Money Speak the Truth

Money speaks. And it tells tales about anyone—loud and clear.

Who says money can't buy happiness? I have seen people drowning without money, and sadness was all they had. I have seen lovers drift apart. I have seen friends disappear when the wallet went empty. I have seen people remain alone and desolate. I have seen families turning into devils. I have seen men breaking stones. I have seen people nearing suicide. I have seen people dying without treatment. I have seen children hiding under beds to eat sweets. I have seen men racing for prizes. I have seen lamas pretending to be the perfect of all. I have seen students memorizing texts. And I have seen them all—working tirelessly. All for money.

And I have also seen men buying happiness. I have seen men driving cars with all smiles. I have seen people changing home furnishings every other season. I have seen the sick hospitalized in the world's top-class hospitals. I have seen men buying everything without asking for a discount. I have seen men changing wives like they change garments—seasonally, and often without much thought. I have seen men bribing to speed up their work. I have seen lies turning into truth. I have seen people traveling to Hong Kong, New York, Paris, London. I have seen people talking about buying entire countries. And I have seen them—enjoying it all from money. Selfishly.

I know, and I know like everyone else, that money can't buy life. But why need a life devoid of happiness? Why need a life of poverty and suffering? The answer a man always seeks from God, but the answer lies with the man himself. What an answer? The man.

A man cannot agree upon hard work when the haves and have-nots are simply divided by a bridge. Having grown up and spent a quarter of my life in an isolated and backward hamlet, I have seen people accumulating Chetrum by Chetrum to feed their growing families. I have seen parents fighting the sun and rain in the fields. I have seen them selling cash crops to afford education. I have seen every part of this maddening life. (That is a story for another day.)

On the other hand, people born with a silver spoon eat silver and live golden lives. Happy and lucky. I was in secondary standard when a classmate told us that he traveled frequently to Bangkok, and his next destination would be Hong Kong. Some of us could not even reach the Hong Kong market in Thimphu. Such was his life. A jealous teacher then asked him how many plates of rice he ate in a meal. He replied: only one plate. The teacher stated that he also ate only one plate of rice per meal. Such was the farcical, satirical remark. Such was the fate of a rich boy.

Now I see many people settling abroad and studying all over the world—America, Australia, Britain. Like cows spreading across a forest, they have scattered everywhere. I wish I had money. I would fulfill my honey dream of visiting rollicking America. Visit only. Otherwise, those conceited Americans might say, "Why does everyone like America?" That is utter nonsense. My motherland is the best and the homeliest place to stay. On the other hand, I have seen hundreds of Americans embracing other countries so lovingly. It's wicked and wrong for Americans to think that people only like to come to their country, while they can visit anywhere they like. Anyway, if I stay too long that far from my place, diaspora feelings would start to shake my roots.

And like a dog returning to its owner's house after a day's search for shit, I would be back in my village. Just as William Wordsworth desired to be with nature—to eat and defecate, not floundering in the air, nowhere to belong. Home is where the hurt is. And the first hurt, the first cut, is the deepest. And that cut—that cut is the loveliest of all.

THERE WAS…

There is not a star that shines for me.

There were some—

when they shone beside me.

Now the darkness enfolds.

Sometimes I think

I've no star left in the sky.

There is not a flower that moves me.

There were some—

when they appealed to my eyes and senses.

Now the thorns prick.

I live all my days hurt.

There is not a place that keeps me upright.

There was a place—

that kept me neat and cheered me fresh.

Now the four walls crush me.

Sometimes I think

I've no place left to live on this earth.

There is not an iota of happiness.

There was happiness—

that honed and exhilarated my mind and senses.

Now the sadness dulls everything.

Sometimes I feel

I've no way to regain happiness.

There is not a person who loves me.

There were some—

who showered me with love.

Now they ebb like fluorescent light.

I've no voice of love left.

There is no hope that keeps me going.

There was some—

that furthered my strength.

Now the dope of despair has conquered.

I've no life to lead.

