Ani Passo - A Tribute

Date: 2020-10-25

My ani Passo was a gentle lady who loved my father, her youngest sibling, so dearly. My late father, Phub Dorji, was as young as her children and therefore she took care of him like one of them. My father, being an uncle to her children, made sure that he lived up to the status he had in the family.

Their family was devastated when my father was killed in an accident in 1984. He was their bread earner and as much as he was a dearly loved brother and Asha. I was a baby when this happened. People looked at me and cried. Every time they saw me they felt pity on me. I didn't have a father anymore. Besides my mother, who lost her husband, it was Ani who felt the deepest pain. Seemingly, she saw her brother in me because she loved me dearly. She won't say it aloud but I knew she did.

She was a quiet lady. Her husband was a powerful Nyeep of Gangtay Palace then and she was said to have spent her younger days in the company of Royals at the Palace. But her luck soon ran out, when her husband was terminated from the palace for alleged abuse of power. He was later said to be arrested and imprisoned in Paro Dzong after the assassination of the Prime Minister, Jigme Palden Dorji in 1963. 

Her husband, after his release from the prison, never came back to her. He left for Gasa and married another woman, and perhaps few more later. It was a fair deal to do so back in their times. A man could travel and father so many children in their ways, and not even be responsible for them. My Ani is said to have been so hurt that she refused to talk to him. As a child, I used to remember him visiting Haa and staying in the same house with Ani and her children. I thought he was still her husband. I never saw anything uneasy about him being in the house. 

But later I understood that her reunited with his children only much later in their lives. She and her children were left to fend from themselves all their lives. Acho Dorji related to me the story of how he met his father in Thimphu when he was employed for the first time in Thimphu. He said their father left them when they were still small and only then they met him. He started reappearing in their lives from then on. 

Ani was a nucleus of the family and she attracted people from near and far in her days. Her house in Yatshotenkha would be the venue of the festivities even during the lochay. Nowhere in Yangthang, I remember people having so much fun during lochay. Even though their house was in the woods, far from the village, people walked to be there. After the lochay was over, we used to have dozens of people sleeping over. Ani was such a warm person that everyone would show up. She has raised her children to be equally warm that even they were no less. 

I have paid her visit at least twice a year as long as I can remember. I looked forward to meeting her as much as she did. She won't show much but I knew she loved seeing me. Later, I went to meet her with my wife, and soon I went with my daughter. She has seen me as a baby and now she was seeming my daughter. It became a full circle in her life. In her own family, her granddaughter gave her a great-granddaughter and they have a beautiful life. 

But I feel, like all families, when Sonam Yangchen went for Paro to work with her husband and she Ashi Yangzo was away each day, Ani must have suffered the isolation badly. She must have felt lonely and sad but she could never articulate it because that was the life she knew. I wonder whose idea it was to build the house at Yasotenkha, away from Yangthang. It was a romantic idea in the beginning but with age that was a wrong place. 

Ani started losing her sense of hearing and vision. Or maybe she was alright but she was losing her mind. When I visited her in the last few years, she has only two things to say, that she can't hear me well and that she can't see me well. I think she could see and hear. She just couldn't comprehend. It wasn't much later that one night she forgot her way home. The whole of Yangthang was alerted to look for her in the forest. It was a cold winter night and we couldn't imagine she would survive. She was found the next day from near Talung. She hadn't walked much. When she was brought home, which was filled with people from all over, she didn't even know what was going on. She didn't even know she was lost and found. She was lost. 

She became a child again. She was gradually forgetting everything. She family, her speech, her ability to walk and eat and even go to the toilet. She back a baby in the diaper. She would look at you love a small baby and make sounds like a baby would do. If she was a baby we would find that cute, but when an old woman does that we found it crazy. I don't know if her children have done enough. I am just a nephew. 

I felt a sense of liberation when she passed away. I couldn't imagine her being trapped in that body that won't even move. I realized why death was important. And later, I felt a little sad that such a beautiful soul who didn't even harm a fly had to die that way. But again, I thought she died that way because that's the most blessed way to die; neither she felt the pain nor us. Everyone welcomed death. 

The storyteller in me was seeking a poetic justice in the fact that Ani never spoke to her ex-husband even though he appeared in their lives every year for at least 20 years. And the fact that she died without speaking to him was a satisfying yet empty feeling. Did he hurt her that deep? 

Why did my ani lose her peaceful mind? 

Letter to Thimphu Thrompon: What's the Worth of a Poor Man's Life in Your City?

