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.