Time to Wag Tails Politicians

Now that the second-term election is only a few months away, people must have some qualifications of a right person in their minds. That’s good. Bhutan was in the middle of an enigma in 2008. There were instances of choosing the wrong person. Or was it because of the limited choice?

I write this because I am reminded of a bad example of how our government can be irresponsible in choosing the right ministers for a ministry. I am lifting an old example from The Journalist newspaper (13/6/10, page 5): the confession made by Health Minister Zanglay Drukpa. He said to the paper, “I came with an open mind since I knew nothing about health.” I laughed at his frankness but at the same time felt ashamed. From then on, I knew there was something artificial in the functioning of our system. There are many "hotch-potch Dashos" like him. It is like the right person for the wrong job. There are scores of others in the present batch of elected members who have joined politics for the love of power and money. Some of them have turned out to be worse than statues, stealthily filling their stomachs, as they don’t speak a word in the National Assembly. Others survive on lip service and fake promises.

Bhutan didn’t know that much of this would happen in the first election. Now people know; there are talks in every small gathering and the like about choosing a leader of good heart—someone responsible, capable, understanding, etc. Politicization is important, therefore. People must by now also know that an individual must not decide the candidate alone; rather, it is the responsibility of people coming together to decide on their representative. Democracy is sometimes described as communities of people coming together, and it imagines many voices pouring into a unified whole. Democracy should permeate the world beyond politics, making itself felt in the ways people think, speak, work, fight, and even make art. No nepotism, no relations, no bribery—nothing but selecting through collective decision would yield a good leader, because it is for the greater goodness and well-being of the whole, not for an individual.

Coming back to the right person for the right job: the subject matter is very important. Every job demands specialization in a specific subject. One cannot be a jack of all trades. An untrained person cannot suddenly declare himself a carpenter. An educationist cannot become a doctor. An accountant takes up their profession because it is professional. But when it comes to a society like ours, everyone wags their tail in front of money (and barks back nonsensically at their own people) and the post, not necessarily thinking about their area of responsibility and the outcome. As a result, our government becomes buoyant and susceptible, where everyone tries to make a bulb with no knowledge of how to light it, but nobody succeeds. Because of this, I think we had so many problems in the Health Ministry. This type of malfunction, which pulls our nation down, should not be repeated, as society depends upon them. And in turn, they depend on society.

The Moon on My Bed

Silently, silently in the night—
What am I doing?
So let down.

Lying on my bed,
I can only see the moon
Through my window pane.

You are far,
Yet the moon warms me.
But now it has slowly moved behind the clouds,
Leaving me alone. Alone.
Darkness ascends upon me.

How can this be night?
No night, no night.
No evening, no evening.
Yet it comes every time.

I am dying,
Thinking of visions—
The visions of you
On my bed.
Show me the moon.

I can't wake up in the morning.
This whole night I cannot sleep.
Days have become my nights.

What can be good?
What happened to me?
I have changed—
Because of the lack of love
That you show to me.

Why Are You Reminded After a Long Time?

People say you should take things as they come and that time is the only solution. I know this now. Sitting near my laptop, I feel as if some flickering parts of my life have shattered and darkness has ascended. A swamp of memories rushes in upon me—long struggles, my afflictions, my wasted life, my moments of loneliness. Now I feel very hurt, but I keep those bad memories and thoughts to myself. A shameful consciousness of my own person harasses me. I see myself as clownish, a pitiable guy in the reflection of a glance. But I have learned to shake myself free of it and continue to caress my life. And now I question why I was so different, so hesitant.

It was an awful, empty day. The days were the longest and saddest of my life. That was before she ditched me like a duster.

She was incredibly stunning. The center of bait for many people like me, who had fallen and become victims of love. I played a small role in her life. She fooled me by staying around all my life. I began to sink further into the bleakness of silent love. The more I watched, the more I despised my own weakness. She tormented my thinking, never let me sleep well—visions and images filled everything around me.

There were many students I could name who looked physically fine to my eyes, but her history told me that she had never accepted any of them. She was seen as an extravagant girl.

What happens when one loves someone? It was a kind of ambivalent feeling. I both hated and loved her. What more was there? She was charming and gracious. Love had nothing to do with wealth, fame, or beauty. It simply happened. Loving her would mean loving everything—if only I could have her.