Dear Thrompon Kinley Dorji, Thimphu,

I have very high regards for you. You have been the biggest and the nicest surprise we had out of the voting machine. I applauded you every time I saw you on TV; for your work, you honesty, your fairness and your fearlessness. But this time I am thoroughly disappointed with you.

I want to ask you, what’s the worth of a poor man’s life in your city, Thimphu? The way you handled the death of your 63-year-old employee was very insensitive as the employer. He died in the line of duty and it was your duty to give him an honorable funeral and compensate his family as per the company policy. But you have reduced his life’s worth to Nu.40,000 that’s not even worth the smart phone in your hand. You have left the rest to the fate of the case against the building owner who is busy blaming the ambulance.

Amidst this shameless and endless blame game the sentiments of the poor family is sidelined. The family’s sole bread earner is gone, widow is in her sixties who now has to look after several children, some of whom are disabled. The family is not even worried about car or phone, they are running out on food supplies. Why should the family suffer for so long? The family needs support now and the company compensation should have reached them already. You as their leader should have at least managed to comfort the family with normal compensation.

The building owner who built that burial wall should be held responsible for death of a public servant on duty due to their negligence. This case should be fought with all your might and come out with a landmark victory that will pave way for all Bhutanese to understand their right and to respect other’s right, regardless of social status. Whatever you can draw out from them can be paid to the bereaved family as additional compensation. Yes, additional compensation, the real compensation should not depend on this.

And if the wall owner thinks Nu.200,000 is huge and wants to keep blaming the hospital for not sending a health worker along with the driver, then they should perhaps read the story of a widow who won a $23.6 Billion Lawsuit against tobacco company R.J. Reynolds. In this case, her husband died of lung cancer and not killed by their company truck.

Personally, today on father's day I miss my father who was killed in a bus accident. The bus company should have been responsible, the driver should have been responsible, or the house owner who kept debris on the narrow road should have been responsible but only my father paid the price. My family alone suffered. This should not happen to anyone at this time and age. 

So, dear Thrompon please pay the compensation first and then pursue the case with the wall owner. In your city even a pet dog gets more respect, he was a human being, he worked for the city, don’t let this happen.

Still Very Respectfully Yours
PaSsu

108 Prayer Flag Business- A Social Enterprise

In my last post I wrote about our tradition of offering 108 prayer flags for the departed souls, which means felling 108 young trees and therefore I proposed a green idea of making it a National service requirement ofeach Bhutanese citizen to plant 108 trees in one’s lifetime (within a given age range).

However, I stumbled onto another idea about the same issues and this time it’s a social business idea. Those of you who have physically gone through the process of finding, felling, peeling, and dragging 108 flag poles from deep woods over a long distance would know how arduous it is. Now, having to do it during the emotionally low time when you have lost someone in the family makes it heartbreaking. You would rather pay any cost to have someone else do it for you. Wouldn’t you?

Prayer Flag in the fields in Paro, Across my home

Now who could be that someone else? Here is the social business idea. We can build a social enterprise around this idea. There are already thousands of prayer flags standing along the hills in patches of clearings. They have done their job, prayers have faded and souls are delivered to heavens perhaps. What we could do is collect those old poles and store them up in warehouses in different regions and make sets of 108 poles ready to be delivered on a call and at a price.

During my difficult times, when my mother in-law passed away, I didn’t have the emotional, mental or physical strength to apply for pass from the forestry department, gather over twenty men and go deep into the woods to fetch that many poles. I remembered my good friend Tshering Tenzin, who knew the lam at Chhimi Lhakhang. I called him to help me because when his mother passed away we went there and the lam had kept more than 108 old poles ready. The same arrangement was made for me too. Amazingly it didn’t cost me anything though I would pay anything for such help.

Old flagpole at Chhimi Lhakhang

This social business will not only save bereaved families from any additional torment during difficult times but also safe trees greatly by reusing the poles for as long as they could last.

The enterprise can additionally explore new ways to replace flagpole with bamboo pole, metallic pole or any environmental friendly and economically sustainable options. 

And the good news is I am giving away this business idea to whoever wants to take it forward with the condition that you will aways keep it affordable. It's a social service more than business.

Letter to Kelzang Chhoden

Dear Kelzang Chhoden,

Along with thousands of people across the world I read those heartbreaking letters your dear husband Tenzin Dorji wrote to you ever since you left him. It was so painful to read yet so enthralling to avoid. In the midst of reading my vision would blur and before I realise tears would roll down my cheeks.
In those letters we knew you, we saw the radiance of your young heart; in those letters we celebrated your selfless love; in those letters we felt your ambition and drive for change, your perseverance was far ahead of your age; In those letters we pained in your sickness and those letters shattered us in your death.

