Mass Cleaning Campaign

Among the many health activities held at Darla School, the mass cleaning campaign is one of the most important. On April 28th, the school conducted such a campaign. Afternoon classes were canceled, and students and teachers gathered on the assembly ground. The campaign began with the distribution of assigned areas for Classes IV through V. The theme was made loud and clear to everyone: “Clean Darla, Clean Bhutan. Clean Bhutan, Clean Earth.”

Students and teachers walked to the farthest points of the area, singing the theme and encouraging parents to come out and join the cleaning. Members of the health club wore signs on their chests and backs with various messages written on them.

The mass cleaning campaign covered the town and villages of Darla. Many classes and teachers went as far as three kilometers from the school to clean and raise awareness. The areas covered included Darla Bazaar, BPPL, the police gate, RNR, and Darla Lhakhang.

The public had been invited to participate through the teachers-parents meeting. Additionally, the health committee sent letters to the Bazaar Tshogpa, BPPL, and the Darla Gup. However, apart from a few shopkeepers offering refreshments and a handful of people from the bazaar, no members of the public came forward to clean that day. Our main goal was to raise public awareness, and we believe we succeeded by going out and singing our theme loudly. The low public turnout did not discourage us, as our large number of students more than made up for it.

Not only did we clean well, but we also had a lot of fun. The campaign was a success—we collected nearly 50 sacks of waste. When we gathered back at the school, a bottle of litchi juice was given to everyone to quench their thirst after the scorching heat of the day. Below are some photos from the event.

Alcohol and Drinking in Bhutan

A group drinks to celebrate Rimdro together

The Scourge of Alcohol Abuse

Alcohol is one of the most widely used—and most misused—drugs known to humanity. It is not merely a personal failing but a deep social issue. The habit of drinking has wrapped its arms around our society and is slowly strangling it. Its effects on health, career, and family life are disastrous.

One reason alcohol is so commonly misused is that society accepts it. People drink to be sociable. Many restaurants and shops offer alcohol on their menus. Alcohol is routinely included in celebrations, family gatherings, and social events. For example, we cannot seem to do away with alcohol even during Rimdros (religious rituals).

Drinking often begins at an early age, initially for fun or out of a sense of fashion. Parents usually model the behavior. Children copy their parents and elders, secretly trying drinks. Gradually, casual drinkers become chain drinkers. It becomes a habit that dies hard. The drinker comes to believe that alcohol is necessary for him. He argues that drinking eases his tension and helps him concentrate on serious problems. This mistaken belief costs him both money and health. Drinking, they say, causes cancer. It is injurious to health. Yet the hardened drinker listens to no advice or warning. He could give up this evil if he built up his willpower, but instead he takes offense when advised.

Health Risks

One major risk of alcohol abuse is serious health problems. The leading cause of death among heavy drinkers is cirrhosis of the liver. Alcohol also damages the brain, heart, kidneys, and digestive system. Cancer of the mouth, throat, esophagus, liver, and stomach becomes a real threat as well. The well-known South Indian actor Kalabhavan Mani recently died from alcohol. Mani was only 45 years old and knew he had liver cirrhosis. Yet instead of making it his priority not to drink, he forced himself to drink. He was not a child who could be forced to do something against his will.

Moderation vs. Excess

Lately, scientists have been saying that a small amount of alcohol with dinner is not only acceptable but may even be good for you. This is true only in moderation. They say a small amount of alcohol can help you sleep. Drinking a moderate amount daily may benefit your health in the long run. A moderate amount is considered to be one drink per day for women and two drinks per day for men. This can raise your HDL ("good cholesterol") levels, which helps protect your heart against disease and heart attacks. Moderate daily alcohol can also lower your risk of developing diabetes by increasing insulin sensitivity.

However, if you take advantage of that license and drink in excess, the effects on health are severe. Alcohol calms you down but also slows down vital organs. It has serious short-term effects. If you become addicted or drink heavily over a long period, you may shorten your lifespan by about 12 years and suffer many serious side effects.

Workplace and Career Damage

Alcoholism takes a heavy toll in the workplace and can destroy careers. The "hangovers" lead to sleeping late and waking up late. Once at work, such individuals only hang back. Projects stall as they malinger.

Harm to Family and Society

As a result of alcohol abuse, children and other family members are often mistreated. Alcoholics cause spousal abuse and, in some cases, even death. Many women at RENEW (Respect, Educate, Nurture, and Empower Women) have been badly beaten by their husbands. Families are destroyed, and children are left to live lives full of suffering. Alcohol totally consumes the abuser—all their thoughts and actions somehow become associated with the drug. Personal relationships are torn apart. The consequences of alcohol misuse are serious not only for the self but also for family, friends, and especially children. Many rapes in Bhutan are related to alcoholism.

