My Adopted Sister Nima Chunda

My childhood has been interesting. Everyone who knew me as a boy has unforgettable stories to share. From the outside, they must have found it adventurous. But I have been trying to forget everything because there weren’t many beautiful moments I could cherish. I don’t want to be hateful. I want to be different.

My childhood was kind of a dirty street where only a few kind people had walked by and I mean the real kind ones whose kindnesses were compassionate and unconditional. Since I had only a few such people in my life I am going to begin writing about them, one by one.

1997, Paro: I was in junior high school fighting for attention. I would be in trouble every other day. I wasn’t scared of any form of punishment. It seemed like I enjoyed being punished. I was avoided like an infected dog. As a dirty village troublemaker, it was easy for people to hate me.

1996, Paro

Life would have been different if I was cute. It could have been forgivable if I was rich, or at least talented. I was miserable in studies, sports, music and everything that could have made life easy in junior school. I was rather into fighting most of the time. I would be beaten often, and if I survived I would have it from the teachers.

But there was one girl who looked at me differently. She was quiet and gentle. She was perhaps a little older than me or a little more matured. She'd told people that I was her adopted bother. I went numb when I heard that as if I had waited all my life to hear that. It was a culture in the '90s to adopt brothers and sisters but like I said you had to be special to be chosen. People were shocked that a gentle girl had accepted the most mischievous boy in the school as her brother. I was equally shocked.

From that day I began to hide from her, and whenever I was going to do anything undesirable I would scan the whole place to make sure she wasn't around. Soon people knew about this spell that worked on me and started using her name as key to controlling me.

Perhaps she must be the first girl to whom I spoke softly; I called her Aue Nima. Her name was Nima Chunda. When she called me to seat with her and share her lunch, I would be the quietest boy with all the decency that I didn’t know I had. People passing by would stop to confirm if it was really me. 

That summer, I didn’t have money to go home and she had heard that. She took me to her family and gave me three best days of my childhood until she got enough money to buy me tickets home. I had good food, slept in a soft bed, visited her relatives and watched endless movies. She would take me to videocassette shops and make me choose movies. Imagine the joy of getting to watch movies of your choice in the ’90s.

She would often send me her lunchbox so that I could taste better home-cooked food. She would call me by the riverside during the weekends and help me do my laundry. She would send me gifts and goodies. I was new to all these acts of kindness; I only saw those happen to other boys in the hostel. She made me feel like anyone in the hostel; wanted and normal. I suddenly began to see the world differently.

To this day I wonder how a small girl of her age had such a compassionate heart to care for me, who didn’t even have a cute smile to return. She was the best thing to happen to me in my junior school.

My mother would often ask, “Where is your Aue Nima now, what’s she doing?” and the last time she asked me I told her, “Aue Nima has become a nurse. She is in Thimphu Hospital. We are in touch.” My wife and daughter heard Aue Nima's story from me more than once and we met several times.

Today, when I could help a random person somewhere I remember Aue Nima, because I know the DNA was passed down from my adopted sister. 

Blogging With Dragons

Do you remember the popular column "Ask Boaz" in Kuensel K2 Mag?

Well ‘Ask Boaz’ was for more than four years the favorite tech guide and information source in Bhutan, which ran as regular column in Kuensel’s weekly K2 magazine. Boaz Shmueli would answer to questions sent in by his readers with surprising wit and simplicity. Over the years, the column subtly became the most authentic history of technology in Bhutan. 

Now the complete collection of his articles from ‘Ask Boaz’ column is put into a book "BLOGGING WITH DRAGONS" and if you are quick enough, the ebook version is on Amazon.com for free these days (Click on the Picture).

Click on the pic to download the book

As I read flip through the pages I am transported down memory lane- the times we struggled with Dialup connection to the wake of Facebook on 3G network, technical nitty gritty to online security and media literacy, KB days to coming of TB, … The book is the most authentic biography of technology in Bhutan. It can give a very authentic insight into the lives of people of the Bhutan, and the gradual change we underwent in the short span of time.

