Home Going

Yangthang in snow, Dec 2009

Hurray… I am going home. There is no greater feeling. One thing I hate about having a job is not getting to stay where you belong. But thank god I am a teacher that I get regular vacations. The studently excitement of mid term break and winter vacation die hard and thankfully the right to them is intact in my case.

Over the years everything changed; I have no friends in the village, kids there don’t know me, old people hardly recognize me, even the village itself is unwelcoming after its rebirth from the ashes of February 2002, and at times I get a feeling that I no more belong there. But someone there remained unchanged ever since I could remember, my mother, for whom my heart is fully inclined. She always awaits my arrival at this time of the year, perhaps for the last eighteen years. Today mobile phone keeps us almost together though but home going is something so special that I can never misplace it in the chaos of time and change.

I love to see my mother beam with joy and pride when I am at home. We have stories to share still. This is our best gift for each other. And I wish my sister could realize it sooner. 

My Daughter Forgave Me

That night I failed miserably. She kept looking at me, as if trying to recall why I looked, smelled and sounded too familiar. She even smiled  at me often but every time I went closer she gripped harder on her mother. I saw her effort in trying to remember me as much as I was trying to make her remember.
It reminded me of the many movies I watched of people who lost memory, Notebook in particular. I then tried some filmy tactics; redoing every little thing I did with her, making my signature sounds... but before she could jump on to me it was her bedtime. I was angry and sad and miserable but my wife guaranteed that next morning everything would be fine. And guess what, it was! My darling crawled on to me and demanded me to take her out. Finally she forgave me for the seven days.
But I am afraid how can a child ever forgive their parents who left them for years!

My daughter forgot me in seven days

Last week I was my daughter's favorite person at home, she would cry for me and when she was in my arms she was the happiest. I remember how badly she cried when I left for these seven days workshop. All these week I called home every evening and listened to my daughter's sounds, and she heard me too.

This evening I reached home and I cancelled all my online occupations just to spend time with her but the fact that I am blogging now is my daughter won't come to me. She looks at me a cries bad. She forgot me in seven days, god. I am hurt. All my excitement died for now, but I will work hard to regain her love. And most of all I will never leave her anymore.

Showing Middle Finger at 65

Dr. Low with monkey hanging on her neck at Chukha

At 65 I would be complaining about my joint pains, grumbling about my children, carrying loads of medicine and worse of all doing just nothing, simply waiting for death. Or may be not; I can change that today! I sat down listening to Dr. Low’s powerful lecture and breathtaking presentations on dreaming big. My thirst for seeing Shiv Khera in person is quenched after these two days of workshop with 65 years young lady.

Her part of the workshop was actually meant for principals but since the last minute adjustment excluded them she carried on with us, and thank god she did. It wasn’t a classical workshop where we wait for the tea breaks and lunch break and eagerly fill up the allowance bill and then rush back home. We thank god that we were here.

Dr. Low inspiring People back in Singapore

She didn’t appear 65 in anyway; she emits rays of energy, happiness and satisfaction.  She dances, jumps, puts her foot on the table, shows her middle finger … She makes us laugh our lungs out, makes us play some funny games and puts us in deep realization and then gives us the want to do things that we dare not wish for. She is a living example of a person who dreamed big and let dreams happen.

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; there is where they should be. Now, put foundations under them       - Henry David Thoreau

At 65 I don’t want to complain about my joint pains, grumble about my kids and survive on drugs anymore, I want to be strong enough to show my middle finger, run and scream with my grand children, help my children in buying their first cars, go on vacation with my wife and be a source of happiness to people around me. And it all starts now with a vision.

Note: Dr. Low Guat Tin is from Singapore, she is a trainer of managers. She is here in Bhutan to facilitate a workshop for Singapore International Foundation’s project in Bhutanese Schools.

