Seven Years in Bajothang

September 25, 2014 was officially my last day in Bajothang. This day was never in my plan. Infact I didn't have a plan beyond Bajothang. This just happened suddenly. I wouldn't have left this place for anything, but sometimes we have to make important choices, choices that are more than places and people, choices that are dream come true.

The Last Shot of the Beautiful Place I am leaving behind

I never thought I would spend seven years away from home, and gradually begin to call that strange place my new home but I think Bajothang was written in my destiny. Perhaps it was written for seven years. The seven defining years- the seven years that made me a happy teacher, husband, and father.

Seven years was a lot of time. So many things changed in these many years. First 3 batches of my students would already be in jobs and have started families. People came and went, I am among the few who came and stayed. Seven Years have passed thus. And now is the time.

Tomorrow I will pack my bags for Paro. That's another place away from home yet Paro has always been home. I began my school in Paro and finished my college from Paro and the seventeen years inbetween were spent in that beautiful valley. I am returning home. I am returning to my educational home to be student again, for two more years, to reshape the teacher that I am.

Counting the last days in Bajothang, settling things, meeting people, and attending farewell dinners, I realize I have earned the friendship of best of people in the town, yet because of my activist's activities I am told that there are some people whom I have disappointed, but I am hopeful that someday they will come to love me when they understand what I was trying to do to this place. It was never personal, and when they realize that they will hopefully begin to appreciate what I did. In seven years I dreamt to fix everything in Bajothang but as I pack my bag I can see that I couldn't turn a stone. So next time I must dream twice.

I hope I will find time to return to this place and finish two last projects I have begun here: The Museum in the School and Book Cafe in the town.

Rushing up to meet my personal deadline 

Finishing Touch to the center piece...

It's Almost Ready. 

Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?

People are closing the chapter on the Suicide too soon, yet again, as expected. It's just a few of us who thought things will change forever, that the death of two young people hanging by one tree would awaken the country to the grave reality of suicide. Are you going to wait till someone hangs on the tree at your gate? Or will it take someone to hang on your bedroom fan to make it matter to you personally?

Suicide is a very fragile subject, which is differently understood by different people: Some think it's brave act to face one's death, while other say that someone who can't face life's problem is a coward. Some explain how it's an unchangeable fate, while others believe it's impetuous stunt to prove a point.

1957 winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, Albert Camus makes it sound so simple when he says, “Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?” Suicides are generally driven by simple problems that could be solved easily over a cup of coffee, if only we could hold on for that long, because it seems that for the victims there is no bigger problem at that point in time. That's why we need to discuss it, and make professional help easily accessible to people in problem. 

March 10, 1997: It was the reporting date for class VIII students in Paro Gaupay. Class VII students were announced to report after Paro Tshechu. I didn't receive my result sheet, which was to be delivered by post in January. However, nobody really bothered about my missing result because they knew I was the best. I had the reputation of being 'the boy who never failed' both at home and in the village. So they packed my bags and sent me on March 10.

My uncle was an army officer and he sent me in an Army DCM truck with several children from army camp. Those kids had received their results and their seat in class VIII were confirmed while I was to visit the headmaster and get my result first.

The driver uncle accompanied me to the headmaster's office, he looked confident because he heard from my uncle about how good I was. The headmaster knew me well because of the several visits I paid to his office the last year, and he was so pleased to hand over the result without even punishing me for not having submitted postal address like other kids. I have failed in three subjects. Headmaster told driver uncle to take me back home and send me after tshechu holidays, because that's when class VII students should report.

I turned numb with shame and guilt. I was scared. The army driver who heard so much about me from my uncle was thoroughly confused. He reloaded my bags into the DCM and asked me to join him in the front of the truck. I refused his offer and climbed on the back of the truck, where I was alone now because all the other children had passed and were staying back.

Then as we began our journey back to Dechencholing my fear began to escalate. I couldn't imagine facing the crowd at home. I feared my uncle even in normal times. That's when I decided to jump of the moving truck. I thought to myself- what would they do if I died? Would they forgive me? What if I got seriously injured? Would they forgive me? Hundreds of thoughts asking each other questions and making answers.

I still get cold feet when I think of that moment, that delicate moment when I was ready to jump. Then I sat down and calculated what would happen in the worse case scenario? How much will they scold me or beat me? By tomorrow morning won't everything be over? That decision I took that day, with half my body hanging from a moving truck was the best I took. I thank that 13 year old me for saving me.