Accessibility and Cultural Attitudes

Alcohol is accessible nearly everywhere. This easy access is a key reason why alcohol abuse and alcoholism are such common problems in Bhutan. Alcohol abuse means drinking more alcohol than is socially, psychologically, or physically healthy. In Bhutan, alcoholism is tragically associated with a kind of "manhood." Our passion for spurious liquor aligns us with those third-rate characters shown in movies and roaming the streets—people who pride themselves on consuming such so-called liquor. We admire our lives and enjoy our drinks. But it would be a foolish death indeed to die from alcohol.

Cardamom

My Cardamom Plants Are on a Suicide Mission.

Many people are planting cardamom these days. I also planted a few lean saplings last year, but they have barely grown—just as they were. Same height. Same sadness. Same lack of ambition. Now the leaves are drying up and turning brownish, as if they've decided that life is overrated.

What is my elanchi up to? While so many are reaping profits from the cardamom boom—buying new tractors, sending children to private schools, smiling in their sleep—my plants don’t even have the energy to drink a drop of rain from the sky to stay alive. I suspect they are on a silent hunger strike. Perhaps they are protesting my gardening skills. Fair enough.

On a more serious note, people are planting lots of saplings these days because of stories about families earning lakhs from just two or three sacks of cardamom. Lakhs. You hear that number and suddenly you want to plant cardamom on your roof, in your shoes, inside your pillow. We admire their hard work, and when someone does well, we try to copy them. This is called inspiration. Or jealousy.

Some never take the risk of starting something new—only following what others have done. I’m no different: I’ve planted three saplings in my garden as a test and hope they grow well. Three saplings. That's not a plantation. That's a suggestion of a plantation. If they survive, I'll call myself a farmer. If they don't, I'll call myself a spectator.

Next to hydropower, cardamom could become the second-highest revenue generator in the country. Let that sink in. Cardamom—a spice you put in tea and biryani—might out-earn everything except giant dams full of roaring water. That's either a miracle or a sign that we need more industries. But I'm not complaining. Go, cardamom. You tiny green superhero.

Our water resources are drying up year by year, and building new power stations is expensive, unappealing, and discouraging. Dams cost billions. Cardamom costs a few saplings and some hope. But one hopeful gift from nature remains: our soil. Bhutan has the finest soil for cardamom cultivation. The plants grow between 300 and 700 meters above sea level. That's the sweet spot. Too low, and they sweat. Too high, and they shiver. Just right, and they print money.

If every planted sapling were to thrive, every household could become independent and prosperous. If. That's the word that keeps gardeners awake at night. If my plants drink rain. If they stop turning brown. If they develop a will to live.

What everyone needs is hard work—because everything requires hard work to succeed. Yes. Hard work. The thing that makes you tired, sweaty, and slightly resentful of people who got lucky. But still. Hard work.

So I'll keep watering my three depressed saplings. I'll talk to them. I'll play them gentle music. I'll threaten them with compost.

And maybe—just maybe—one day they'll stop being dramatic and start being profitable.

Or at least turn green again.

A Bad Side of a Good Relationship

Google Guru

The recent visit of Indian Prime Minister Mr. Narendra Modi to China has provoked fear and unease among Southeast Asian countries. There seems to be a kind of tug-of-war playing out between the giants of Asia. Smaller countries like Bhutan are left with little choice but to follow the tune of the bigger trumpets. What follows is my layman's observation of our relationships—and frankly, it's a troubling one.


Bhutan–India relations are deeply embedded. They were implanted and cemented when Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru visited Bhutan in the 1960s. At that time, the relationship was state-to-state—warm, formal, and administratively strong. But here's the irony: while ties at the government level remain cordial, the people-to-people relationship has often been bitter.

Bhutan today finds itself stagnant, caught in limbo about this relationship. On one hand, China cordially welcomes us, offering opportunities to tie new knots of friendship. On the other hand, we continue to cling to our old "good neighbor," India. We are stuck in an indeterminate state: should we move toward a new world of change, or hold on to the old road of depravities and treacherousness?

I use the word treachery deliberately. Do you think a good friend would loot, burgle, abduct, kidnap, and open fire on a friend? And yet, we still hang on—unsure of what to do about such dreadful activities directed at our ordinary people. We resist the irresistible. We writhe. We tolerate. And that, in a nutshell, is the irony of Bhutan–India relations.


Let me offer some evidence of this embittered state of affairs.