The book is a legacy of a foreigner who lived a meaningful life in Bhutan and impacted everyone who owned a computer, tablet or phone.


The book can still be a helpful ‘how to’ book in Bhutan and similar countries. It can be a useful technology guidebook for anybody living in or travelling to Bhutan because we are still faced with the questions that Boaz answered years ago. 

The writer Boaz Shmueli is also the author of Thimphutech.com and Creator of android app BhutaNews. 

The Divine Bastards

"Bastard" is not a nice word to use no matter how politely you put it. People try to polish it as 'fatherless', but how can a child be born without father? Dzongkha equivalent word for bastard is Drang, which is equally devastating, therefore in some regions it's coded as 'child of rooster'.

A person born out of wedlock is referred to as a bastard and even if you are one you don't want to be addressed so. You would rather say your father was killed by a snake than to admit that he was alive somewhere with no regard for you and your mother. But how would you react if you were a bastard of a supernatural father?

I counted three prominent figures from our past who were proud to be called bastards because they weren't fathered by ordinary beings. They were believed to be bastards of powerful local deities of three different regions. 

Paro Penlop Agay Haap was believed to be the drang of Ap Chundu, the powerful local deity of Haa, Tapön Migthol, the chief bodyguard of famous Chakpa Sangay was believed to be the drang of a local deity of Tangsibji, Trongsa and Kawang Mangkhel was considered the drang of Dechenphug Gayney. They lived with the reputation of being invincible.

Dr. Karma Phuntsho, in his book History of Bhutan, says, "Such stories of beautiful maidens being impregnated by local gods and spirits were well known in medieval Bhutan and often used for explaining the unusual physical strength and agility of some men. These children with non-human fathers are often referred to as bastards or drang of particular deity or spirit and their formidable strength attributed to their non-human paternal origin. "

All the three divine bastards coincidentally lived during Jigme Namgyal's time. Imagine the bravery of Jigme Namgyal to have the heart to live and fight among people of such deadly reputation. Except for Penlop Agay Haap the two others were Jigme Namgyal's biggest hurdles in the western regions, though in different times. 

Our country saw re-ignition of civil war in 1850 during the reign of 38th Desi Wangchuk Gyalpo. Following a biased verdict that went against Agay Haap and his allies, they stabbed the desi to death and installed Zhabdrung incarnate Jigme Norbu as the 39th desi. On the other side of Dochula Chakpa Sangay appointed himself as Desi and took control of Punakha and Wangdue, thereby dividing the country into two.

Jigme Namgyal was not even Trongsa Penlop then when he was invited by Agay Haap’s Party to fight along side his cousin Desi Jigme Norbu. After the military campaign Jigme Namgyal and his two brothers stayed back in Punakha and it was then that he ambushed Chakpa Sangay’s righthand Migthol. The invincible chief of Punakha troop, who was reputed to have super human strength, died in the hands of Jigme Namgyal against whom he held grudge from their earlier meeting during the reconstruction of Punakha Dzong. 

Agay Haap was Paro Penlop for the longest time and lived up to his invincible reputation and perhaps died a natural death. Among many legends, he was known for setting Zhabdrung incarnate Jigme Norbu free from Punakha Dzong when Chakpa Sangay and allies took control of the dzong. Finally it was him who put an end to Chakpa Sangay chapter by faking reconciliation and presenting him with a silken robe infected with smallpox, which killed him.

And the last divine bastard, Kawang Mangkhel appeared in the later part of Jigme Namgyal’s life when he became the 51^st Desi. He was aspiring to become Paro Penlop and his brother Kusho Lama Tshewang was then the Thimphu Dzongpon. The two brothers were standing between Desi Jigme Namgyal and his absolute power over the country. In order to expand his dominance over the western region Jigme Namgyal plotted to remove the two brothers and the first target was Kawang Mangkhel, who was the invincible one. Jigme Namgyal forged alliance with Kawang Mangkhel and helped him overthrow Paro Penlop Kipsep only to let him die in the hands of his own spiritual brother Toeb Chushing and the ousted penlop on the very day of his appointment as new Paro Penlop. He was stabbed and thrown out of the window of Paro Dzong. 