We reached home at dinner time. The army driver knocked on the door, and upon calling he went in and gave a loud salute to my uncle, who was having dinner with houseful of family members - we usually have no less than 15 people seated at a meal.

"So you are back from Paro?" Asked my uncle,
"Yes Dasho" Army driver replied. I could hear the beat of my heart in my mouth.

"Did you reach my boy to his school?"

"No Dasho, I brought him back."

"Why?"
"He has failed, and Headmaster told him to come after Paro Tshechu."
All 15 people in the house laughed long and loud, and amidst their laughter I made my entry with a timid smile. They laughed more. And I laughed too. Someone went to pick my plate and I joined them. Nobody even scolded me.

The fear, shame and guilt were my own construction for which I nearly jumped of the truck. Over the funny dinner I thought what would have happened to this wonderful dinner if I had jumped.


After that year I never looked back. I rebuilt my "the boy who never failed" reputation at home and in village. Became the first boy from my village to qualify from class X, and from XII. Got degree, became a happy teacher and lived to write this post.

My Muscles, Before They Disappear

Four months ago I took a daring decision to join gym, despite being a financially challenged teacher, because I realized that I was pampering my body and letting it age too soon. People like Shah Rukh Khan and Aamir Khan were from my mother's generation and suddenly they started looking younger than me. I knew I could never have their kind of muscles but I didn't want the potbelly that was slowly appearing.

For the first few days I was into building stamina and burning calories, and by the time I knew I was into making muscles with the senior members. Nobody really comes there to make muscles but everybody lands up building it after a while, that defines men.

I enjoyed the discovery of so many muscles in our body and the ways to develop them. There are ten muscles I work on every week and their growth is inspiring. Perhaps, men should explore the beauty of tangible things like their body before they venture into exploring abstract things like their mind or their life. A good face is god's gift to you, you don't have a choice, but a good body is your gift to yourself, and you do have a choice. Once in a lifetime you must define the beauty of your body.

Four Month Old body, photographed so that I can remember.

The gym is not just a physical place but a very relaxing haven in the evening after a hard day's work, to sweat, scream, joke and chat with friends. Different kinds of people come there with different stories- and leave with different bodies. As an amature I took all the effort to learn the exercises and the literatures. It's here that I learned the difference between Mass and Fat, and it's here I understood that gym is not just for losing weight because I put on over 10 kg on my bones.

Of the many teachers who joined together only three survived so far, and people curiously ask why do teacher want muscles. I correct them that we are not teachers wanting muscles but men wanting muscles. We build so that we don't have to fight at all in life- muscles are signs of non violence- when people see your muscles they will resort to peace talk rather lol.

Thanks to Power Gym, Bajothang
And Trainer: Jambay

Suicide on Social Media

The Bumthang double suicide incident was terribly unfortunate. It has been bothering me for days like it must be doing to many people across the country. While I don't know what to feel about the two misguided victims, my heart goes out to the parents who would be half dead in grief, and wondering where they went wrong in bringing up their children. They will often ask why their child disregarded them and left them for a stranger whom the child just knew for a year in the school. They will forever hang on to the shattered pieces of hope and seek silent answers. What was their fault?

In the midst of this painful event, the leakage of the depressing picture of the victims into the unforgiving social media must have devastated the family members. The pain of having to see it on social media, to know that everybody is watching the death of their child, will kill them piece by piece.

While I strongly condemn the sharing of the picture of the victims, and extend my appreciation to the many responsible and learned people who came forward to fight the spread of the picture that day, I think that the picture was a loud alarm clock to many strong policies that are sleeping in the pages of thick books.

There are three things that the unfortunate incident has fortunately brought to the national focus:

1. Suicide in Bhutan

Suicide among Bhutanese was long seeking attention from us but we weren't so passionate about dealing with it, at least I haven't seen anything significant happening to take care of it. Great many things must be happening in papers but this photo has finally told everybody that it's time take things beyond books and meetings.

2. Ugliness of Suicide

Suicide is murder of self, when your friend commits suicide, he kills your friend, he is a murderer, he should be hated and ridiculed but among us we share so much of compassion for the murderers, going to the extent of paying tribute, writing poems, singing songs... which I fear has glorified the idea of suicide. But the depressing picture has shown the true and ugly picture that suicide is.

