Today When I Come to the School

My son recited a poem during the school poetry recitation competition on 27-3-2015. I wrote a simple poem for him. It is about what he sees when he goes to school. Full video:

https://www.facebook.com/pema.tashi.520

 

Today when I come to the school,

The road was full of mules.

Students were walking

And something they were talking.

Today when I come to the school,

I saw a milkman in his pool,

Pouring milk in his jar

And keeping it inside his car.

Today when I come to the school,

I saw a PP child so cool—

By hanging on the prayer wheel,

"Breaking the rule" is what I feel.

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

 

The Mills of the God Grind Slowly BUT Exceedingly Fine

Very recently, I realized that life after death is fair. Our present deeds determine where we go. There are two destinations: heaven and hell. Life, however, is unfair now. Let me explain before you think I've become a doomsday prophet with bad internet.

Those who work hard often get less. Those who devote themselves suffer the most. Those who live honestly have crooked lives—like a tree that grew in a strong wind. Meanwhile, cheaters, liars, killers, and other wrongdoers seem to be rewarded with good lives. They drive nice cars. They sleep peacefully. It's enough to make a good person consider bad things. Almost.

I wish those who commit bad deeds were punished immediately. Like a lightning bolt. Or a sudden sneeze that never comes. But no. The universe has a slow delivery system.

Fortunately, there is a judge of our deeds—not later, but now. Those who cheat, bully, lie, kill, and commit other crimes are said to go to hell, while good human beings go to heaven. It is slow, but it is sure. The mills of God grind slowly, yet exceedingly fine. Think of it as a very patient coffee grinder.

There is cause and effect in everything we do. This hope keeps me far from bad deeds and far from those who commit them. Also, I'm slightly afraid of ghosts. That helps too.

It is difficult to tune with life. Like an old radio. Some days you get music. Some days you get static. But life is life—you go on with good things, good thoughts, good deeds, a good soul—everything good. Yet in the end, we all turn somewhat bad and fallible. Nothing goes entirely according to our deeds now. Those who cheat continue cheating; those who lie continue lying. Such is the life of man—no extremity, no very good, no very bad. One must follow the middle path: the "badly good."

What is "badly good," you ask? It's when you want to scream at someone but instead you just sigh and make tea. It's when you see a cheater win and you don't flip a table. It's survival. With a little dignity left over.

Below is a song I like to sing when people grumble and do nothing. I call it The International Anthem of the Perpetually Unhappy.

Some people must-have.

Some people have not.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

Some people will work.

Some simply will not.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

Like this:

"It's society's fault I don't have a job."

"It's society's fault I am a slob."

"I have potential no one can see."

"Give me welfare. Let me be me!"

Hey, Bud, you're livin' in the Land of the Free.

No one's gonna hand you an opportunity!

(Unless you have an uncle in the ministry. Then maybe.)

Some people must-have.

Some never will.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

"I don't have a house. I don't have a car."

"I spend all my money getting drunk in a bar."

"I wanna be rich. I don't have a brain."

"Just give me a handout while I complain."

Or this masterpiece:

"I wanna stay in bed and watch TV."

"Go out weekends in a limousine,"

"Dance all night takin' lots of drugs,"

"And wake up when I wanna."

Hey, Bud, you're livin' in the Land of the Free.

No one's gonna hand you an opportunity!

(Except maybe a free headache. Those are easy to come by.)

Some people will learn.

Some never do.

But they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

Yeah, they'll complain and complain and complain and complain and complain.

So here I am. Trying to be badly good. Watching the cheaters win. Watching the complainers complain. And singing my little song.

The mills of God are grinding. Slowly. Very slowly.

But at least I have tea.

Photography Club: Action Plan 2015

This year, I am taking charge of the Photography Club at school. I am not a professional photographer, but I am a photography enthusiast. I have designed the following objectives and activities for the academic year 2015.

Photography Club: Action Plan 2015

Aims & Objectives

· To develop creative skills and technical abilities in the craft and art of photography, as well as to gain a basic understanding of camera functions.