There is not a mind to live a life.

There was one—

that busied my life to become a success.

Now, having understood this transitory life,

I've no meaning to understand better.

There is no longing for the world.

There was one—

when I had your love.

I was flying higher than heaven.

Now look at me—

I cannot imagine this mighty fall.

There is no easy way to get love.

There was one I had—

that kept my love as love.

Now the hatred surrounds.

How easy it is to fall in love,

and how hard to stay there.

There is no feeling left for writing lines.

There were feelings—

that carried me to a fool's paradise.

Now my pen snugs between my fingers,

and my feelings melt at the tip of the nib.

Piper's note: The poem may go on and on… lookin' for emerald green lights and open doors in life.

Hollywood <>+=-?<>Bollywood and then to Drukpawood

Bhutanese take pride in three things: religion, culture, and tradition. These often come to the rescue of our identity and nationalism whenever intellectual debates arise from outside.

As a proud and real Bhutanese, I want my youth to absorb as much of Bhutanese culture as possible. But as luck would have it, none of the youth today show much interest in religion, culture, or tradition.

However, being a subservient son of Bhutan has its own perils. When I was thirteen, I watched Gasa Lamai Singye with my friends. It was Bhutan's first movie. To be honest, it was not about religion, culture, or tradition—it was about human bonds: a love triangle. There were a few fights (dishoom-dishoom) and some songs. The movie moved some of us to want to be like the heroes, and it entered our juvenile brains. It was no traditional or cultural film, I remember.

Today, when I look back at those days, a sense of nostalgia takes over. I can still recall the flicks of that movie. It marked the emergence of filmmaking in the country. I am not a Bhutanese movie buff. I watched Gasa Lamai Singye simply because there was no television at that time. Now, I am a type of "Wood"—Hollywood and Bollywood. I have watched only about seven Bhutanese movies so far. Therefore, I find Bhutanese movies a little un-Bhutanese: tactless, amateurish, sluggish, and predictable. They are all copycats. Bollywood copies Hollywood, Hollywood copies Bollywood, other "woods" copy each other, and then it trickles down to Drukpawood. Our Drukpawood is a mixed masala of all the Woods. Filmmakers think it will become a delicious emadatshi—and that because of this tasty emadatshi, our Drukpawood could match international standards. So we copy. But otherwise, it is the same commonly tasted flavor. Our Dzongkha is becoming Dzonglish. Anyway, let us consider this: Fiji, a country smaller than Bhutan, produces some of the world's best movies.

Most of our Bhutanese movies do not depict the rich history of our country—its historical background and traditions. We had so many Penlops, Deps, legends, myths, and folktales that could be made into very good films. For example, the legend of Ling Gesar Gyap, Zhabdrung and his Dzongs, and many others could become beautiful movies. But nowadays—yes, nowadays—we live in a floating world. So we see in our movies flashy cars, immaculate houses, decked-up ladies in tatters, fancy mood lighting—all flesh and bones—and it is difficult to understand what is being portrayed and why.

Some film directors look like rocky rock. Take Tshering Wangyel, for instance—his girlish hair and the blackest spectacles. Whatever he may be, people love his direction and his films.

Photo credit: Facebook (

Bhutanese movies are very much threaded in misery and a weepy kind of life, with few sparkling moments of joy that bring a smile to the viewer's face. The scene in which Phurba Thinley tries to behave like a woman gives little guffaws, or the westernized musical party where kids gather, dance, and sing "Nga Chelu Ga, Che NgaLu Ga" or a "ting-a-ling-ling" song. Otherwise, there is no striking moment in the movie. Consider the scene where Singlam and Galam go to see their old ruined house and break apart; or the cruel mother-in-law, Aum Lamo, who crushes the head of the hero's girlfriend and thrashes her against the wall; or the scenes of heroes running through poverty and dejection—usually because of the lady they love—gripping lives, until finally they understand each other's hearts, come together, and start a new life, which succeeds within a minute of screen time. Most of the time, the films tighten the knots of brutal and faithless life, making audiences—especially Bhutanese women—believe their own lives are just like the films.