3. Social Media Invasion 

The police did a good job by responded very promptly on the distribution of the picture on social media that very day, already today they have tracked down the person who has started it all. He was a health worker who was part of the investigation team. What are the charges against him? Does he even know that it was illegal?
Some of us will have the heart to know that it's wrong to do that but how many of us know that it's a punishable offence?
It's not very long since we dealt with case of sharing of homemade sex videos via mobile apps, some of which are already in the court of law. But I am still wondering how they will be charged and how that will help solve the future problems.
We are already under invasion from the social media and more than what happens in life will be reflected online. It's time we take social media seriously, define it and educate people on the netiquettes before the next big disaster happens.

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!)

Face of Buddha

It's my seventh year in Wangdue and I have lived it well. I have considered it my home. I have explored so many corners of this place and wrote so many stories. There are places I should have been to but I have no regrets because I haven't spared the ones around me.

However, after all these years, and all these stories I wasn't ready to accept that I had missed on a very special landmark. It was right there for anybody to see, large and distinct and unbelievably very close. It's an image of Lord Buddha's face formed out of natural rock, not even carved. I don't understand how this has not become a sacred place, when people are ready to accept a hole on the rock as Khandrum's buga or Guru's footprint.

The Buddha Face rock is located on the elephant shaped hill on which the Wangdue Dzong is built. The face is distinctly visible from across the river, anywhere between the Wangdue Bridge and the Damchen Fuel Pump.

The location of Buddha Face (Not exact but somewhere very close) 

 The special rock could be an amazing geographical accident, but accidentally it could have looked like anything else but Buddha's Face. There are lots of rock we worship that are naturally intriguing and there are other man made places that are equally overwhelming. I have been very selective in appreciating those places but when I saw this rock I could not believe it. It's so authentic. It can't for for nothing.

You don't even have to believe to see it!

I don't know how it looks close up because I haven't been right there though it's accessible by foot, the foot paths are running all around it. But from across the river it's nothing less than the calm face of Buddha. I don't understand how this place is not recognized as one of the holy Buddhist sites, though some people already knew about it. I went to verify after I saw a picture in my friend Yam Rinzi's mobile. Only after seeing it for myself, and getting convinced beyond all doubt I dared to blog about it.

Disclaimer: I am NOT the first person to see it.

Bhutanese Mask Collector

Forgive my ignorance but I have never heard of any Bhutanese Mask Collector, or for that matter any sort of collector. We consider that as the prerogative of foreigners. I have rather heard of Bhutanese smugglers who buy antique mask to be sold in black market across the border, never to be seen by any Bhutanese ever. I have also heard of foreigners who collect mask, antiques and ingenious art pieces and fly them away from Bhutan. Many of us are more than happy to see our priceless art pieces fly away overseas.

Believe it or not, there is a Bhutanese who is doing his share of collection. He won't let us sell all our arts to the foreigners. His name is Kelden Jigme Namgay (Call him KJ). You won't believe he is just a two year old if you see his mask collection. This afternoon I went to meet him and with the approval of his parents and grandmother took pictures of him and his collection.  

KJ with his collection

He is not only the youngest mask collector but also perhaps the only collector in Bhutan. He is just an ordinary little boy who is born among the kids who love wearing Spiderman and Batman mask but quite strangely KJ started asking for scary Bhutanese masks ever since he could demand for toys. Sometimes he would ask for a specific mask and his parents have to scan all the handicraft shops. His collection is built mask by mask, from Paro, Thimphu and Bumthang. He knows the masks by their names and can even locate where each of them are bought from.

The Collector. Photo Source: His Parent's Collection

It was this summer that his parents could finally make him happy after finding the last missing piece in his collection: The Dudhar Mask, the white mask worn in the dance of death. They couldn't find it in any of the handicraft shops. It was finally found in Paro Airport handicraft shop. He almost rescued it.

The Last Mask: Photo Source: His Parent's Collection

It's hard to say if KJ was born with that interest or he acquired it later but one thing that we must acknowledge is the way people around him nurtured his unique passion. Children of his age are after Ben10, Chota Bhim, Spierman, etc but remember no child is born with love for cartoon films, it's the lazy parents who let such movies babysit their children and overtime they tend to like it. We force children to like cartoon movies but KJ's parents and grandma didn't let that happen. They let him be different.