I wonder how these beautiful ladies react when they receive too much attention and loving, sweet smiles. How do they take it in and feel about it? I guess they would be flying high in the sky. I knew that some ladies simply stab a heart with a sweet, poisoned knife, shatter green hearts, speak the cruelest words, break hearts into pieces, and then move away silently. And the guys dissolve into unpredictable acts—drinking, drugs, quarrels, going mad, attempting suicide, and more unspeakable things.

These were some of the reasons that made me petrified and regretful.

In college, I would wait, carefully timing the moment when I could pass her on the stairs and whisper, "Good morning." And she would answer cheerfully, "Good morning."

That was all that ever passed between us.

Women are like empty pots, waiting to be filled. They need three sweet, shallow reasons to fill them and make them feel wanted and happy.

Watching her everywhere—any place, anywhere—she would laugh with her friends and roam with many boyfriends. Her heaven was the space she occupied. But she—yes, she, the girl whom I loved so much—was ignorant of my presence. "Does she know if someone loves her?" I often asked that. The refusal was the most horrible drug. In my thoughts, I would have done everything with her. Je ne sais quoi she was.

My tortured soul told me, "Hold her in your arms now and never let go." But it wasn't worth it. She had to have a choice of her own, too. I was shilly-shallying.

"Will she ever choose a man who loves her very much?" I wondered. At all costs, I stayed away from her unless and until she wanted to see me. If not, I would only suffer.


Two years later, she came to meet me. I saw her again, looking sad and worried. My mouth opened wide when she greeted me lovingly. I broke into a sly smile. My mind said, "How many more years must she make me suffer? Anyway, not all love leads to married life. True love lasts forever—as long as you find another true love."

Karma might have had its way, but it did not come to me at that moment. When she put her hand on my shoulder and closed her eyes and asked, "Are you married?" I couldn't answer her, although my heart was brimming over with happiness. Just when I had been wishing for it so much, she had come to me of her own accord.

It was the best and the worst thing happening in my life.

"Why?" I asked.

"He left me. And he is dead now."

"Somebody you were in love with?" I asked her dryly. A wave of dull anger began to gather at the back of my mind.

"Yes. A year back, he left me and home because of some quarrels. On his way, his car went off the road. I think he died because of me."

Choking on sobs, she was overcome by her emotions and dropped down onto my knees.

Rage. A huge thunderstorm raced in my blood.

"Will you kill me too? Do you think I'm a fool—a spoiled brat? Do you think I'm your second man, to come and use whenever you like?" I said into the void. She didn't hear.

So she had had that romance in her life—a wealthy man who died because of her. It pained me to consider how poor a part I had played in her life. No, not a poor part. Perhaps the biggest role I played in her life was no role at all.

The lady I had longed for so many years vanished in just a second. On the other hand, her girlish beauty had almost gone. But my past feeling toward her cooled the thunderstorm raging inside me. One by one, they all became shades, then faded like the dying embers of a fire. Soon, generous tears filled my eyes. "Did she know what I went through all those longing years?"

I was modestly taken by love. It poisoned me—most probably by her beauty. I asked her happily, "Sorry. What can I do for you?"

"I knew you for so many years. I know that you wished to live with me," she said in a distant tone. "I am sorry I ignored you. But why didn't you tell me the day you loved me?"

The last sentence seemed to hurt. "Only I was diffident and could not approach her. That led to a story and a wasted life. I regret it." The words rang in my mind.

"Yes, now I shouldn't refuse you. I need you. I should not blame you, for it was the only love, Choden," I told her.

Trembling with a mixture of delight and sadness, I stood close to her. She put her hands on my shoulder, and with her sudden hug, I fell to her so easily.


But the story I have never asked my wife—now—is about that wealthy lover who died for her sake. How long will it continue like this? In fact, until our very last breath. Because if you dig up decayed stool, it smells a lot.

A Wise Voice

I may not look like the son of King Jigme Singye Wangchuck,
But I have some of his qualities—
And the power over my own soul.

I may not be the brightest bulb in the room,
But I can light the way
For us to walk together.

I may not have the heart of Lord Buddha,
But I have feelings and sympathies—
And a virtuous heart.

I may not speak as gracefully as you wish,
But I have a wise voice.
Listen to what I say, not how I say it.

I may not be strong like John Cena,
But I can hold you when you fall
And fight till I cannot move.

I may not have sumptuous three square meals,
But I have a heart that can be trusted,
A love that will keep us alive,
A smile to keep you happy.

I may do something you don't like.
I may have asked you to care for me.
But in the end,
I care for you more than anything in the world.