In the year 2000, a Bhutanese bus traveling on the Phuntsholing–Samdrup Jongkhar route was gunned down by unknown Assamese militants, killing several innocent Bhutanese passengers. Bus services on that route had to be halted completely for more than a decade. Even today, poor and disturbed Bhutanese passengers are forced to rely on Indian transport along this route.

Between 2011 and 2014, there were rampant kidnappings of Bhutanese citizens in Gelephu. To date, about ten abduction cases have been reported. Victims' families have had to pay millions of ngultrum as ransom. Some victims were tortured. Some were brutally killed.

In 2014, many Bhutanese private cars were robbed on the Alipurduar–Lamozingkha road by local goondas. We have heard of cars being smashed up and destroyed in bordering areas. Many of our citizens have been beaten up by hooligans.

So I ask again: does a good friend do that? It's a question that will haunt every Bhutanese for many generations to come.


And then comes the next question: would the Chinese do something similar to this?

As far as my limited knowledge goes, the Chinese have some of the strictest rules to control hooligans. I have heard that even for the slightest mistake or a small act of corruption, you are either released—or hanged. That sounds like a country where peace prevails. A place where such bad activities would not be tolerated.

I am not claiming China is perfect. But I am asking: why do we tolerate from one friend what we would never accept from another?

School Rimdro

Darla School hosted a two-day Rimdo on March 19th and 20th, presided over by His Eminence Yangpel Lopen. Below are some snapshots from our school's Rimdo.

Chefs: Ready to cook

Peeling off potatoes

Rimdro invocation

Driving away evil spirits

Sermon to our students

Mask dance to scared away evil spirits in the school

Wang to the public of Darla and nearby communities

 

AWOL

I was absent without leave (AWOL) from my blog post for almost two months. Yes, two months. I feel guilty—not because I abandoned my loyal readers, but because I didn’t even bother asking for permission from my own blog.

In my defense, I was busy. Busier than a giant sleeping crocodile. I just wanted to rest after teaching and working until my brain felt like overcooked noodles. So I did nothing. For months. And you know what? Life went on. Life, that sly old fox, doesn’t care whether you’re climbing mountains or lying on the floor questioning your existence. You do the most, you have a life. You do the least, you still have a life. I tried to do absolutely nothing, and life just shrugged and carried on without me. Rude, but efficient.

Anyway, it was the perfect time to be with family. We sat, we talked, we ate, we slept. Glamorous? Because otherwise, where was the time? Oh wait—here’s where:

Breakfast: 7am. School: 8am. Classes: 8:30am–4pm. Staff meeting: 4–5:30pm. Household chores: 6–7pm. Dinner prep: 7–8pm. Goodnight sleep: 9pm.

Nothing in between. No gap for wondering, “Who am I?” No slot for “stare at ceiling and contemplate caterpillars.” I hate this timetable. I wish life had no timetable—carefree, no fella says anything, nothing to conform to. But apparently, people fear that without a schedule, we’d all become feral, immoral creatures robbing banks in pajamas. And honestly? They’re probably right. Conformers gonna conform.

Back to my two months of glorious, guilty silence:

First, we stayed at home. Not our home—we don’t have one of those. We have a rented-our-home. A home that belongs to someone else but temporarily smells like us. We collected firewood for the bhukhari to fight the biting winter. Then, most evenings, we had warm ara. By “we,” I mostly mean “me.” By “warm ara,” I mean “the official drink of ‘I’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow.’”

Watching TV and movies was a pastime. Now it’s a trauma. We’ve watched enough to last three winters. I’ve seen so many bollywood movies that I now hear the dishodisho in my sleep. 

Then came the BCSE Class X evaluation in CST, Phuntsholing. Oh boy. I thought of writing pages about it, but most of it would be unfit for polite education department —or some one might report me to authority. I’ve learned that positive things are rarely taken in. You must be diplomatic. Otherwise, you’re a loser. So let me be diplomatic: the evaluation happened. I evaluated English. So did everyone. Except one teacher.

One brave soul arrived drunk on the first day. His evaluation ended on that first day. He had to go all the way back to eastern Bhutan. His drinks, apparently, were more important than exam papers, money, and family. I don’t know whether to salute him or spit on him.

The rest of us? We were familiarized with the paper. Thoroughly. In fact, the paper familiarized itself with us. We became one with the paper. Then we were divided into groups: essay, letter writing, language, grammar. I was in letter writing. Every day, we corrected nearly 1,200 papers. Let me repeat: 1,200. In reality, that would require more days, fewer papers, or more evaluators. But, we just hurried and hoped for the best. Errors? Possibly. Especially in awarding marks. But who’s counting? (Hopefully not the students.)