Tshimalakha: Place Frozen in Time and Hidden in Fog

Foggy Evening View

I have been to Phuntsholing more than I have been to any other Dzongkhag, but because road runs straight down through Tshimasham and I didn’t have reason to divert away from the highway I could never come to this place I am at. Thanks to this workshop which brought us here.

Tshimalakha was muffled in dense fog when we reached here yesterday, not so surprising since I always heard about the place. But reaching here and seeing the place for myself made me realized how much I have assumed. When the fog disappeared this morning I was startled by almost everything, the place is so unique from the rest of the places I ever been to. Of course the whole place came in at once when Chukha Hydro project was on. Nobody passing by the highway would expect such a huge settlement hidden in the heart of the hills.

The place defines a time period in the history of Bhutan, and today when I look at the place I see the time frozen on the face of the structures still standing. Sometimes the so many old building standing against the force of time gives an impression of a world that has survived a nuclear war. I suddenly feel a sense of attachment to the place, as if I have been here before. I love this place so much but I won’t like to live here.

I Am a Satisfied Hubsonther

What is hubsonther? You might not have heard the word ever because I could only create it a week ago. Three torturing hours of invigilation duties throughout last week gave me room for meditating on a family concept I had in mind for quite sometime. Hubsonther is a noun. It is a stage in a man’s life when he is a son, husband and father together. It also refers to a man in this stage and therefore I am a hubsonther. By now you must have made out the three words I integrated; (Hub)by (Son) Fa(ther).

Hubsonther Family Tetrahedron

Last month when my mother came to visit me I took my family out several times. During these visits to our regular places I would introduce my mother to the local friends and then I would jokingly introduce my wife and daughter too (whom they already know). Then I realized that I was a hubsonther and I silently beamed with pride.

Hubsonther is the most challenging period in a man’s life; having to please three different generations of people. My mother remained my highest priority ever since my childhood and she is proud of me for making her proud year after year. There are hundreds of stories my mother would share about me back in village. And that makes me a good son.

Wife is someone you choose from among the strangers and give her the best place in your life but often people land up growing distant from their bloodline after marriage in process of pleasing that one woman. But the fact of life is you only get to choose wife in life, not your mother, father or siblings not even your children. Therefore marriage is more than your personal love. Love is blind and often selfish therefore leave it aside while dealing with something as serious as marriage.

I have known my wife before I loved her, which is why she is a gift to my mother and when my mother appreciates the gift that becomes blessing for my wife. That is not an easy task to bring two women of different generation into harmony. Rest is all in my hand to be a responsible husband and I have often overheard my wife talking about her happiness with her old friends over the phone. And that makes me a good husband.

I am my step son’s best friend in all aspects; we share common interests and ideology. He appreciates me and I envy him except his carelessness in studies. We are on the same side every time we are into family debate against his mother. My daughter is just too small to comprehend my love now but I am confident that she will be proud to call me father when she grows up. For now I am giving up on all my personal ambitions just to be by her side every night. She already acknowledges my presence and I feel like I am a good father.

Tetrahedron Chick here for source

Mathematically hubsonther is a tetrahedron, the four triangular faces representing my mother, my wife, my children and I in perfect fit, with every side attached to the other three sides equally. I won’t like myself to be a better son than I am a husband, or better father than I am a son, I wish to be equally good in all three just as the geometric shape illustrates. Tetrahedron is one of the most stable three dimensional shapes just as my family is and that gives me unlimited pride and satisfaction. Thus I declare I am a satisfied hubsonther.

We are more than race winner sperm

Are we still like them?

Unlike twins where the winner trophy is shared by two sperms, all the rest of us are proud race winner from among 50 million sperm cells that took part. But now that we are born we should keep aside our spermish behavior, we are more than that. We ain’t at race anymore. We must get of the race track and head for the refreshment stall. Start living.

Picture Source: scienceline.org

The Farm Road that became Riverbed

The Farm Road During rainfall. It could be worse!