Jigme Namgyal, an ordinary son of human parents removing among many the two most feared people who were considered the crossbreed of human and deities from his path, established himself as the most invincible man in the country.   

Disclaimer: This article is focused on the three interesting characters and a few diluted summary of their history. To derive real satisfaction of reading history I recommend Dr. Karma Phuntsho’s History of Bhutan and Tshering Tashi’s Myth and Memory.

Name-Changing Syndrome

How does changing a name help anything? Of course there is a traditional rural belief that when a child is sick for a long time changing the child's name helps. Often the child ends up with better health and a very funny name. But what about an institution's name?

My daughter and I

Today, I was sitting with my family by the river Pachhu, look at my former college from across the river. It's a nice place be over the weekend, watching the majestic Dzong, the Ta Dzong, a beautiful bridge, a river and a beautiful college campus, not to mention the endless paddies on the other side.

I seriously don't know what my former college was called when I was studying there; it could have been Paro College of Education (PCE) or National Institute of Education (NIE) but when I went home I had to tell my folks that I was studying in Teacher Training College (TTC) because that's the only name they understood.

TTC was the founding name and it's imprinted on the minds of everybody from that era, even the bridge that connected to airport road was named as TTC bridge. But over the time the college was renamed as NIE and everyone confused it with NIE in Samtse, because the founding name of Samtse College of Education was NIE.

The new name was slowly getting into the tongues of local people and perhaps people in the system themselves but suddenly one day the name was changed yet again. This time it was called Paro College of Education. It has been at least ten years now but the new name is popular only inside the campus and on the paper. Imagine an institution changing its name three times in its short history, what's so wrong with us? How credible are we?

In less than 20 years we have three different types of graduates from that same collage, one holding TTC certificate, another holding NIE certificate, and yet another holding PCE certificate. Technically speaking the former two groups of people are robbed of their history. Their college doesn't exist. It's understandable within the country but I wonder how it works in universities outside when they go for further studies.

That's the name-changing syndrome my college suffered and the syndrome is widespread in our country, it begins from ministries down to small branch offices, schools to colleges, villages to geogs, and even the words in the dictionary. What was your school called yesterday?

Journey of Terton Sherab Mebar’s Kudung (body)

In my last post, I have briefly narrated the history of Terton Sherab Mebar, the first known treasure discoverer to have set foot in Bhutan. As promised I will narrate the history of his kudung (body) that seemed to have a life of its own and created history and mysteries greater than the living Terton himself.

Because Terton Sherab Mebar went against the prophecy one too many times and compromised the whole divine mission he had been assigned to, his mission on earth seemed to have been terminated prematurely. He died in his thirties, leaving behind many unfinished works. He was supposed to visit Nub Tshonapatra seven times and discover treasures that will make our country rich in all times to come, but his first untimely attempt jeopardized everything.

Terton Sherab Mebar lived in Pangpisa after that life-threatening mission to Nub Tshonapatra when he was called to attend a big event in Baylangdra, Wangdue. Before leaving, he summoned the nine households in Pangpisa and asked them to bring him a stone that could fit in his palm. He was presented with a broken piece of stone. He asked if the stone was already in that shape or did the people break it into that shape to fit in his palm. He took it as a bad sign when he was told that the stone was a freshly broken piece. He told his nine patrons that the signs said he might not return alive from Wangdue and therefore instructed them to bring his body back to Pangpisa.

He squeezed the stone with his bare hands like wet clay and left his handprint on it. This stone with his handprint was one among many such rocks he left behind from different occasions. In fact, every household in Pangpisa owned one each besides the six that were in the temple. One was a chunk of gold he took from Pasakha during his failed mission of unearthing an endless supply of gold, silver and salt.

As foreseen, Terton Sherab Mebar died in Baylangdra, Wangude and the message reached Pangpisa. A group of men was sent to claim their Lam’s kudung (body) as wished by lam himself, but people in Baylangdra turned them away. They said it was the lam’s destiny to die in their village; therefore, the body must rest there.

