Humans of Thimphu

I am capturing this post from Humans of Thimphu page to archive it on my blog and express gratitude. I wish to thank the team of young people behind the project, not just for featuring me but for all the positive stories you have written so far. It’s incredible how a difference in perspective can change everything. Their deliberate effort to find stories of kindness, compassion, courage, devotion, inspiration, dedication... and share on social media that is suffocating with all sorts of negativity reminds me of the story of the Hummingbird. 

 

The only other Bhutanese platform on which we see similar expressions of positivity is Ap Pokto, which is deceivingly serious in its commitment to find and tell stories of positivity and go out of its way to help people who are in need. 

Sometimes, some people raise their brows and ask how a particular person is chosen as a silent hero or an inspiring figure by Ap Pokto or Humans of Thimphu when that person doesn’t deserve to be honoured that way. Well, that’s where we must realise that there is goodness in everyone, but only a few of us can unconditionally see through all the flaws and spot the diamond among the coal. Not all of us are kind, loving, and unjudging enough to tell a good story about a random person. Therefore, the two platforms deserve to be celebrated. 

Thank you Humans of Thimphu for choosing to feature my story on World Toilet Day, a cause that's close to my heart. When you wrote a positive story, it's less about the subject and more about you. Thank you for being kind. 

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. 

His Majesty's Carpenter Story

It was winter of 2000 in Punakha that I first saw His Majesty in person, as a young crown prince. You can calculate how young he was then. I was participating in national level sports meet in Khuruthang, when then His Royal Highness visited us. In the school hall, I along with over hundred sportsmen from schools across the country listened to a story His Royal Highness shared.

His Majesty 

The story was about a very skilled carpenter who spent all his life building houses for people except himself. One day the old carpenter was invited to build a house by a rich man, which was going to be the last project because he has grown very old. When he finally completed the house the rich man came to him and said, "You have spent your life building houses for other but you don't have a house for yourself, this last house you built is my gift for you."
The carpenter who should be very happy about receiving the gift, looked at the house he built and in deep repentance thought "If I knew this house was for myself I would have build it better in so many ways"

That day when I heard the story I thought the carpenter was stupid, I felt sorry for him, yet I rejoiced in the fact that he got a house and that he could improve the house as he wished because after all he was a carpenter.

I retold the story so many times to my siblings and friends over the years, and gradually I began to discover the deeper meaning. Soon I began to resent the carpenter. He was a gifted person who had never done his best. Only when he knew the house was his to take he thought of how differently he could have built.

I grew up with the story, and the story grew with me. His majesty's message seeped deep within me. When I look back I realised I was like the carpenter when I was studying, halfhearted in my endeavours and disregarding purposes in things. Later, the life I have build in school was finally gifted to myself at the end of school. I got lucky, but there are many friends who had to live the halfhearted lives they build for themselves, like the regretful carpenter.

Eight meaningful years have passed by since I began my career and when I look back I am proud that I have built all the houses like they were my own, and like the rich man's gift,
everything in coming back to me in the form of satisfaction, experience and happiness.

On His Majesty's 35th Birthday, along with my prayers I commit to put my heart in every little thing I do in enriching the lives of people around me and the society without fear or favour. I commit I will be responsible and won't tolerate irresponsibility. I promise I won't be corrupt and won't tolerate corruption. This is a humble gift to his majesty from an ordinary subject.

Face of Buddha on the Rock (Update)

My last post Face of Buddha reached far beyond my regular audience. It has fascinated people all over. I was counting happiness on my blog, it's the moment we bloggers dream to see. The story has done magic to my blog, it was as if the story was long waiting to be told. But more than what the story did to my blog, this time I pride in what my blog has done to the story. I was seeking attention for what seemed like an ignored Face of Buddha but it turned out that the people have never heard about it, not even the oldest of people here. It was as if they waited for this moment, now people are all over the place.

Face of Buddha

Before it went viral I accompanied group of my colleagues to complete what was left half done, to go up close to the face of Buddha. The path leading to the site was worn, it was walked by thousands across the generations. How the gigantic natural art piece never caught generations of eyes remains a mystery. Standing right before the overwhelming rock, it's hard to make out the face distinctly. The eyes, the cheek, the nose, the lips and the chin that look perfect from across the river are just natural fault lines on the almost flat rock face. This confirms that there is no human manipulation at all. The compelling image of Buddha's face is a natural composition of fault lines, their shadows, and the color texture. The rock is almost two dimensional but from a distance it three dimensional. It's magical.  

Close Up

It was on Sunday I posted the story and by Monday I started receiving pictures from people who went there to see for themselves. By Wednesday the site was crowded with people, and that evening authorities decided to put fence around it. Today when I went there I could see long queue of people across the river, and many breaking through the fence already. On the other side of the river cars and people are causing traffic jam on the national highway. This is more than the attention one can ever ask for.