This tedious, back-breaking, soul-squeezing evaluation went on for twelve days. No breaks. No mercy. We worked tenaciously to the final day. And at the end, every teacher was more bankrupt than ever before. Phuntsholing had eaten our cash like a hungry goat. Many of us spent to the last ngultrum, dreaming of TA and DA. But our TA and DA? Not given. Not deposited. Not even a week after the work ended. Teachers had no money to top up their cars. No money for the drive back. They left contorted—like human pretzels of financial despair.

I don’t know what BCSE does all year. Maybe they practice. Maybe they meditate. Maybe they count paper clips. All I know is: the money came after a week. Good or bad, things happened. And we—single-handedly—cannot blame anyone. Because in the great comedy of life, there’s always enough blame to go around.

So that was that. Then we came to Gelephug, where we are stationed now. The heater is weak. The Ara is strong. And the next blog post? Let’s not make any promises we can’t keep.

Reading Religious Books(NRY)

(To commemorate the National Reading Year (NRY))

I have read books. A great many books. Most of them were English literature—stories, novels, verses about love, war, and people who never seem to need a bathroom break. But these days, I have switched genres. Dramatically. I am now reading philosophical books. Books of religion.

Why the sudden change? Simple: my age is drawing closer to death, and old age is nicking in. Not kicking in—nicking in, like a petty thief stealing my knees, my memory, and my ability to stay awake after 8pm.

It's time now to prepare. To practice some good things before DreyNagchung summons me to his court. I don't know what the dress code is there, but I suspect it's not casual.

As a matter of fact, we don't know when we're kicking our bucket. But kick the bucket we must. This is not news. Everyone knows we all die. Even your neighbor who thinks he'll live forever by drinking arra knows it—he just doesn't like to admit it.

To understand more about life and death, I have read books. A small sample:

· Thich Nhat Hanh's books (calming, like a cup of tea that also judges you)

· Wentz's The Tibetan Book of the Dead (spooky title, surprisingly practical)

· Sogyal Rinpoche's The Tibetan Book of Living & Dying (the sequel nobody asked for, but everyone needed)

· The Dalai Lama's book series (so many volumes, so little time before death)

· Dzongsar Jamyang Khyentse's two books (short, sharp, and spiritually humiliating)

And other books of Buddhism. All these books are philosophies, theories, and stories. All of them teach us to be good, helpful, and altruistic. Wonderful advice. These things require practice. Lots of practice. And because of my legendary laxity—truly, I could win an award for procrastination—these theories have been remaining as theories. I am so weak at practicing every day that my meditation cushion has now been repurposed as a backrest for watching TV.

Today, I am almost done with The Way to a Meaningful Life by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Like his other books, this one teaches the meaning of "I" and the realization of the meaning of the mind. I am a layman. A simple man. A man who still gets excited when the ara is warm. Understanding all this is hard. But as a human—a dying human—I feel it is very important to try.

Here are some extracts from the above-mentioned book. Brace yourself.

"When Buddha taught the four noble truths, first he identified true suffering, sources, cessations, and paths, and then said: Sufferings are to be recognized, but there is nothing to be recognized. The sources of suffering are to be abandoned, but there is nothing to be abandoned. Cessation is to be actualized, but there is nothing to be actualized. The path is to be meditated, but there is nothing to be meditated." (pg 156-157)

Read that again. Or don't. Either way, apparently, there's nothing to do. Which is convenient for lazy people like me.

His Holiness also talks about "form and emptiness," quoting the Heart Sutra:

"Form is emptiness, emptiness is form; form is not other than emptiness; emptiness is not other than form." (pg 164)

This has very deep meanings. So deep, in fact, that after reading it five times, I forgot what I had for breakfast. Which might also be emptiness.

And then there is this profound statement from Buddha about the nature of mind:

"In the mind, the mind is not to be found; the nature of the mind is clear light." (pg 171)

The Dalai Lama provides an explanation. Thank goodness. Because without it, I would have simply nodded, closed the book, and gone back to wondering why my phone charger never works.

Finally, there is a concise—truly, just 15 minutes—book called The Path to Dharma, published by the Commission for Religious Organizations, 2012, Bhutan. It's in both English and Dzongkha, which means you can be confused in two languages instead of one. The book discusses karmic cause and effect, different lives, virtuous and non-virtuous acts, and the nemesis of each act. It's worth knowing where we are going before we die. Even if that place, according to the Heart Sutra, might be nowhere at all.

So read, dear friend. Read while you can. Because one day, DreyNagchung will call your name, and you'll want to have at least pretended to understand emptiness.

Or not. Either way, there's nothing to be done.