KJ lives with his parents and Grandma in Punakha.
Enjoy his collection:

Photo Gallery by QuickGallery.com

Our Cup of Pesticide?

I love tea, I love it best without milk because milk spoils the true color and aroma of the tea. I prefer slipping it from a transparent cup because seeing the color makes it more tastier. I had all the reason to believe that I was drinking the healthiest drink until I read a Kuensel report on how imported tea could contain pesticides. 

My Cup of Pesticide (?)

Bhutan Agriculture and Food Regulatory Authority (BAFRA) is soon going  to conduct tests on all tea brands coming to Bhutan, which is not very late yet. Despite worrying if we have the technology and capacity to undertake the test I am very hopeful that lives will be saved across generations. Going by the Green Peace India's report as given in that Kuensel article, pesticide residues were found in all 49 brands tested, of which 29 brands contained mix of more than 10 pesticides. Out of the 34 different types of pesticides found in different tea brands, 68 percents are not approved to be used in tea cultivation at all. 
Then are the tea brands coming to Bhutan among those 49 tested? Perhaps all of them are, which means we were consuming pesticides all our lives. If it were vegetables or fruits, which definitely contain high deposits of chemicals from pesticides, we could partly wash them before consuming but how can we wash tea? Therefore we could be sipping huge amount of toxic chemicals from tea than anything else.
That perhaps answers why cancer has become a common disease in Bhutan? It's increasingly becoming common for people who never smoked or drank to die of cancer and we silently take it as a disease of fate. If we do a serious research on the cancer patients, we might reach the conclusion that they were heavy consumers of tea. I have seen so many deaths in my Dzongkhag Haa caused by cancer, while there could be several other chances but more than anything we Haaps are tea addicts. Just in one sitting one Haap would drink more than a regular family could drink in whole day. Tea begins the day and tea ends it. Imagine the amount of pesticide they are consuming. 

I have always been a proud black tea drinker but now I feel like I was drinking the most refined cup of pesticide all this time. While it's early to conclude before BAFRA completes their test, I think there is no surprise left given the results in Green Peace India's compilation. Therefore, it's time to ask, is it safe to drink as much tea as beer? 

Tea Plantation in Assam

Southern Hills of Bhutan are most ideal for tea cultivation considering the popularity of Darjeeling tea but god knows why we never made an attempt to grow our own tea!

Breaking the Shoemaker's Curse

In 1920s Germany, there lived two young brothers, Adi Dassler and Rudi Dassler, whose father worked in a shoe factory and mother ran a small laundry business. The brothers went to the shoe factory with their father, and later began making their own shoes in their mother laundry room. They began 'Dassler Brothers Shoe Factory', which prospered.

Turning point was in 1936, then Adi drove all the way to Olympic village with a suitcase full of their shoes, and made an African American sprinter wear their shoes. The sprinter went on to win four gold medals and that made their shoes shined best in the sport world. Then World War II set in and the brothers were divided. They became rivals.
Rudi started his own firm and called it Ruda (Rudi Dassler), which was later re-branded as Puma, and Adi stared his own firm and named it Adidas (Adi Dassler). This is the story of two greatest shoes makers- Adidas and Puma.

My interest in the German brother began in 2011 when Dawa Drakpa started ShoeVival, a shoe laundry, the first of its kind dared by a Bhutanese. His parents had sent him to get a degree in BSc Nursing from Bangalore, but to their disappointment he returned from Mumbai with a shoe laundry franchise, and without the degree. Unimaginable, but that's the strangeness of destiny.

In a society that has chronic traditional hierarchical ego, where mending shoes was always associated with expat cobbler families, a young Bhutanese university student proudly establishing a brand was a history in itself. He broker the curse. Overnight he turned what was earlier perceived as 'dirty job' into a sexy profession. He made a strong statement, and most importantly he lived the example well.

Bhutan Dragon Motorcycle Club

How much adventure can one have in a shoe laundry business? Wait until Dawa Drakpa rode with Bhutan Dragon Motorcycle Club on their gorgeous Royal Enfield monsters to 'Help Shoe Bhutan'. His laundry collected, refurbish and loaded 5996 pairs of shoes on the back of a DCM truck that followed the bikers across the country. They distributed shoes and collected smiles from so many corners of the country, they reached some places where no shoe has reached and touched some feet that were never touched by shoes.