The disappointed patrons of Pangpisa spied on Baylangdra ever since. They planned to strike during the harvest season when every able man from the village went on their annual alms seeking event. The temple where the kudung was preserved was guarded by a lame gomchen who couldn’t go with the rest. Men from Pangpisa waited for this moment, and without wasting any time, they barged into the temple and tied the lone gomchen onto a pillar, and to keep him from starving, they placed a huge pot of porridge at his reach to last through until the villager returned. Thus, the kudung was stolen and brought to Pangpisa.

There is no record of what happened after this event until centuries later, after Zhabdrung’s era. It was during Tshulthrim Namgyel’s (Popularly known as Penlop Haap) reign as the Parob or Paro Penlop (governor of Paro), that he asked the people of Pangpisa to hand over the kudung to the central government in Paro for better preservation. Paro was the centre of Western Region, then. He explained to the people of Pangpisa that the Kudung was a national treasure and the there could not be a better place for the kudung than Paro Rinpung Dzong. It could be safe from disasters and also secured from Tibetan invaders.

People of Pangpisa reluctantly consented to hand over the sacred remains to Paro Dzong, intending to secretly steal it back. The Kudung was stored in the Marchey of Paro Dzong, secured in a wooden box and sealed into the mud wall. No sooner did they give away the kudung, they began plotting to steal it back. They planted one of their local monks to spy and get access to the Marchey. The monk started chanting Dem, the prayer in the worship of Jetsun Dema, from day one. He made the entire Dzong believe that he was the best candidate to be the caretaker of Dema Lhakhang, the chamber in the Dzong dedicated to Jetsun Dema.

That was their first move; they wanted to get access into the Dema Lhakhang because beneath it was the Marchey where their lam’s kudung was kept. Meanwhile, some men from Pangpisa worked with blacksmiths in Paro Woochu to forge iron rods with hooks on one end, and the rest of the men worked on creating a proxy of Lam’s kudung using clay.

One day, when most elder monks were out of the Dzong for rituals, the team from Pangpisa sneaked into the Dzong with the proxy kudung and got straight into the Dema Lhakhang. They removed the floorings that were straight overhead the kudung and, using the iron rods, fished the box containing the kudung. Unfortunately, they discovered the box was too big for the narrow gap between horizontal beams running across under the floor. According to their plan, they were to lift the box into Dema Lhakhang, take out lam’s Kudung, replace it with the proxy and place back the box in the Marchey as if nothing had happened.

But their plan failed when they couldn’t lift the box through the beams. They then broke open the box in midair and tried to take out the kudung, but they found that even the kudung wouldn’t fit through the gap, except for the head. When they ran out of ideas and time, they decided to at least take something, if not the whole Kudung, so they cut off the head from the body and replaced it with the head of the proxy kudung. The box was sealed again and placed back.

For the next many years, no one knew about this high profile break-in, not until a fire disaster that razed down Paro Rinpung Dzong (Date to be confirmed), about which I couldn’t find any information yet. Penlop Haap Agay Haap was still in Power, and he was said to have jumped into the raging fire to save the kudung. Everyone thought he might have burned himself to death, but he came out of the fire with the box without so much as a blister and without even burning a single strand of his hair.

When they opened the box to assess the kudung, they found the head of the kudung had turned into earth. This saddened the Penlop, but he found that the rest of the body was intact upon further inspection. Then he knew that something was done with the head. He furiously tried to detach the clay head from the body but soon figured out that the clay head had merged with the body. It’s said that the clay head gradually turned into a real head and smiled at the Penlop. He lived with much regrets for not being able to ask anything when the kudung came alive for that brief moment.

Penlop Haap rebuilt Paro Rinpung Dzong and placed the kudung back in the Marchey of the new Dzong. However, he was told that the Dzong would be destroyed yet again in times to come. He, therefore, prayed to be reborn in Paro so that he could be the one to rebuild the Dzong again.

