconception that a toilet will be dirty no-matter-what and therefore it's best to hide them is in a way surrendering to an ancient mindset without a fight. Quite true to this perception, not only are the most hidden toilets left insanly dirty but also vandalized. It will be interesting to do a research to find out dirty toilet casuse the planners to hide them or if the hiding caused the toilets to be dirty and vandalised. It's quite like the chicken and egg story. 

Monsoon Lessons

Now that the monsoon has passed and things are gradually falling in place, it’s time to look back and reflect. John Dewey said, ‘we do not learn from experience, we learn from reflecting on experience.’ 

Last month we saw what could be easily called the worst monsoon in many years. Sarpang town was wiped from the face of the earth. Two southern towns of Gelephu and Phuntsholing spent many sleepless nights. Samtse lost a critical bridge. Road network across the country was disrupted. Our country suffered huge losses in damages.

But in these bad times we saw the most heartwarming responses from our men in uniform across the country volunteering in rescue efforts. We saw them putting public safety ahead of their own. In them we saw heroes we could always rely on in times of need.

In the middle of confusion in the south, where the fury of nature had left everyone helpless we saw the selfless leadership of our King and the Prime Minister. The kind of leadership the rest of the world could only pray for.

Pic: His Majesty's Official Page

However, far away from the affected areas, here in the capital city we saw the other side our people, the not-so-good side. With road connection to the south blocked at several points, assumptions of fuel shortage created havoc. Avalanches of cars rushing at the fuel pumps to hoard fuel.

The endless queue of cars only showed how embarrassingly selfish we could become in the face of disaster. Everyone wanted their own tanks to be filled, disregarding the need of the fellow citizens. No one seemed to think that if our country at all suffered from fuel crisis we were all in it together.

Pic: The Bhutanese Facebook Page

Despite the comforting official announcement against the problem the ugly rush continued at all depots for days. We believed more in the hoax. Of course what more can we expect from the population that once believed in the salt shortage rumor? Some families may not have finished the salt they selfishly hoarded that day in 2013.

Besides the fuel hoarding, we also heard stories of taxi drivers overcharging desperate travellers and we saw local vegetable vendors doubling the price of their produce in the absence of competition from imported vegetable. These are some qualities that make us not Bhutanese.

We Bhutanese are by nature harmonious social beings. That makes us stand out in the big blue world despite our smallness. But why do we act like some ghosts possessed us in times like this? Why do we become so selfish suddenly?

Now that the roads are cleared as promised and that we didn’t run out of fuel, what have we learned? Even if we weren’t in queue at the fuel pump, or had anything to do with the opportunist vegetable vendors and taxi drivers we are all equally guilty in this. Remember what Albert Einstein said,

‘The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.’

This article is published in Business Bhutan on 6th August 2016

Original or Chinese?

(Thanks to Donald Trump’s wife Melania Trump for giving me an occasion to publish my article that was written sometime ago. She has found her place in the headlines of all reputed news media for plagiarizing Michelle Obama’s speech. That’s how seriously Intellectual Property Right is taken beyond our neighbors.)

China makes some of world’s best products, but who cares? We only know her as the world’s biggest copycat. A common phrase, ‘Is it original or Chinese?’ says it all. The brand ‘Chinese’ is almost the opposite of the original now. It is not absolutely true and therefore unfair. But that’s how the world interprets it. The story is no better towards our south. We are literally sandwiched between two biggest copycats.

Do we want this to happen to our country? Aren’t we happy being a happy country? Intellectual property is taken casually in Bhutan. You can sing a stolen song and become a star, but if you steal a pair of shoes you will go behind the bar. We haven’t yet begun to comprehend the value of intellectual property and understand the rights.

Material property has a price, but we fail to understand that intellectual property is priceless. A book is to an author as building is to a landlord; both are fragments of their dreams upon which they have invested sweat and sleepless nights. The landlord knows that his building can house thousands of books but the author knows his book can house thousand buildings.

From the videocassette-days, Bhutanese perfected the art of piracy. First, an entrepreneur brought in pirated Indian cassettes and ran a hiring shop. His neighbor saw it and opened his version - another cassette shop. If it was even a dustbin outside their shops they would have fought over its ownership, but it was only a business idea, which got stolen. So, no one cared. Soon the town was flooded with cassette shops. How does it sound: Pirated cassettes business idea got pirated?

The story continued with telephone booths, pan shops, snooker rooms, beauty and gaming palours, Drayang, Bangkok shops, Dhaka sale, Bangkok wholesale etc. At times the copies became bigger than the originals. Customers loved more options only if they knew something about ethics.