But you left behind a dream, and I am writing to tell you that your husband lived that dream bigger than you ever thought. You have left him a purpose, a deeper meaning to seek in your death beyond the endless tears and sleepless nights. He hasn't left a single stone unturned in building your dream on his broken heart. I must tell you that your memories have touched countless lives, which pains me to wonder what you would have done if you lived on.
It's the hardest to digest knowing your death was avoidable and I am proud to tell you that your husband fought a hard battle against all the people who were involved. He knows that you are gone forever but he didn't want the same to happen to anybody. I hope this time the message went deep and high.

Tenzin Directing a Child at the Camp!

Your husband engineered your dream into Camp RUF(Rural Urban Friendship) and it has inspired the largest assembly of charitable Bhutanese, they came forward to offer help in all humanly possible ways. They came together to support your husband in his sincerest pursuit of your dream. They seek love, compassion, kindness, and peace in helping him because his love for you, even in your permanent absence, was a heartwarming surprise.

We followed your dream to Dagana, Lungtengang Pry School, the school where you taught. It reminded me of my one year in Sombaykha, Haa. I saw the room you lived in, the ceiling was almost falling down and there is hardly any natural light coming in. The toilet was over hundred meters aways, without water. Tenzin told me how hard it was to walk you over that painful distance at night when you were sick. I felt so guilty knowing that in your sickness you lived in such difficult place while we lived easy urban lives.

The camp, likewise, was a big eye opener for the 54 urban students and volunteers. I had joined over 150 campers as a photographer along with my South India friend. While I grew up in village and had been in equally difficult place yet the camp had so much to offer. It made us realise how many things we have taken for granted, it made us realise how ungrateful we have been. I could see the reflection of how the urban children would feel in my Indian friend. He was a lucky child and he only realised it in Dagana. He was totally underprepared for the place and after four days he literally gave up and I had to leave the camp with him. He still tells me that he is happier than ever after Camp RUF, he says he now has no complains about his life at all. I hope the camp had same impact on all the children too.
Your mother and sister graced the camp and I know how painful it must have been for them to be there but you should have seen the pride in there eyes as they look at your husband. When your mother left she left a message for him, "Tenzin, you are no more my son inlaw, you are my son."

Those four days at Camp RUF with my camera gave me the opportunity to capture the joy of giving, the joy of helping, joy of sharing, the joy of friendship... I will never forget that expression on Ap Phuntsho's face on the day the campers help him rebuilt his home. I wish I had stayed one more day to experience the moment when children visited their host families and gifted them clothes. But I know by leaving the camp early I have saved myself from the terrible pain of departure. Those three evenings where I presented the photo slideshows made me feeling the subtle attachment to those innocent faces and selfless friends I had captured.

At times among the busy crowd of happy campers I saw your husband lost in his thoughts, I know he is wishing if you were there. Sometimes it seems like he gave way too much joy that he had nothing life for himself but he told me that those silent moments were spent in celebrating your memories and thanking you for giving him so many sincere friends and making him live a purposeful life.

Lone Tenzin watching the campers 

It been a while and I am looking back at the pictures from the camp and in those thousand pictures I see how a man can change the world. Your husband made it. I hope the successive camps will be as successful and inspiring.

With Love
Aue PaSsu

P:S: I forgot to tell you that Tenzin has finally decided to move on. He found a Kesang in whom he saw a little bit of you. I met her on my way back. I hope they find in each other the divine love you left behind.

Blessing

It was the October I never want to remember, the october that suddenly took away a beloved family member. My mother inlaw was a simple lady who has lived her life well. She must be the only mother inlaw who didn't complain even once in all these years we have lived together. Even heavens don't know the true fairness. She was a blessing I always cherish. And to her soul I promise that I will always love her daughter, take care of her daughter, and protect her from the world of harm, and that she can peacefully go and find her path to the next life that awaits her.  

In her last hours, when medical science didn't have anything to do, when everything was left to god, and when in between doctors and gods my mother inlaw's life slipping away I watched that screen endlessly and counted my blessings. 

The monitor shows the heart rate, the oxygen level, the blood pressure, the pulse rate, the body temperature... Whenever numbers changed badly and when ever the alarm on the machine went off I called sisters and doctors for help, I pretended to be the strongest and stood by the sick, but I was also reading the faces of people there. Even though my mother inlaw showed good signs of recovery after suffering from stroke, the hospital was preparing us for the worst. My wife cried and begged for her mother's life but after sometime I understood that the hospital has seen too many deaths to be bothered by one dying lady who is occupying their bed in ICU. 