Ruins of Paro Dzong (1907) - Shared by Tshering Tashi

In 1907, when Paro Penlop Dawa Penjor was in power, Paro Rinpung Dzong suffered another major fire disaster. The penlop was said to have fainted twice, once when he was told about fire, and next then, he reached the Dzong and knew the Kudung could not be salvaged. So that was the end of the long journey of Pangpi Lam’s Kudung, across almost 700 years.

Penlop Dawa Penjor was believed to be the reincarnation of Penlop Haap, and it’s said that he always saw this coming. He had stored hundreds of strange balls stitched in animal hide, which looked like stone used in ancient weighing scales, in the fireproof basement of the Dzong.

Paro Penlop Dawa Penjor(?)

Later after the ashes cooled down, and when the entire officials were worried about the reconstruction and even planned to send people to India and Tibet for donation, Penlop Dawa Penjor told them not to worry about funds. He sent his men to collect the stones covered in leather from the basement. Confused men thought the Penlop was severely shaken by the fire incident; nonetheless, they presented hundreds of heavy balls to the penlop. He then cut open the leather covers and showed hundreds of football-sized balls of pure gold. He is said to have funded the entire reconstruction and most of the objects in the Dzong today were made of pure gold.

When the Dzong was completed, Penlop Dawa Penjor approached the people of Pangpisa to bring the sacred head relic of kudung for the consecration ceremony of the new Dzong. He promised the people that it would be returned in three days. Penlop Dawa Penjor was known for his honesty and integrity and when he approached, the people consented.

1914 Paro Dzong restored to by Penlop Dawa Penjor

On the third day of the consecration ceremony, birds hovered over the Dzong and made strange sounds; some birds fought overhead and dropped dead on the Dzong courtyard. Dawa Penjor immediately consulted his astrologer and found out that if he didn’t return the head relic to Pangpisa, there would be a threat to either his life or the safety of the Dzong. He returned the relic right away. It was later discovered that the people of Pangpisa had been performing deadly religious rituals for the safe return of their most priced treasure ever since the Penlop took it from them.

The sacred head relic was sealed in a box by Paro Penlop and opened once a year for public display during a major ceremony. The sealing after the ceremony was soon done by Woochu Drungpa. Trongsa Penlop Jigme Namgyal upon hear that ordered the boxed to be sealed using his seal because he didn't like the idea of Woochu Drungpa putting his unholy hands on the precious National Treasure. Woochu Drungpa was the official responsible for punishing criminals and had his hand in many executions. A certain Zimpon Sangay carried Jigme Namgyal's seal and sealed the box, never to be opened again.

It was only recently the seal was finally broken, and the sacred head relic was displayed for public viewing. It was said that the seal on the box was always called "Sangay's Seal" and many thought it was Buddha's seal (Sangay=Buddha). Later upon verification, they figured out that Sangay was Trongsa Penlop's Zimpon Sangay, who sealed the box on behalf of Trongsa Penlop Jigme Namgyal.

The Scared head was on display on the day I visited Ugyen Guru Lhakhang in Pangpisa. I just look at it for the longest time and wondered what a journey it underwent across almost 800 years.

Paro Penlop Dawa Penjor's wife's home in Paro Geptey, now converted into Heritage Museum

Disclaimer: There could be inconsistencies in the historical events and dates; therefore, I remain open to feedback and advice to make this thrilling narrative as close to fact as possible. 

History of Terton Sherab Mebar We Missed in School

My mother told me tales about a certain Pangpi Lam, who went to Nub Tshonapatra, a lake west of Haa, to fetch golden pillars growing on the lake's bottom. He took a group of carpenters who were to fell the golden pillars when he vanished the water from the lake. The carpenters were instructed to take the gold splinters from the one-foot margin they were given for chopping.

Nub Tshonapatra (Tsho Na Pa Tra) Picture: Dechen Pema

But the carpenters grew greedy as they saw chunks of gold flying all over on the impact of their axes. They went beyond the margin. Lam signalled the relentless carpenters to maintain the margin given because he had held up the lake water in his mouth and could not speak. Lam had to shout at them to stop when the workers went way too much, but then the lake busted out of his mouth and killed all workers. The raging water then chased Lam, who now lost his meditative concentration.