It’s tolerable when the idea is copied into another town or at least hundred meters away, but people have the guts to replicate just next door. Look at carwash business; it’s everywhere now. Some are ten senseless meters away from the first one. Coffee cafés, gyms, Karaoke, handicraft shops, furniture stores, etc. are emerging ideas that are duplicated daily. I call these people proud thieves!

In schools, assignments are replicated from class to class and batch to batch; some assignments are passed down across generations. The geography practical assignment our batch copied in 2002 is still reproduced today. That’s because we are assessed on our correctness and not on the originality.

Let’s go to Facebook. I created a group called B-Bay- Buying and selling second hand Stuffs. When the brand B-Bay became so popular, people started copying it and the worst was when people reproduced my group, and also its name word for word. Even if they couldn’t create anything original, I wish they had named their group differently, something like C-Gay; at least they would have something to call theirs. But the very intentions were wicked; they simply wanted to mislead people.

B-Bay Imitations

First, it’s about respect and integrity. Any person with his self-respect intact would never steal; be it an idea, a piece of writing, work of art, a brand or a product. He would rather ask, borrow or buy. And second, for a small nation to develop into a knowledge society, it should be conducive for creativity and innovation to flourish, not stolen.

One Fake BBay, and People behind it (Mostly anonymous)

What gives us so much courage to take this serious issue for granted? Obviously it is our careless and forgiving Bhutanese nature and the same forgiving Bhutanese laws protecting it. Intellectual Property Office in Thimphu has staggering 15,000 plus IP Rights registrations; sadly, almost all are from outside Bhutan. We neither protect our own intellectual property rights nor care about others’. The department that is entrusted with the task of educating and protecting intellectual property rights is hardly empowered to discipline our careless citizens.

Across the world Intellectual Property Right is a serious business, they invest as much in protecting a product as they do in producing the product. The whole concept is based on mistrust. People make fortunes illegally as much as legally. They think like a thief and build the protection.

We can choose to be different. We can educate our society into a place where protection is not even needed. If every Bhutanese develops appreciation for the intellectual property rights and intolerance against any form of piracy, eventually the few bad people will have to give up.

Rice Cooker Disease?

Before electric rice cooker was introduced in our kitchen cooking rice was an art. Not many could boast about knowing the art. Even pro mothers could land up with bad pots once in a while. I remember how my mother would be on her toes once the rinsed rice was poured into the boiling water. She would keep stirring it and from time to time she would spoon out few grains and feel them between her fingers.

Once she got the right feel, which was when the grain was soften all around except a tiny bit in the centre, she would remove the pot from the oven and drain out the thick rice soup that was half the content of the pot. Then the pot was put back on the oven with low heat. I always wondered how my mother knew how much longer to wait after that because I mostly landed up with either uncooked or burnt rice.

That short story on the art of cooking rice can be a history lesson for young Bhutanese born after 90s. Because after electric rice cooker came cooking rice literally became a child's play. All you have to do is rinse the rice, along with some water pour it in the cooker. Put your index finger to see if the water level is at the first line of your finger above the level of the rice. Close the cooker. Pull the light down to 'cook' and go to sleep till mother comes home to prepare the curry. Of course some can't even do that much.

Besides the art and history of cooking rice there also seems to be solid science involved in it, which is gradually surfacing in the form of a disease. The deadly disease is called diabetes. It's sugary but not at all a sweet disease it mess with. We understand that it is to do with excessive sugar in our blood that our pancreas can't handle. But how did this happen?

Bhutan didn't have this disease before, perhaps there were some cases that we were ignorant about but now it has become so common. Well, the answer could be in the rice cooker. A research in Singapore ( Story published in Strait Times) has shown that a plate of rice is as bad as two cans of sweetened soft drink. Ask yourself how many plates you eat in a day.

We Bhutanese always ate rice, so before you ask me why I blamed rice cooker here let me tell you that before rice cooker we boiled rice till it gave away whatever it contained and drained out the soup. Remember the history lesson. So the rice we were eating didn't contain all the sugar it came with but now we are taking in every bit of sugar it contains because there is no draining out of soup.

We started using rice cookers in 90s and in the last two decades we must have forgotten how to cook rice without rice cooker but we have produced enough diabetic parents to relearn the art of cooking rice the old way.

Courtesy: Strait Times, Singapore 

Dirty Toilet is a Mindset – Clean it!

“No, the toilets shouldn’t be here, it would be an ugly sight. No, no, no it can’t be there, the wind would blow the smell into the tent.”