That long painful night I stood by her bed listening to the deafening beep of the machines, suffocating rhythm of the ventilator, and watching the numbers on the screen change now and then, I realized how blessed we are every minute of our lives.
There are hundreds of things that could go wrong inside our body without warning; heart could stop, kidney could fail, blood pressure could fall or rise, temperature could shoot or drop, brain could die, all so suddenly but the fact that we are standing and breathing is a blessing- having our heart beats between 80-100 is a blessing, having our BP close to 120/80 is blessing, regular passing of urine is blessing, having body temperature around 36* is blessing, even being able to breath on our own is a blessing- but these are blessing we don't acknowledge and appreciate until one day one of these begins to misbehave in ourselves or in someone we care. I have seen all of the failing in my beloved mother inlaw to understand how blessed I am and how blessed all of you are despite life's little problems. You are blessed. 

Nelson Mandela and Zhabdrung Rinpoche

This morning we woke up in the world without Nelson Mandela. The entire world felt the pain of losing him, and perhaps the entire universe must have known that someone so dear has passed away on earth. This is a life well lived. This is how we must strive to live.

Zhabdrug

While the world today celebrates Mandela's life and remembers him in million different ways, I, a Bhutanese pay tribute to his great life by comparing him to Zhabdrung Rinpoche. Zhabdrung lived four hundred years before Mandela yet there is something so common between the two- Zhabdrung unified Bhutan as a nation state while Mandela unified different races to make South Africa one strong nation. Zhabdrung fled to Bhutan to escape arrest in Tibet where he was supposed to be the rightful leader. But after he became powerful in Bhutan he never sought vengeance against people in Tibet who wronged him, just as Mandela reconciled with people who imprisoned him 27 years.

Today, when Mandela dies I am reminded of Zhabdrung's death. He died in 1651 but his death had to be kept secret for 54 years fearing his absence might disrupt the unity of Bhutan. He was the unifier and things were in place because of his presence. Country saw numerous civil wars and assassinations of leaders after that until monarchy system was established in 1907. Zhabdrung couldn't be immortal and therefore the unity and peace he brought were threatened after his death.

Mandela RIP

Mandela too is mortal, and in the age of TV, Facebook and Twitter his death cannot be kept a secret, in fact world knew he passed away the moment he did. Now the question is, will his absence affect South Africa? He was 95 and sick, every moment he was kept alive was in deed torturing him. It's best to let him rest in peace after the Long Walk to Freedom. He needs to be freed from his aged body. And if South Africans truly wants to honour him live the freedom he fought for, keep the torch of his legacy burning. Let him live forever in the hearts.

Haa Bomb Disposal Tragedy

Who would have imagined so many Bhutanese soldiers being killed by bomb in the peaceful land where not a single bomb was ever dropped in the name of war. Therefore we are all equally unprepared for the devastating news yesterday. It breaks my heart to think of what must be going on among the bereaved families. I join the nation in prayer. May the families find strength to overcome the tragedy.

Injured being Air lifted. Photo by Haa MP Kinley Om.

Bomb disposal operation seems to a very fragile process going by the online archive on the huge number of accidents across the world, including the countries where people know bombs like the back of their palm. Our squad must have dealt with it with utmost caution but it was unfortunate that the accident happened. It was a very expensive lesson for peaceful nation of ours but we must face the reality that bomb is neither good in war nor in peace. I pray may we never have to see another such day.

Long Live the King, Long Live Peace.

Monthly Birthday Gift to my Daughter

My daughter, Ninzi Tshomo, in her three and a half years of the journey into life has only seen the best part of human life. It was her luck that she came into our life when Kezang and I are of the right age to become parents and when two of us are well settled in life to offer her the best. It was our luck that after the day she was born we got to see the best days of our life. She was someone on whom we could invest all our love and harvest unlimited joy. It’s a perfect life we are living, but this perfect moment asks me an imperfect question: Will this last forever?

                                           Compilation of Ninzi’s Self-made videos

It’s a very simple question, yet it breaks my heart. Everything that begins somewhere will end anywhere and nobody knows where and nothing can stop. As long as I and Kezang last she will be our princess but the sad reality is that we are designed to perish. My greatest fear is that the princess might have to face life on her own someday before we could make her ready.