Lam fled with some treasures he had extracted from the lake, which he threw one by one to distract his pursuer. Each time he dropped an object, a portion of water settled over it and formed a small lake. The lakes were called Nga Tsho (Drum Lake), Dung Tsho (Trumpet Tsho) and so on, named after the treasures they were concealing. When the Lam finally reached his monastery, the water retreated, and by then, Lam had only a cymbal with him.

Nub Tshonapata and all the other lakes

I thought it was another folktale until I learned the presence of the single cymbal in Paro Dzong. It can be seen and heard during the first day of Paro Tshechu. That made me interested in the story of Pangpi Lam.

The single Cymbal in Paro Dzong believed to be from Nub Tshonapata

Then I learned that there is a place called Pangpisa where the legendary lam lived, wherein the name Pangpi Lam came. His real name was Terton Sherab Mebar. I was told his body was preserved to this day. It even connected to the famous Pangpi Reip, the medicinal ball reputed to cure any form of internal infection, including cancer. The Reip was said to be rolled out from the dust gathered from terton’s remains.

All these fragments of mythical and historical information finally formed proper shape and fitted together on 24.06.2015 when I visited the very place, which is now called Ugyen Guru Lhakhang, in Pangpisa. Thanks to my friend Sonam Ura for making a special arrangement for our team on the day they had all the treasures on display.

Despite the bad road, a huge crowd has come to receive blessings from supernatural objects. Our team patiently waited until late afternoon to take our turn. It was worth the wait because the crowd had disappeared and we were just about twenty of us at the end. We sat around the current Pangpi Lam, who had all the treasure displayed on his table.

The charming and witty orator began the history lesson, and for the first time, I realized that Terton Sherab Mebar lived way before Zhabdrung and even before Terton Pema Lingpa. He was believed to be born in 1267. As a passionate history student, what was very intriguing about him was the specifics we could draw right out of the three tiny pecha (religious text) written on palm leaves in his own handwriting. The two were said to have details of his treasures and one about his own life.

As much as I love to share about the Terton, I am scared I might dilute the great piece of history. Therefore I will dwell on certain aspects of his life and legend and leave the rest to serious historians like Dr Karma Phuntsho to do justice.

Terton Sherab Mebar is believed to have approached Bhutan through the Jomolhari, where he was said to have discovered his first treasure on his way from Tibet. He continued to Bumthang through Baylangdra in Wangdue. Once in Bumthang, according to his prophecy, he had to look for a girl called Pema Chuki of a certain age to accompany him in discovering certain treasures, but that proclamation did not go well with the locals. It instead triggered suspicion, and the then ruler in Bumthang, who too had his eye on the same girl, didn't want to believe in such a prophecy. 

He demanded Terton to prove himself to the people of Bumthang by discovering treasure from a nearby lake, the current Mebar Tsho. Terton resisted, saying that the time hadn’t come for the Mebar Tsho treasures to be revealed. He told them that three generations later, his own reincarnation, which we now know was Terton Pema Lingpa, would come to discover treasures from the lake. This only added more suspicion, and he came under tremendous pressure to prove himself by going to the Mebar Tsho with a burning lamp in his hand. He came out with two chests of treasures that he returned to the lake immediately to be rediscovered generations later by the rightful Terton, Pema Lingpa.

He seemed to have failed to win the goodwill of the people or the ruler of Bumthang because he could neither marry Pema Chuki and nor discover the treasure he was destined to do in the company of the prophesied khandro. This was the beginning of many events that would go wrong in his life and ultimately cost him his life.

The subsequent failure happened in Pasakha, where he was prophesied to discover a cave of gold, silver and salt. He meditated near the area and caused a landslide that opened the cave door to endless resources, but it's said that he met three people carrying empty baskets on his way to the cave, which was considered very ominous. He knew something was not right. By the time he reached the cave, everything had turned into rock and sand. 