This is a typical instruction from the commanding officer at any event site while deciding where to build toilets for the public during big events. Working for Bhutan Toilet Organization I was engaged in few such committee meetings and it’s disappointing to observe that even the most educated official among us had to be told that the toilets won’t be dirty and it won’t smell if we don’t want to. But almost all the time they win, and these people who won’t have to worry about managing the toilets in the following days make the decision on where and how toilets should be built.

Having grown up with dirty toilets, it has now become a mindset that all toilets will be dirty. The moment we discuss about public toilet we imagine all the filthy toilets we have seen in the past and even remember how it smelled. This very mindset affects all the decision we make now and stops us from moving forward into better future. This has happened to all our existing public toilets in towns across the country.

Working for Bhutan Toilet Organization I had the privilege of managing toilets at three major events in last few months. We began with Paro Tshechu, went to Punakha during Zhabdrung Tshechu and Peling Tshechu in Thimphu. We must have served at least fifty thousands people.
During those events, standing near the toilet door for days we had fun giving people the surprises of their lives. People would walk into our toilets with their nose covered because they knew from all their fond memories that the toilet would be dirty. A moment later we would hear them exclaim from inside, “Wow, it’s so clean”. And few good people would come out without their pride and thank us for the clean toilet.

At Paro Tshechu 

We surprise the people more by sitting under the shade of the toilet and enjoying our lunch while they come in and go our of our toilets. We believe that a toilet should be clean enough to sit by and enjoy a meal. We aren’t obliging anyone to live by our belief but because toilets are kept so clean our volunteers voluntarily enjoy their lunch near the toilet.

We have a long way to go on this journey of providing clean toilets to everyone and longer way to go in making people appreciate clean toilets and develop sound toilet habits in them. Many organizations and individuals are working on this. Everyone seems to understand the need for change but what must change first lies within us. We must change the dirty toilet mindset.
We must acknowledge that a public toilet can be a nice refreshing place. It should be given its due importance. We must stop pushing toilets away from us into the locations that are hardly accessible. At least the highly educated people who make decision on the design and location of public toilets must have clean toilets at home to base their perception of toilets, unless it’s so dirty at home.

This article is originally published in Business Bhutan on 21st May 2016.

No School on Saturday

One regret I have from my childhood is not having spent enough time with my parents. I thought I would get all the time in the world to be with them once I finish my school. I didn't see this coming. After school came college and then came job, in between I lost my stepfather. Now I only get to meet my mother for less than a month each year. Soon life will be over. 

The cycle continues with my daughter. She is in school six days a week and returns home exhausted. We wait for her till afternoon on Saturdays to go anywhere. Sundays are full of activities, mostly going around and before we figure out how to make smart use of the lone family day in a week she will be gone to college. Then we will be gone. 

Typical Saturday in School

Can we not have school on Saturday? So that by Friday evening we feel so relaxed and for the next two days children can do real things in life. Even children in hostel could undertake various vocations or visit home and do real things that really matter in life. Across the world, in all countries known for best education systems children don't go to school on Saturdays. In fact children are not given homework during the weekends. 

Ever since Lyonpo Norbu Wangchuk took office as the new Education Minster I felt a sudden gush of energy in the Education Ministry. People are motivated and therefore things are going to change. Many positive changes that are on dusty paper are finally going to flow into schools. But often in the name of change we push for more. It's the natural way things but did it work so far? We have overloaded schools with news things when they haven't figured out how to do the old thing very well. 

For once could we try lesser in the name of change? Because we have never tried that, so let's take away Saturday from the school week. It will avoid school-fatigue in students, and lesser they get to be in school more they will appreciate their time in school. Moreover, we talk a lot about youth issues perhaps we should give them more family time to sort things out. School is taking lot of family time away from them, and perhaps we should stop thinking that school has all the solutions. We don't, it's proven. 

As for the teachers, they are exhausted people, often frustrated, they deserve good rest over the weekend just like any civil servant, if not more, which actually should have been the case. They need time with their own children as well. What's the use if at the end of the day your own children are deprived of everything you boast to have given to your students. Therefore there can be no greater incentive than Saturday with their own family. 

In Finland, the number one education system in the world, teachers only work for 570 hours in a year, half that of the United States and third of ours. Our teachers work 1440 hours in a year. But where are we in comparison? Therefore less is more. If anything should be more it should be the salary because in Finland (again) teachers are paid almost Nu.5600 per hour. They earn our monthly salary in half a day. So lets forget about the salary, and concentrate on Saturday because it's possible. 

Other civil servants who have their Saturdays off don't really get to relax because they have to prepare their children for school and drop them to school. Then wait till afternoon to go anywhere. So even when so many offices are closed on Saturday we still see traffic jam because the schools are open. 