If such a day comes sooner my daughter will be made to pay for all the good times she had with us, because we have lived for today and have done nothing for her tomorrow. There is no home she can call hers, not a patch of land to set her feet on and no savings to shelter her from the hard reality.

Ninzi VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

As young parents, we threw lavish parties on her first two birthdays but on the third birthday it suddenly occurred to me that my daughter would need more than just a birthday party because life is not a birthday cake, it’s rather like the candle on that cake that is blown off when the crowd sings. 

So on her third birthday (29th Nov 2012) I signed my daughter’s education insurance policy papers and sealed it with a big kiss. I can’t buy her a house or land but I have readied her college fees that day. On her 18th birthday she will receive her first premium of over hundred thousand ngultrums to pay for her college, and every year she will receive the same amount till she completes her college. On her 21st birthday, she will receive the full bonus and have four hundred thousand at her disposal until she decides what to do with her life. Every month on her birthday, i.e. 29th, I gift her with the monthly instalment. If someday I live no more the insurance company will still have to pay her college fees, as is mentioned in terms and condition. 

If I am lucky enough, I will pray for that and even the insurance company will pray, to see my daughter go to college, be there on her graduation day, then perhaps we will use that money to go on vacation every year, and on her 21st birthday she can buy a car for herself and take Kezang and me on a ride because by then my Santro car will be too old.

Loop Hole in Bajothang Infrastructures Kills a Man

I am writing about every corner of Bajothang because I love this place and I am living the best part of my life here. The loop hole I am going to write about is not that of 3G network which is not working yet- I know it just a rough sail in new place.
It's with heavy heart I am breaking the news that was not covered in any news media yet: Yesterday morning a man fell from the third floor of the building he was living in in Bajothang town, and was declared dead upon reaching hospital.
Let me present to you a brief background of how buildings are in Bajothang: All structures have attic on the third floor, which has a controversial background of its own. Attics are restricted to certain height and are not allowed to have verandas. Now, you may wonder how the man fell at all. The restriction on veranda was well imposed but the house owners have created a platform across the third floor which can be accessed through either a door or a big window. All commercial apartments have similar features and I am sure authorities have seen it but since it didn't look like veranda no action was taken against it. Therefore you could see people drying clothes outside the windows of third floor without any safety railings.

look at the attic!

The accidents such as this were easily predictable, it was only by the grace of god that we saw only one so far. He was drying clothes when he stumbled and without anything to hold on he landed up losing his life. Unlike in the rest of the world here we blame on our fate and luck instead of blaming on the structural safety and holding people responsible. It doesn't take too much brain to analyze that if there was railing the man wouldn't have died by falling off the building, and if at all verandas are not allowed then access to outside of the third floor should be made illegal.
I wish to see some news media come and not just report the news but also make people answer a few questions on the safety of the attic dwellers.

Dream 2013

On this first day of the new year I am getting a funny feeling of teasing everybody who ever believed in the end of the world last year. I was one person who had to fight back hundreds of scared faces each day of 2012, and I had to tell them "I will take the risk". Deep down I was laughing, if world does end then I won't be there at all and if it didn't I could walk with my heads held high.
Fear is good for living meaningfully, and looking back at the last year I am happy how it help us think of the end. Any thing that is limited is of great charm, and life is a limited edition gift, ours didn't end in 2012 but it will someday. Therefore live it big.

Wish you Luck.  Source: robbwolf.com

2013 is extraordinarily beautiful because we all came back from the end of the world, therefore it's the beginning of the new world. I have lived my life well last year and I want to believe December 2013 is the end of the world again and make best out of each day of this new year. My Dream2013 is to relive 2012, because I am a teacher things repeat, but with greater respect to life, lesser complains, and become more charitable with my knowledge, skills and ideas.
Thank you all for reading this blog and adding greater purpose to my life, I am proud to tell you that because of you I have could write 374 post on this blog with 118 in 2012 alone. With your well-wishes I have gathered 375 followers and over 400 thousand views- what more can I as for as a blogger?- Thank you.
What is your Dream 2013? Happy New Year!

Gaddafi Killed, World Healed

God gave Gaddafi everything a man could desire for in life, only he failed to understand his purpose of life. Over years he thought he was the god, deciding who should live and who should die- same thing that bloody Hitler did over half a century ago, and same thing his contemporary Saddam pursued. But the cow dung didn't learn anything from their fateful ends. He rather died a dog's death, much like this kinder spirit Bin Laden. Even when a dog dies next door we stop to pray for it but not a teardrop deserves to be wasted for these blunders of God. Their brutal deaths are God's apology to humanity for His having created them, and having bestowed them with powered they could handle. World is a better place without them. Hope they don't gang up in hell and restart their regimes there.

