A Wise Tree-Jangchub Shing

Do you watch a program called Jangchub Shing hosted by Mr. Karma Dendup every Thursday on BBS 2? If you don't, you should. If you can't, I pity your Thursday evenings. This program is of immense benefit to us viewers—and by "immense benefit," I mean it gives us something better to do than scrolling through Facebook and arguing about whether instant noodles are ruining our culture.

I personally take out time to watch the show. That's right. I could be doing anything else—sleeping, eating, staring at a wall—but I choose Jangchub Shing. I would like to sincerely thank Mr. Karma Dendup for this show. He asks rebellious questions. Real-world questions. The kind that make monks choke on their butter tea. Kudos to him for awakening us to the basics of the Buddhist religion—things we should have learned but were probably too busy memorizing pop song lyrics.

Thanks to him, I learned something important: there is a vast difference between religion and spirituality. Religion, let's be honest, often leads to egotism. ("I pray more than you, so I'm holier.") Spirituality, on the other hand, leads more often to humility. ("I know nothing, and that's fine.") One makes you wear a bigger crown; the other makes you take it off. Now, out of my own unawareness—or perhaps my stubborn interest—I asked him two layman questions last time. Layman questions, meaning the kind that make scholars sweat and Rinpoches suddenly remember an urgent appointment. I requested that he ask these questions for better illumination. He said he would. I'm holding my breath. It's turning purple.

The only path to spiritual enlightenment, as I understand it, is understanding and grasping one's own mind. We can attain this through constant meditation and mental contemplation—called gom in Dzongkha. In other words, it's basically knowing your soul. But here's the catch: what is the soul? Shape? Round like a momo? Flat like a pancake? Colour? Blue? Invisible? Size? As big as a watermelon? As small as a lentil? Empty? Full? Half-full like my optimism on a Monday morning? To attain the level of full realization—knowing the soul—is said to be the highest level. That's when you can be born into nirvana. Wonderful. But the process of identifying the nature of the soul—whether it's empty or not, whether it dies or not—is where things get slippery.

The concrete meaning of the soul and its whereabouts is surprisingly difficult to get from any Rinpoche. They say it's a secret. A kind of "cannot share." A "not allowed to reveal." Which makes me wonder: if religion is for the benefit of all sentient beings, and if Rinpoches, Lamas, and sages are supposed to liberate all sentient beings, why do our saviors say it's so difficult to get this information? Why can't it be shared easily? Why can't it be shown—just shown once—so that we all become Buddha-nature and finally liberate ourselves from suffering? Is the soul hiding? Is it shy? Does it have social anxiety? I'm not asking for a full biography. Just a rough sketch. A hint. A breadcrumb.

Teachers’ Day

Not long ago, teachers in Bhutan didn’t have a designated Teachers' Day. Not because anyone forgot—but because teachers were already held in such high regard. Interestingly, it’s still not marked on the national calendar as Teachers' Day. Instead, the observance coincides with the birth anniversary of the 3rd Druk Gyalpo.

I remember this day becoming truly important thanks to our former education minister, T.S. Powdyel. He placed teachers above all other civil servants—at least in speeches. With great erudition and even greater enthusiasm, he compared teachers to gurus, the ones who enlighten. He used soft, persuasive words to woo and uplift us, though without much in the way of financial support or improved living standards. In the end, he gifted us a mountain of philosophies, policies, strategies, and plans—so much that teachers were overloaded and more confused than ever. One fine example: the Green School, Green Bhutan concept. Lovely idea. Though I suspect it was really meant to be Clean School, Clean Bhutan.

Now, the present minister? On Teachers' Day, he’s about as responsive as a dead log. Meanwhile, the trend of juvenile Teachers' Day celebrations is honking loudly in the background. And honestly, a really big honk is needed to remind everyone once again that teachers are the true builders of the nation’s future.

Pity the modern teacher, buried under a mountain of work: teaching, monitoring, guiding, planning (I won't list them all—you’d fall asleep). And at the end of it all? A dry, meager salary as the fruit of all that hard labour.

So on this day, I’d like to plead on behalf of all poor teachers: give less for less, and more for more. As of now, no teacher in the country is a Lakhpati. Or even a thousandpati. Frankly, not even a hundredpati. In the end, it all boils down to higher incentives. Not dignity of labour, not respect, not the kind of work—just money. And sadly, it’s the other way around.

Still, I wish to thank my own teachers for making me who I am today and for making a real difference in my life. And to all teachers out there, here’s my wish: Teach from the heart, not just from the book. The book won’t remember you. The heart will.

From google