He finally reached Pangpisa through Sombaykha and Jabana, the ultimate destination to which he was directed. It was here that he had to wait till the age of 25 to head to Nub Tshonaparta to reveal the world of treasure wealth that could sustain our country throughout times to come. It was prophesied that he would visit the lake seven times in his lifetime. But as restless as he was, and because of his reputation and the growing suspicion even in Pangpisa, he had to leave for Nub Tshonapatra earlier than prophesized to earn his respect back. That’s when the story my mother told me happened. It was a big failure. Thirty-two carpenters and workers were reported to have been killed that day.

In addition to what my mother told me, some folklore has it that Ap Chundu, the local deity of Haa, was said to have negotiated between the Lam and the raging lake when he was chased by the lake. An agreement was drawn stating that Pangpi Lam and his descendants would never cross Tego La towards Nub Tshonapata. This term of the contract is honoured by the people of Pangbisa to this day.

It's believed that Ap Chundu had a role in the actual prophesy to accompany the Terton to Nub Tshonapata in extracting the golden pillar when the time was right but Sherub Mebar had taken local carpenters ahead of the destined time to put an abrupt end to the grand prophecy.

Terton, who was actually prophesied to live for ages and discover many more treasures died an untimely death in his 30s in Baylangdra, Wangdue.

The handwritten record left by Terton himself and the numerous treasures he left behind support all the tales and events in more incredible details and astounding preciseness.

In my next post, I will share about the thrilling journey of Terton’s Kudung (body) from Baylangdra to Pangpisa and to Paro Dzong within the span of 700 years. Only the skull of Terton's Kudung survived today, and it’s back in Pangpisa, which was on display on the day I visited.

Bhutanese Bloggers App- Coming soon

On 24 June 2015 we saw the union of 35 Bhutanese bloggers in Thimphu. 35 is by far the biggest number we had so far. This time almost every blogger in Thimphu managed to come, with little icing on the top from Wangdue and Paro. A friend of Bhutanese bloggers from Singapore, Rima has also made it to the gathering.

We ran out of space in this room...

During this Blogger Meet we made some serious decisions with guidance from Dasho Sangay Khandu and Au Yeshey Dorji; first we decided to call ourselves the Community of Bhutanese Bloggers and we agreed to meet at least twice a year. With optimism given by the overwhelming attendance we felt the need to look for better settings hereafter and to sustain the community we decided on membership fee. An elected working group is now working on a document that will guide our events.

The community made it clear that we may support each other but will never influence or interfere with anyone's freedom of expression, and that goes on to say that individual bloggers are solely responsible for what they write and how they write, even after having the community. It's little early to say but I see ourselves organising inspirational workshops to empower bloggers. We even saw possibilities of organising Bloggers awards.

Personally, my favourite outcome of the meet would be the idea of creating a smartphone app I randomly shared, which I am not sure if other endorsed but nonetheless I will work on this and when it's done I am sure the community will love it.

The App is going to be something like BHUTANews that collates feeds from all news sites. Our app will collate feeds of our members' blogs so that every blogger gets equal readership. The app can have features to analyse blogs through readership and interaction to come up with nominations for possible blogger awards. I'm going to talk to the maker of BHUTANews, who is a very good friend of mine. Let me find out what it would take to have such an app.

By the time we settled for this photo session, 12 friends have left...

I want to thank my co-organizers Nawang Phuntsho, Riku Dhan Subba and Rekha Mongar for making it possible. For the cosy venue and refreshment We would like to thank our friend Tharchen, CEO of iBest. And for the dinner, we would like to thank Wangyel Tshering for your generous donation and Ma'am Tshering Dollar for offering to add on it.

We missed so many bloggers who weren't in Thimphu on the day. We would like you to know that the community would love to have your presence in the future meets. There is no criteria, no formality and no restriction of any sort. No one is a stranger in the community.

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

My Mother is Back in Village

I was very happy when my mother went to Thimphu to live with my sister. I always wanted her to lead easy life once we grew up, because she had suffered enough of rural hardship in brining me and my four siblings up. The time had come for her to hang her spades. She could live with me but she chose to live with my sister because she found herself more useful there because my office going sister needed a helping hand in babysitting her two children.