I had this on my mind for the longest time but now seems the right time to share because of the optimism that has come with the new minister. So I hereby request Education Minister to consider removing things from our system, instead of adding and let Saturday be the first to be removed.

Dechen: A Girl Who Was Lost and Never Found

Dechen still wonders why her father didn’t come looking for her. She wonders if he knew she was actually lost before he died. She remembers having an elder brother who she wishes to meet once.

This true story begins with the death of Dechen’s mother. They were living in Dechencholing where her father was a gardener. After her mother died her father left little Dechen at a neighbor’s and left for Punakha with his new wife. She learned later that she was given away as babysitter. When her father didn’t return for a long time she ran away from her new home and started her journey towards Punakha to find her father, on foot.

Picture and story shared with permission 

Seeing a nine-year-old little girl walking alone on the highway above Simtokha a car stopped. She told the person that her father was in Punakha and she was going there to look for him. The car gave her a ride till Khuruthang. Upon reaching there she didn’t know where to look for her father. She had thought Punakha would be a small place. Having knocked all the doors in Khuruthang town she finally reached a house where a lady took her in.

The lady asked her to live there and work for her until she could find her father. She agreed but when she couldn’t find her father after many days she decided to head back to Thimphu. When she reached Thimphu she went to her maternal uncle’s place in Changzamtog. Her uncle had long moved away. The new tenant occupying the apartment took her in and persuaded her to live with them. With nowhere else to go she stayed with them hoping her father would come looking for her.

Her new guardian soon took her to their village in Paro Shaba and made her babysit there. She grew up from a little girl into a young woman in the new place and became part of the family and the place. Though she wasn’t sent to school or treated equally at home she was happy to have found a place to sleep and feed. She would walk her master’s child to school and work in the field. Often she would take their vegetable produce and sell them by the roadside along with other farmers. 

After six years in Paro, in 2010 she finally met a woman, among the mothers who came to drop their children to school, who knew her parents. It was from her that Dechen learned her father had passed away recently. The woman helped her find the number of her uncle living in Thimphu. And from her phone she made a call. Her uncle asked her to come to Thimphu.

She went home that day and shared the good news with her master’s family only to upset them. She expected them to pay her for all the services and let her go but it turned out that they didn’t want her to leave. Her master’s daughter had gone to Australia and they needed her hand in raising their grandchild.

During her conversations with her uncle over the phone she told him about the situation, so he asked someone in Paro to help her get out of there and pay for her travel till Thimphu. Early one morning, before anyone was awake she ran away from home and went to her uncle’s connection and escaped to Thimphu.

She found her uncle in Thimphu and met many of her relatives whom she never knew existed. But her brother was not among them. Nobody knew where her brother was. Her relatives were nice to her and she was on high demand because she was good at household chores and most importantly at babysitting.

After a while she felt the need to work and earn for herself because she knew no one was going to pay her at the end. So she joined as a laborer at construction of Le Mariden hotel in Thimphu. That’s when her relationship with her relatives soured because she couldn’t be as useful to them now. At her worksite she met a man with whom she finally married and found a place to call her own.

But life had more misery in store for her; she gave birth to a premature baby and lost it shortly. Her husband who now had a steady job took extraordinary leave to pursue degree in India. And to make ends meet Dechen came looking for a hotel job in my sister in-law’s small restaurant. That’s how I knew all about her. She was still recovering from her C- section surgery when she joined. It’s been two years since she joined the restaurant. Her husband returned with a degree but lost his old job.

Last year during Thimphu Tshechu her husband had taken a loan of Nu.43,000 from a friend on a ridiculous interest rate of 10% per month to run a stall. Their stall had run into loss and ever since the loan shark has been harassing them. They have already paid over Nu.30,000 in interest alone and their friend has been raining calls on them. Once they were locked inside their own house when they refused to open the door... 

Dechen once asked me ‘Achu, people say if we suffer we will prosper, but why is my suffering never ending?” I couldn’t answer her. I’m still trying to overcome haunting images formed in my head. It’s almost a horror story and she is brave enough to have survived.

I have so many questions; why did her father leave her? Why he never came looking r=for her? Did he once think of her? Where could her brother be? Why didn’t those families help her find her father? How could all these happen in Bhutan? Why is life so unfair to her? How could Dechen be so happy despite all these?

And through this blog I would like to seek everyone’s help in finding her lost brother. His name is Sonam Tshering and he must be in his mid twenties now. He may be illiterate. Let us make at least one thing fair for her. If you wish to help her more, get in touch with me. I can share other details or even let you meet her personally.