I wish Libya recovers from the months of war and join hands for a better future, and I wish the new government shows mercy on the captured Gaddafi Loyalists and allow them to make fresh beginnings. Punishing them in anyway makes the new government no better then the old regime. Let the sun shine brighter on the Libyan soil from tomorrow.

Troy Davis Murdered by the US

As far as I understand Troy Davis' murder case of 1989, there is hardly any evidence against him and he maintained his innocence for the last many years. We are not sure if he really killed police officer MacPhail but we are very sure that Troy Davis is murdered by the US, despite millions of petition. We have witness and evidences to prove that the most civilized country in the world has murdered Troy Davis in Georgia.

Troy Davis

Who will punish the ancient judge? Who will punish the men behind the barbaric law? Who will punish the man who injected poison into Troy Davis? It's a very organized crime and they call it justification of death. Who says the US is a civilized country?

Wangay's Letter - "Bereaved leave"

Wangay is a teacher in Phuntshothang Middle Secondary School, Samdrup Jongkhar. I don't know him but his letter (see the picture) published in Bhutan Observer yesterday connected to me. He had to come to school to attend to his duty leaving behind his grieving wife whose mother passed away. In times of sickness and death even enemies join in to give helping hand but because he was a working man who ran out of allotted leave, he failed so much as a husband.

When I was in my first year of college my father passed away. My sister was one year senior to me in the same college. Two of us cried our long journey home. I cried more when I thought of how my mother would be, and cried even more thinking about our three younger siblings. Our youngest sister was only three then. When I reached home I rushed to see my mother, why has already cried herself to unconsciousness. My little sister was among the villagers trying to revive my mother, she wouldn't know what had happened. She would say her father has gone to collect firewood. My youngest brother was on his way back from school and hadn't yet known his father was dead. My other younger brother was strongly waiting for us, since he was the eldest when we were not there.

All our close relatives living in Thimphu provided us with all the money we need to preform the funeral rites, but when it comes to being by my mother's side they weren't there for even a single night. We children were the only people surrounding the widow. And the most ugliest, most regretful and the most inhumane part of that story was our early return to college. The two eldest children left their mother on the seventh day because of our unforgiving attendance system in college. If we didn't have the required attendance we wouldn't be allowed to sit for exams no matter what. Even today, it pains me so much when I think of that system, and my biggest regret is the choice I made- I chose too leave my broken mother for a damn college.

This is my story among thousands of your stories. Of all the times in life shouldn't we be given a special leave  when something like these happen? These are life changing moment that don't happen often. And with Wangay, I wish to urge the government to think over it. It's should matter if it isn't in American system, Bhutan is the first country that should welcome "bereaved leave". Please.

Compassionate Bhutan must accept Abortion now

 June 11, a young lady died in Phuntsholing Hospital after an unsuccessful abortion in Jaigaon. Until the doctors saw bleeding from the victim’s genitals, her friend had lied it was an epileptic attack. Telling the truth could lead to legal actions, but she left the world, free of pains.

Record shows that every year over 200 women suffer similar fate, which could be just the tip of an iceberg. There may be hundreds others who must be crying in the corners with pain, or worse must have died silent deaths.

Our compassionate Buddhist kingdom views abortion as a very sinful act, equivalent to killing a person. But with due respect, I seek to know where is compassion in letting a young woman die along with her baby? Where is compassion in letting an unwanted child see the light of the world, sentencing him to a home where he wasn’t wanted? Where is compassion in letting a young woman give birth to a child, whose father has given up on them?

I find more compassion in abortion; killing a cell for the sake of a woman’s life, and liberating both the mother and the child from depth of mistake. Abortion is not an ice cream that everybody would enjoy if made free, it is but the only option left when everything seems wrong. No woman will go for abortion for pleasure.

If there was a way out, the 23 year old woman wouldn’t have travelled over 400 km straight against her country’s law and pay Nu.9000 to let someone dig into her and take her guts out. In such times no amount of law can stop that. But just because it’s illegal at home, the desperate woman has gone out to Jaigaon, place where nothing seems right- who knows if the man who operated on her was a doctor or a vegetable vendor.

Abortion is not permitted in Bhutan because we are Buddhist, isn’t it more Buddhist to forgive a woman for her mistake and give her a new life instead of letting her die along with child, which we were trying to protect? How many women must die before we rethink our role as a Buddhist?