After 5996 shoes, perhaps it dawned on him that if he gave man a shoe, it ends with that shoe, but if he taught man how to mend his shoes then it will last across all the shoes the man and his neighbors will ever have in their lives. This was the beginning of another adventure for the shoe man.

Help Shoe Bhutan trip to Gasa

He is now on a long journey to saw his seeds across the country. As I write this story, he must be somewhere in Bumthang teaching school students his trade. He is now setting up Help Shoe Clubs in fifteen school across the country. The journey began in Dashidingkha MSS in Punakha where the club was set up and students were given thousands worth of tools and million worth of skill and inspiration. The man is travelling east and he is going to inspire many Dawa Drakpas on his way, and perhaps a few Dassler brothers.

These are the schools in the first phase list: Dashiding MSS, Sherubling HSS, Jakar HSS, Yadi HSS, Phayum HSS, Tashigang MSS, Rangjung HSS, Baylling HSS, Samdrupjongkar MSS, Sonamthang MSS, Damphu HSS, Sarpang HSS, Dagana HSS, Nangkhor HSS & Nanglam HSS.

Help Shoe Club in Trongsa Shrubling hereby certified!

One day there will be a time where every Dzongkhag will have a Bhutanese professional cobbler who is proud of his job, and one day the expat cobblers who lived in Bhutan for over three generations will close shop and say, "Saaaala, Now Bhutan has changed", and that day you know whom to remember.

Pride of my generation.

I am proud to be born in the crazy generation with people like Karma Yonten, Farmer Sangay and Dawa Drakpa. The thrash man, the Farmer, and the shoe man.

Democracy and Love Marriage

When I was invited to speak to Democracy Club by their club master Ms. Sangay Lhaden I was sure that the members would want to listen to anything but democracy. They have been listening to so much about it that any more theory would make them want to leave the club.

With Drukyul Decides I- Photo by Sangay Lhaden

I began by introducing the three signed books they received as gift from the author, Gyambo Sithey. The books are about everybody, everything, everywhere minus the rumors about the first two elections and the five defining years between them. If schools are seriously meaning to make differences through democracy club then they should consider investing in the books. I have shared this with Election Commission of Bhutan and perhaps the schools might receive it for free. Fingers crossed.

I was done with the books and now had to say something about the subject they have already heard too much, to many times. The following is the organized and edited version of my original random talk.

Democracy is like marriage, love marriage to be specific, you choose you own leader, I mean spouse. The courting and dating is the campaign period and finally you cast your vote one day without anyone's influence. The 100 days pledges go well in marriage but after a year you begin to see that the mole on her cheek is too big, that his snoring is very disturbing, that her nagging is not cute and then there will be nights you sleep angry, mornings you wake up sad and there are hundred little things you fight about, forgetting that you chose that person from among 7 billion people on earth.

But then one morning you say sorry and you love again, laugh again and everything works perfect. That's human. That's how real relationship works. You can't go on smiling when you are slapped, you can't forgive when he comes home late every night, you can't be and shouldn't be obsessively in love at all times because it's not Bollywood movie.

But you also don't hate your wife permanently for scolding you, you have to love her when things settle down and when she gives you that smile. You don't hate your husband forever for forgetting to wish your on your birthday, you have to love him when he takes out a surprise gift. You have to be human or you will be divorced. And in divorce both lose. Family fails.

That's how democracy has to be. You can't religiously support one party or oppose another at all times. Good decisions and bad decisions are made- success of democracy depends on how we react to that.And our reactions depend on which group we are in among the three: The Lovers, The Haters, and The Concerned Citizens.

The Lovers are the ones who swear by one party, and regardless of how good or bad the decision the party makes they will not move an inch into disagreement. They are like a obsessive husband who could go and hug his wife after she has thrown a hot pan on his face.

 Contrary to that The Haters are the ones who turn blind eyes to all the good things a party does and suddenly becomes so loud when they see a flaw. They are like an angry husband who would slap his wife even when she gifts him a bouquet of flowers.

My Illustration of Democracy

If we have more of these two groups of people then democracy is at risk. They could fail a country. Therefore we must strive to be and saw the seed of The Concerned Citizens in our youth. Educating and inspiring them to grow the heart that is courteous enough to acknowledge the good even if it's done by an enemy, and courageous enough to condemn even when the wrongdoer is a friend. That like a very human and loving husband.

The only difference between marriage and democracy is that in democracy you go to poll every five years and change the government if you don't like it...