The farm road above our residence, climbing steeply towards Bajo Lhakhang, and now even extending as far as Matalungchu is a big threat to natural environment. Ever since it was built a few years ago it never saw water drainage along its sides. The road itself served as riverbed during the monsoon. Worse, farmers use it as their irrigation cannel in times of cultivations, paving deep drains at different sections and blocking the road. They would justify that there were these provisions even before the road was thought of.

The road is speeding the process of land degradation at an alarming rate; Bajothang School has so far diverted enough energy on removing tones and tones of sand from hostel and football ground, and now the building which has unfortunately become school staff quarter. However we have never had time enough to bother beyond our school campus. The massive amount of sand degraded so far comes from the hill above would have taken hundred years in its natural process.

Bajo School Football ground in 2009

School being an organization responsible for educating children has no authority, capacity or experience in addressing this issue. The most we could do and have done so far is clearing the sand and reclaim our property. Having faced several bad experiences we have devised a huge drain to withstand and route out the heavy flooding. We have plans to build wall below the highway, the point between the end of farm road and the school campus to defend our school but the bigger issue is at large.

The Grand Canyon (source:naturescrusaders.files.wordpress.com/2009/05)

The farm road needs well designed drainage or may be the road itself needs redesign in accordance with the topography of the landscape. The last option may be to shutdown the road, after all it is more used by water than vehicles. Otherwise, in few years time we may get to see something like the Grand Canyon and by then Bajo Lhakhang and Bajo School would be history.

World Cup is a global event and not an African festival

I silently rejoiced the failure of South Africa squad to enter the second round of World Cup finals though I have high regard for the Nelson Mandela’s country ever since my high school age. I was even overjoyed back in 2006 when South Africa was chosen as the next World Cup venue. But ever since the onset of 2010 World Cup finals my love for the African nation faded in heavy chaos of Vuvuzela.

 Photo source:vuvuzelasouthafrica.co.za, forgive the integration of center vuvuzela.

Vuvuzela is actually a graceful cultural piece as I was in Hollywood movie Bones but it is far from pleasing when blown in crowd of thousands. It must be their tradition but tradition should not be ruthless. Despite the protest of millions across the world and even the players themselves South Africans selfishly turned their deaf ears. They should realize that the World Cup is a global event and not an African festival. They terribly failed in making 2010 World Cup in their country a memory worth cherish-able for the rest of the world.

Moment you put on the television either the sleeping babies are woken or elders are made restless, and without an option we have to either put off or watch it muted, murdering the very charm of the game.

South African team was doing well but the vuvuzela blew them out right in the first round and I sadistically loved it. I even loved the cameramen for not showing a single glimpse of vuvuzela during the entire tournament so far. When the news channels do show people with vuvuzela pressed hard against their lips I can’t help wishing if all of those turned into penises right into their mouth.

Lost Path

Lost Path under sand.

It was raining the whole night and it got me worried. The new building I shifted in lately already experienced flooding twice. The rain had stopped in the morning. I looked through the window and saw that the footpath was lost again. Thick blanket of sand had surrounded our building.

Punatshang chhu is huge and everybody knows that one day it will flood the valley badly. Major concern has been diverted towards reducing the risk if in case the worst happens. No matter how much Bhutan tries not to warm the global temperature the big countries are carrying on with their deadly activities. The glacier lakes feeding the Punatshang chhu are growing by the day like a ticking time bomb.

However I am sad to discover that Punatshang chhu and the glacier lakes had nothing to do with what brought the sand around our building. I personally witnessed the second flooding. The source was the farm road that leads uphill above our home. The road is otherwise dry and dusty. But when it rains it becomes a riverbed of ragging water down stream that hit highway and spills over into our area. It carries heavy load of reddish sand and deposits it into our drainage system, blocking all outflow. If it rains again before we could clear the earlier sand there is no way we could save our rooms from flooding.

Making room for the next load of sand

While we worry about that one day when the Punatshang Chhu will flood, the farmroad flash flood has already threatened us thrice. The big question to answer is, whom should we fear more?