· To share photographic knowledge and experience with others.

· To provide a meeting place for those interested in photography and, where practical, to offer advice and assistance to members—including guidance on careers and the future of photography.

· To make the enjoyment of photography accessible to a wider community, such as fellow students.

· To promote and cultivate appreciation for the art of photography among the general public.

· To present a large, colored, framed group photo to outgoing staff as a keepsake of colorful memories.

· To organize a group exhibition (photo show) after one year of club activities.

· To plan photo trips (both indoor and outdoor) and, if possible, invite local photographers to share tips with the club.

In achieving our objectives, our weekly activities are:

Week	Activities	Learning Objectives
1 March	-Familiarizing the club -Discuss aims and objectives -Select student club coordinator
2	-Familiarizing Photos and camera -Create a small photo studio to display photos	Understand photography
3	-Group photo outings-staff, class and groups photos	Memory through photo
4	-Display photos on the board for students order
5	-Sorting photos - Maintain video archive for our presentations(Provision)	-to be filled after the activities
6	-Field trips and outings, taking passport photographs	-
7	-Guest speaker experts and instruction courses (provision) -Sorting photos
8	-Create a website or a blog that not only shows the objectives of the club but also constant photos updates and also showcase some of the members’ works.
9	-Sorting photos
10	-Exploring and learning the fascinating world of digital photography. Experience is not necessary, just a love of taking pictures and the desire to learn and improve your skills. (class)
11	-Sorting photos
12	Display photos
13	-Sorting photos
14	-Share students' inspirations & skills in all aspects of photography in an atmosphere of camaraderie and fun. (Class)
15	-Annual Photographic exhibitions open to everyone
16	-Awards for merit points earned through photographic accomplishment

A final thought:

-Use Social networks such as blogs, Twitter, and Facebook promote our activities and plan to create Bhutan photography club.

Developed and coordinated by Saacha Dorji

Trivia Facts about Life

Do not be so sad if a river runs dry,

But be in no doubt—love remains constant:

Love for the gods,

Love for father and mother,

Love for the dear ones of life, held in the mind.

Do not be so convinced of the death of the soul,

But believe: a body expires like invisible air.

A greater conqueror then conquers the soul,

Which surrenders to the deeds it has done.

Do not be certain about the future's fate,

But wish that good will come about.

Do not turn back to the past—

The past of old pains,

The past of dreams,

The past of the dead.

For in this life,

If joys remain, they overcome sadness.

Life is a walkway to meet others:

Frowning and smiling people,

Distresses and traumas,

Comforts and worries,

Destitution and ease,

Low and high.

And it crosses the way to each tomorrow.

Life is designed with different species of disorder.

Higgledy-piggledy is life—

Like trying to shave with a blunt knife.

It takes a lifetime to master through,

Only to exit at last to the grave.

Time is passing.

It is real.

There are countless things to care for,

Innumerable to love,

Limitless things to wonder about.

It ends with aspirations—

Only to betray you at last.

You weep to die. It is vain then.

In the war of life,

Everything is unfair.

Innocents are killed in the backlashes.

Bad overcomes good,

And good overcomes bad.

These mixtures

Are everyday experiences.

Life lives on…

And this is how life is to live.

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 (both of you), but because I didn’t even bother asking for permission from my own blog. That’s right. I didn’t file Form 27/4, didn’t get it stamped, didn’t wait for approval from the Ministry of My Own Schedule. Shameful.

In my defense, I was busy. Busier than a giant sleeping crocodile. Which is to say: not busy at all. 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? No. Necessary? Absolutely. 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 dun-dun in my sleep. We are officially, certifiably, fed up.

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 any department that might report me to authority. I’ve learned that positive things are rarely taken in. You must be diplomatic. Suave. A velvet-gloved ninja. 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 send him a liver donor form.

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 a sane world, that would require more days, fewer papers, or more evaluators. In this world, 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.