My mother, proud as she should be, gave away our cows and hens, left the fields fellow, locked our home and came to Thimphu to live with her daughter, along with our baby sister. In Thimphu, the sunburn on her face soon faded, her rough fingers softened and she gained weight. It was the beginning of a happy chapter in her life. She was the queen of the family with a loving brother inlaw.

She would visit me briefly from time to time, and we would talk of our village and people there. Soon we had very less subjects to talk about, because she didn't have anything more to talk about our village. I could sense a subtle longing in her during the long hours we spent near the TV in silence. She would sleep in the afternoon like a baby and mostly grumble about petty thing. My once confident mother who was a leader of kind in our village sounded so subdued over time.

How can her life be so wonderful in Thimphu when she personally had nothing significant to aspire to in life, given the kind of person she has always been. She would wake up in the morning and help prepare my little sister and niece for school, then after my brother inlaw and sister left she would take my nephew out to play. When the little boy would get tired of play she would put him to sleep and fall asleep alongside. She had managed a few friends in the neighbourhood with whom she would spend her long lonely afternoons.

In the evening when everybody returned home she would make them tea and spend the next hours running after the kids. Over dinner they would watch TV and there she would have no common topic with school going and office going people. If some guest showed up she would help with tea and snacks but if the guest was not a family member she knew, then she would take the kids into another room and wait till they left. This was her daily routine. It could have been so beautiful if it was just for a week or month but it went on for years. It was like she was waiting for the end purposelessly.

With My Ashim and our children on the way home

My mother had put on a visible amount of weight, lost her frontal teeth, complained about illnesses and had become so emotional. Every time I met her I felt little more guilty and when she nagged about petty thing I would even give her advices but deep inside I asked myself -what have we done? We were loving her in a wrong way. We took her away from home, leave her in urban isolation, make her so vulnerable to lifestyle diseases and proudly thought we were giving her our best.

Even when I thought of my village, I would first see the lock on our door, then I would see the faces of all the people who dies in last few years and even in my dreams I see my villages in gloomy weather. My villages without my mother wasn't quite the place I would want to think of. All the beautiful memories of village seemed somehow dimmed.

Toward the end of last year my mother expressed he wishes to return home because my little nephew has come of age to go to nursery school. Along with her our little sister would return too because the two of them were inseparable. Though we were worried about our little sister's education for long time we respected her decision this time.

My little Sister and Mother in the Village

Now my mother is back to the village and my sister goes to Chundu Middle Secondary School, which is just over ten minutes walk from our village. Our fields are green again, house is dusted and our chimney is smoking again. Sunburn has darkened my mother's face again but I can see a broad smile on her dark face. There are endless things in village that keeps her busy and during auspicious days she goes to village temple where elders would gather to sing Mani and chat about life.

My Happy mother with her children and Grandchildren

When I visited home last month she looked very happy and busy. I don't have to worry about lifestyle diseases anymore because she is physically engaged in some many village activities. And during the lazy afternoons she spends time with neighbours and chat endlessly over tea. She has gotten rid of her nap habits too. Her confidence is back and she is everybody's Aum Gaki in the village. I hope she will soon get back her posts as Village Health Worker, Manager of Milk Booth, Member of Women Association of Haa...

And Remember, last time during the Royal Visit she was chosen to offer Tshogchhang and that's when she was blessed with the photograph of her life with His Majesty, Her Majesty and the prime minister.

The Photograph of Her life, and ours!

Now when I think of my village I first see my happy mother's face and then our green fields. I have good dreams of my village and I once again feel like a hostel student longing to go home. Home is where mother is happy. 

Disclaimer: My village has road, electricity, etc. and is only 4 km from the town. It has three high school high schools and a junior school within five km radius. Therefore the village I am talking about cannot be related to many difficult ones across the country. I am only talking about life in my village. There are many other villages in which I won't imagine people leaving their parents for whatever reasons.