My First Kiss with Death

Three mornings I woke up thanking god that I am alive. And three nights I spent sleeplessly along with my wife, feverishly fighting the echo of the boulders rumbling down on to my car with dark empty cliff below it. It was hands of god that pulled me across, or I would have dragged along my friends down the cliff never to be found in one piece.

It was the night of 27th June, my team on election duty didn't want to spent another night in Gogona, so we had to pack out bags after the poll was over. It was raining heavy and we were carefully heading home. After meeting other teams at Nobding I was relaxed and moved at my own safe pace. But there is no absolute formula to drive safe when it rains. 

When I entered the huge turn below Nobding, where road widening works are going on during the day, I saw a boulder falling about a foot away followed by rumbling sound of bigger boulder. In fraction of a second I heard several thuds on my car. I don't know what an experienced driver would do- I didn't have time to think anyway. I had a young lady colleague behind me and a young police chumma in passenger seat- their lives were in my hand. 

I could hear the bang, bang of rock and scream of my friend from behind, just then a bounder as big as my head teared through my windshield and landed near my right foot (only god can explain how it didn't hit me at all). Now, I could see nothing in front with the windshield already blurred by cracks. All the while I haven't stopped, I sped across with all my focus on the road, and after I couldn't see anymore from the windshield I opened my window and project my head out to see the road, until we reached a safe place. If I had panicked a little bit, you would have seen me on BBS Headlines. 

The boulder came in through the windshield 

It was dark and raining, we were still within the huge curve, which means we weren't fully safe. So I rushed to remove the broken glass using the sharp boulder which was sitting at my feet- damn, it wasn't that easy. The broken glass had turned elastic. I asked the police's SLR and used the butt of the Rifle to make a hole for me to see through. 

Thank god, other boulders hit the body!

While I drove, my friend contacted our presiding officer who was way ahead of us, only to find his phone was dead. Then we called our Returning Officer to find a lady answering us, who was not in the mood to take anything seriously. Knowing there was no help we could call for we continued on our own for next 40 km home. 

I was freezing in my wet gho with rain hitting my face like a knife, and occasionally my vision blurred. I tried to keep my eyes open but the sharp pain in there won't let me, the two of them can't drive. Only after passing Rajona, the rain stopped and we had a calm three km journey until we reached RO's office.

At midnight I was taken to hospital to clean glass powder from my face and neck, and only then I fearfully realized that I nearly risked my eyesight by driving after the accident. It wasn't rain that pricked my eyes all the while but flying glass pieces. That night they removed three glass pieces from my eyes and asked me to go for further check up, because they didn't have the tech to remove smaller pieces- I am yet to go!

For now I need enough time to thank god. That's my first kiss with death and I must say it taste awful.

I am not Dead, I want to Vote

I was recorded "Dead" in my census by a donkey at the Department of Civil Registration and Census, yes it's their mistake because the record with my gup has no flaw. I wrote about it last time and it has been picked up by Business Bhutan too. Back then, everybody was amused, and soon I was amused too.
But Now, I may have to pay a huge price for someone else's blunder- I can't vote in the Local Government Election. I am trying to send my Postal Ballot Application form since yesterday but I could NOT find my details in Postal Voters List nor in Electoral Roll. 

Not yet? How Come?

Today I realized that all my family members are registered voters and my wife is a registered postal voter by the virtue of being my wife, except me, who is supposed to be dead! and yes I am so dead now!
I may be the only Bhutanese who can't vote. Even if people at Census solves my problem now, my fate is frozen because by 24th April 2011, Electoral Roll was sealed!
Let's see who should answer about it. My right to vote has been snatched away and I damn have to know who did it. I will make noise till I get my answer!

Late PaSsu

Deep condolences to my family members, including myself, who must be disturbed by the shocking news of my untimely demise. I was murdered by somebody in the Ministry of Homes and Culture Affairs, Department of Civil Registration and Census that has a vision of becoming "an efficient and effective organization, delivering civil registration and census related services of the highest standard and quality". The cause of the death must have been a careless punching of information in the database.
It may be an omen that I will live longer but upon hearing that I am "dead" in the census record of my country I had a very bad feeling. It came to my notice when I applied for NOC for my promotion. 
How did this happen?
Is it my fault?
Who should take care of this?
Do I have to apply for leave and run to Thimphu to prove that I am alive?


Whoever is responsible, please, don't kill me, I have a whole family to look after. And I don't have time and money enough to come to Thimphu to sort things out. Please take necessary action and know that I have forgiven you for declaring me dead.