From the View Point

Long Queue of People 

Some people jokingly call me Terton PaSsu Lingpa and I funnily wish but like I shared in the last post, I wasn't the one to see it first. My friend Yam Rinzin show me a picture from his phone a few months ago. Today he told me that he was told by his lady colleague Tshering Yangzom, who seemed to have seen it through her window, which was facing the hill. That makes her the tertonma. 

I humbly accept the credit of making it public. It gives me great pleasure to see overwhelming number of people gathering around there and wondering how on earth it happened. Number of people will increase by the day, and in seeing the compelling image on the rock, good thought will be evoked in their minds and prayers on their lips. Perhaps this is my parting gift to the place where I lived for seven defining years of my life.   

Visitors (Even a Mobile Bakery has reached there!)

The Night Hunters

'The Night Hunters' is a collection of short stories written by my friend Dasho Lingi Jamtsho. We are friends because of the book. It connected us. And because he is my friend I can be biased in my judgement of the book, so it's best you get a copy for yourself and read it.

It's selling at Nu.200. Please don't ask how many pages it carries because it's a story book, not a notebook to be priced by the number of pages. Just know that it's about two mobile vouchers and you get to keep a book. Seriously printing books is an expensive affair in Bhutan, besides there are many people who want cuts. There is no regard for the Authors and their creative works.

I have been selling 'The Night Hunters' in my school and some people might think I am into book business because I have been marketing many Bhutanese books in and around my school however there is nothing business about it, I have no intention of peeling off the skin from the writers' chests. I just love literature and I want my students to love it all the same.

The Author during a Visit to my school.

I am happy that "The Night Hunters" is receiving good reviews from within and outside Bhutan. Here in my school every teacher carries a copy each and most of them have finished reading, they came up with varying verbal reviews mostly pointing toward the simplicity of the stories and some talks about predictable suspenses. Their reviews are some ward influenced by the price and the nature of my marketing- for some it seemed like they were owning a book for the first time (joke intended).

I bought my copy even though I could easily get a signed copy from the author himself because there is its own charm in paying for something. I finished it and I am impressed by the fineness of the language as much as I could relate to the stories. The cover design and the print quality can easily put it at par with any international book. This is one book that will not put Bhutan down, though it's Maj. Lingi's first attempt at writing. I wish him all the best with his second book.

Gifting me my Lost Dream

Eight years ago, I proudly walked the gate of Kuensel for my first “Best Story of the Month” certificate. That was just the beginning of the long road. The next month I saw my name again. I had been unkind to Writing then; from the prize money I bought watercolor and brushes. I was appreciated more for my paintings those days. Of all the prizes for poem, short story and paintings that followedI was moved by the “Best Short Story Writer of the Year” award Drukgyel school gave me. I changed my dream. I wanted to become a writer. I used to say, my dreams may change me but I won’t change my dream.

By the end of another year I had completed 30 short stories, edited them over hundred times, and kept them aside for publishing. I designed a cover for the book, wrote the introduction, even the acknowledgement. Everything had to be edited over years…many names changed in my acknowledgement. Perhaps there are none now.

How many stories you have finished by now? If someone asks me this question, my answer is: 30. I never wrote again. It’s not that I gave up so quick, I had to give up eventually. I went from publisher to publisher, printing press to government agency with no money in my pocket. I finished several shoe soles to return disappointed every night. Everybody promised me something and none did anything actually. They say it is not profitable. I even said I want no money out of that!

I spent thousands in printing manuscript and binding them for submission and many of the publishers have a copy with them, may be not anymore (they may not know that I spent all my pocket money on those). What left me disheartened and discouraged is not that they didn’t accept it but they rejected without even reading a story. I know it is not my fault at all but why to write in a place where even publishers can’t read.

Thus, I lost my dream…

But dreams die hard. My friends and teachers from good times regard me as a writer, thank you so much, even if I am far from it. Sometimes I run into strangers who tell me that they read my story or poem and express how good I am, thank you for the pleasant surprises, in those brief moments you reminded me of something great. And most of all, my friend Nagwang never leaves me alone, just as Kezang Namgyel is. They squeeze stories out of me with their good intentions. I owe these two guys my best dream. Thank you for gifting me my lost Dream.

The Story teller

Short stories have reinvented my vision of life;Life is not a spakling stream of dreams but I,with my short stories invent it...I say Life is built up of thousand bricks of short stories;It is full of stories and Stories are full of life.I began by reading O Henry, Anton Chekov, ... and then Idiscovered in me a story teller, though not yet loud enough.I wrote a couple of it and will publish it someday...I will go on writing ...I say: My dream may change mebut I will not change my dream.
Read some of my short stories by following the SHORT STORY link. I couldnot include all of them because they are due to be published by bhutantimes.