Films must excite, startle, thrill, and shake viewers. These effects cannot be produced by a play that lacks conflict. The conflict in a movie may be between human beings pulling in different directions, between a character and the environment he finds himself in, or the society of which he is a member. Movies must generally represent human suffering, which raises pity and fear among audiences and makes them decide that the film is great in its tragic appeal. The misfortune in the film should be simple and straightforward, but sublime and universal in its penetrative appeal.

A good film, by my judgment, should represent human suffering, evoke fear and pity, use embellished language, and have an emotional or cathartic appeal. Above all, it should educate, entertain, and inform. There are two views on the tragic vision of life. One is that man is the plaything of an inscrutable power called fate. The other is that character is responsible for the tragic end. In Greek tragedies, the tragic fate of the heroes is predetermined. Oedipus and Antigone become obstinate and tyrannical. Their tragedy comes from their overconfidence in their respective attitudes.

Though films portray the antinomies of our lives, the majority of our viewers take them as reality. Because of this, films should touch on various themes and issues—not only love failures, which dominate most of our Bhutanese films. Films must also represent history, contemporary Bhutanese society, roles, changing relationships, and educate viewers about the morals of faith and believing.

The Wait

Two big WAITS have changed the course of my life. These waits have wet me in tears. The wait is the weight of my life. So please—don't say "wait." That word now gives me mild anxiety and a sudden urge to check my watch.

The first wait was when I liked a girl. She knew I loved her. I even sent her a chit—folded carefully, like a tiny paper airplane of hope. I waited for her reply. And she always told me to wait. I don't know why. Maybe she enjoyed watching me suffer. I waited with hopes and expectations for two years. And what did I get? She got married. Not to me. I WAITED FOR HER TO GET MARRIED. Quite funny, isn't it? Ha ha. Ow. This wait incident changed the course of my life—specifically, it taught me to never trust girls. Or chits. Or paper airplanes.

The second wait was when I missed an interview. My friend and I were walking to the interview. On the way, he stopped to smoke. Then again. And again. He puffed frequently, cutting down our time. Every time, I had to wait for him. We reached seven minutes late. Seven minutes changed seven generations of my beloved profession. The funny part? The friend was happy to reach late. He knew he wouldn't succeed in the interview anyway. Just surreal. This second wait too changed the course of my life—and my opinion of friends who smoke.

I soon made up my mind. Whenever I think of "wait," it kills me a little inside. So now I walk alone. I least bother about the decorum or the institutions of this life called living communities. I still walk alone. It is sad. A pitiful life, honestly. But at least no one asks me to wait while they light a cigarette.

However, the antimony of life—the strange contradiction—is another way round. And now, there are many things to wait for: waiting for my Bangalore exam result, waiting for houses to vacate, waiting for holidays to come. Wait… wait… things may come. But I wonder if they will turn out good or bad. Probably both. Probably at the same time.

Only yesterday, you (name withheld) said the same thing to me: "Wait." I have decided: all my waits will now become one big WAIT. I hope this third and last wait will be the one that finally arrives. I will wait. I will hope for the best. If not… well, I may have to wait my life here permanently. In which case, please send snacks.

On Her Majesty’s Birthday(May You Be Blessed)

The Queen of Bhutan

We are lucky to be born in a country called "Shangri-La," and even luckier to be led by a king with a handsome and beautiful mind—His Majesty King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck. The King's marriage to Jetsun Pema is an adornment to the country. It is indeed a momentous union of true harmony, destined by time. The King and Queen married on 13 October 2011 at Punakha Dzong.