Marching through March

While blogging keeps me happy, life keeps me away from blogging. I met the bad luck at the gate of new year and he is still bothering me. My junior high school mate Tashi Phuntsho shook my hand hard and made strong promises. I didn't know he had changed so much until he ran away with my money. He has got guts even police couldn't break. Arrest warrant awaits him and he is still breathing dusty air across the border with his Indian mates. I have given details of his every move with his photograph to police, and yet I am made to wait forever. Police vigilance and intelligence ran far short of my expectation.

My school, the place that has become a part of me, saw series of hard times these few years. There was flooding, followed by drowning of a beloved student, then a theft case, then the bus accident which took a dear friend and injured three, and finally the fire that made us start from the scratch. Thanks to many donors, our school is coming back in shape. My principal is coming in with lots of new equipments. and thank god, the toilet has survived the fire, under the ruins- we didn't have plan "B" for that!

Mortality of physical assert shocked us the most, and our madam Secretary advised us to computerize every school data, which was what I was working on all through the month. I have prepared a very comprehensive school database, which I am think of publishing online in our school website- no flood and fire could ever destroy it.

But my personal problem still remains. As long as Tashi is free, I am not!

Hitting Century on my blog amidst Crisis!

While I am the last person to believe 2012 story, these few months of crisis all over the world is forcing me to change my mind. From stubborn Mubarak in Egypt to brutal Gaddafi in Libya, now  almost across whole Arab world, history is changing forever. While we were busy watching the tsunami of people across the streets, Japan is hit by what seemed like an imitation from the movie Day after Tomorrow. 

Hitting 100!

As far as we know there is no country in the world more prepared for earthquake than Japan but Tsunami took it by surprise. And as if it wan't enough, the disaster is immortalized by the involvement of nuclear power crisis in Fukushima Daiichi. Japan may have to live the World War II ordeal one more time. My sincere prayers for Japan for whatever it take stand tall again.

Amidst all these crisis across the globe, which keeps me awake late into the night I selfishly rejoice the success of my blog- if I can call it so, for gathering 100 followers today. PaSsu Diary has given me the inspiration to write and friends to inspire. While I expect recognition for whatever I sweat in,- from working months on building school webpage to stretching midnight hours to set up school database- my blog where I least expected gave me the maximum satisfaction. It only teaches me to do the things that I love, or love the things I do.

On this occasion I want to thank all my readers from across the world who gave me 36,740 hits so far for letting me enjoy writing and take pride in it. Following are the top ten countries in which my blog was read. I am surprised Singapore which was in top 5 earlier is now knocked off!

1. Bhutan 50.1%
2. United States 22.0%
3. India 6.6%
4. Australia 4.0%
5. Thailand 3.6%
6. Netherlands 3.4%
7. Germany 2.7%
8. United Kingdom 2.6%
9. Russia 2.5%
10. Canada 2.4 %

P:S: Thank you Madam Secretary for reading, loving and praising my blog. I couldn't help flying when DEOs and principal gave me your regards. It means a lot to me- and to them!

Unhappy New Year

After watching the beautiful sunset of 2010 in Samtse I prayed for a happy new year. The chill of death was strong in the air, and I could feel the wave coming closer. I knew life was preparing me for something bad. I lost no body in the Nepal air crash, then the Lampuri bus took away a student of mine. While I watched the sunset I was happy I escaped the season of death before it could come any closer.


But when the whole world was exchanging New Year greetings, going out for dinner, picnicking afar, hugging and loving and seeing all the joy in the world, I was crying. I lost my asha on 2nd January 2011. I can never accept it. When I went down to Samtse, we had a dinner together and I didn’t have a slightest clue that the dinner was going to be our last together.


We knew each other quite late in life, but I knew him best. We met every weekend and dinned together as if to compensate for all the times we lost so far. He reached out to me like no one has ever done. He took me down our family timeline that I long wanted to know. In him I saw myself. He would take me on a long walk and talk on different subjects. He was the best family man I knew- a great husband and father. I was so happy to have known him and be a part of his family. But I didn't know he was in a rush- as if he knew he was going to die- to tell me the story of our family which I never knew. 


I don't know if I can ever overcome the loss but as I look back in time I see reasons to smile; having met him, getting to love him, having the chance to be a part of his proud family and even as he was dying he was connecting me with the part of my family I have never known. I am happy that he lived a king's life. It's our misfortune that we lost him so early in his life. God loved him more. I shall miss him everyday of my life.