Queen Jetsun Pema was born in Thimphu on 4 June 1990. The Bhutanese people adore her simple and calm manner. She listens to the sufferings and problems of ordinary people and supports them. She is an ideal queen—a mother of Bhutan, an advisor, and a guide. With her great love and affection, she guides Bhutan toward modernity without sacrificing our great traditions. She thinks and acts on life as it is lived in a simple society. The Queen travels with His Majesty to many parts of Bhutan, mingling with her subjects, and this shows her grace and caring attitude toward our citizens. This love and care for every individual Bhutanese makes us feel safe, happy, and comfortable.

It was a great day when you were born. As we celebrate your birthday, we also celebrate the anniversary of your arrival in this world—and how you made it a better, happier place for us. The fourth of July is a great day to keep alive. Let the golden rays of the sun and moon reach you with wishes of success, happiness, and prosperity. Happy Birthday.

And thank you for having a birthday, and for giving us a reason to thank you. Thank you for being a wonderful person and an inspiration all along, all the time.

Their Majesties met the earthquake victims in Eastern Bhutan and Haa, the fire victims in Bumthang, and the windstorm victims in Trashigang and Pemagatshel—the problems of yesteryears. The people were given what they needed in life and brought back to normalcy. Thank you for these.

Long may our land be bright. Long may we celebrate in prosperity and jubilation, leading toward a common destination: Gross National Happiness. We stand strong and stable without any hesitation because we live under a King and Queen who are very friendly and helpful—the jewels of our country. Thank you for these.

The sincere, constructive, and assiduous King and Queen, with their good personalities, will play a role alongside an equally energetic elected Prime Minister. We hope to see Bhutan rise heroically and unimaginably as one of the best countries in the world.

These are the hopes of the people and the royal couple.

Thanking you.

May you be blessed.

The Mistaken Identity

Look around you. There is nothing without some Chinese stuff. The Chinese are everywhere—they have reached every nook and cranny of the world. Chinese food, Chinese cuisine (yes, that's two ways of saying the same thing, but it's worth repeating), Chinese gadgets, Chinese blankets, commodities, goods—everything. It has reached places where Chinese people themselves have not set foot. China has dominated the market and the pockets of the world.

Here in Bangalore, and particularly where I am living, Chinese people are rare—despite their country having the world's largest population. There may be political reasons. China and India. Not exactly best friends. The point is, the people are not seen like their goods are seen. They are so rare that many people have asked me—many times—"Are you from China?" I wanted to answer by saying, "Only a Chinese can be everywhere." But instead, I blurted out quietly, unheard by them, "Do you think I am a dominator?"—because, as we all know, the Chinese have dominated the world. I have a Chinese-like face, but my ways and manners are somewhat different. Since I wear jeans and shirts, perhaps they think I am a little un-Bhutanese. Or perhaps they think Bhutan is a district of China. Geography is not everyone's strong suit.

Only yesterday, a group of my new friends asked me the same question. I laughed at them for not knowing about our countries, and the laughter even reached my Adam's apple—but it melted there with this: "Are you from Mars?" Sometimes, people behave as if they are completely alien. And I say that with love. Mostly.

The way they write our country's name makes me feel weird: "Butan"—very short indeed. Our Dolly-Jolly madam, Chitra Das Gupta, also calls me someone from "Butanic," a very unusual name, madam! Butanic sounds like a new brand of organic tea. Anyway, I always have a good time explaining my country, Bhutan—its history, cultures, traditions, attitudes, manners, thinking, and so on—and how it differs especially from China and others. Blah, blah. But happy blah.

For many strangers who have little or no knowledge of my country, I have become a real representative of my nation. Ah-ha! Representative of the country! No salary, but plenty of responsibility. I describe Bhutan as next to heaven and everything perfect. Sometimes, I sound too chauvinistic and patriotic—especially when they see some Bhutanese hanging around with wine in Bangalore. "This is your country?" they say. I have no choice but to counter the Indians: "They have been influenced by where they are living." Not a good excuse, I guess. This answer really makes them crazy. You can almost see the smoke coming out of their ears.

I usually conclude by saying that we are in the same boat—to balance the weight of nationalism, of course. Same boat, different oars, but at least nobody is rowing alone.