A Chiseling Life

                                                                            Poem# 1

Life is a block of wood; a carver models it into the best, but only at old age-when one becomes perfectly experienced. Every drill and grill is a tick of torment to life. It gashes to a perfectly imperfect time of life, and then we start over again in the next life.

A carver, lost in chiseling the wood,

models it into the finest.

He himself carefully carves into it.

As I look at him,

My own life rolls down:

the creaks of sculpting a block,

removing jarring angles,

 etch a torment.

Are those pains the impasse of life?

Life mills to live.

It’s a fume out of crumble and splinter-

every bit a loss and gain!

This act recurs,

and flusters like the hollow. resonant wood.

On thiscourse,

there is no sojourn from emotive and bodily fidgets.

Often, the disquiet chronic, writs large on the mark.

The happiness or silence-hung grim all around

were free of beginnings or ends.

They unfold in myriad ways.

One likes to live a life careless and free,

but the player lot is on the line.

Come to clutches with it, be a slave of it.

These forms befit a good mortal,

just as the crafter fits the pieces.

Yet this good human is qualified

only at old age- when he is unqualified-

and ends very near like a child,

the falls bodily asleep.

How many times do we hear creaks?

How many times do we crumble and splinter?

How many times are we milled,

only to hope?

How nany times are we never the finest?

As novice voyages embark anew

and we get down to chiseling all over again-

 to slice life in the life of a new beginning!

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?

Book Fair and Halving Budget

As an all-time avid reader and bibliophile—someone who considers a stack of books a perfectly reasonable piece of furniture—I am genuinely thankful for the organization of book fairs in Mongar and Punakha. Truly. Clap if you must.

To promote readers, to promote reading habits, to promote knowledge, and to build a knowledge-based society, there is a desperate need for frequent book exhibitions in different places across the country. And not just in fancy towns. I feel books should be made available everywhere: in every small town, on the highways (rest areas, not the middle of the road), in hotels, in homes, and in every classroom. If Bhutan is to weigh itself against other countries, then books are our weapons—the main windows in the walls. Dramatic? Yes. Untrue? Absolutely not.

We must therefore read books and value books to understand, evaluate, and foster knowledge and information. Our people must read and access changing ideas and expressions. Otherwise, we risk being a nation of people who know everything about archery and nothing about astrophysics. (No offence to archery.)

Now, I feel this book fair is not only a good chance for book enterprises to make money—because let's be honest, capitalism finds its way everywhere—but it also provides different choices of books to our readers at a concession rate. That part is genuinely nice. Thank you, book sellers, for your mercy.

The government of Bhutan is kind enough to give a certain budget to purchase books for school libraries to all schools in the country. The books are bought from the book fair by the respective school. So far, so good.

But this year, the budget has been slashed by more than half in the case of Chukha Dzongkhag. More than half. Let that sink in. This slashing of the budget is not a good decision. It's good to save for the future—which Bhutan does, admirably—but saving for books is not a good idea. Books are not a luxury. Books are not fancy curtains. Books are the thing that stops children from growing into adults who think knowledge comes only from TikTok.

This year, the budget to buy books has been more than halved. For example, a school that previously received Nu. 100,000 now gets less than Nu. 40,000. Sometimes even less. The reason why the Dzongkhag has chopped the budget is not very clear. It must be tax deductions. Or saving for the years to come. Or perhaps someone decided that half a library is enough for half a child. Who knows? Certainly not us.

In addition—and here is the real kicker—this year is the Reading Year. Yes. The year we are supposed to celebrate reading. And yet, the budget to buy more new books and read more new books has been... reduced. The contradiction is so beautiful it could be a poem. A tragicomedy in one act.

I would be genuinely grateful if schools could spend as much money to buy books as they currently spend hoarding money in the closet. Let the books flow. Let the budgets grow. And let next year's Reading Year actually mean something.

Until then, I'll be here, hugging my old books and crying into their dusty pages.

Google Guru

Earthquake is a Lesson

We don't have to do anything. Nature does everything. It gardens, it storms, it shakes, and occasionally it reminds us that we are not nearly as important as we think we are.

A devastating earthquake in Nepal has destroyed thousands of lives. Natural calamities like earthquakes are difficult to predict—because nature doesn't send RSVPs—and can wipe out entire human communities in the time it takes to brew a cup of tea.

Did you know that the Lord Buddha's teacher was nature? He attained enlightenment under a Bodhi tree. That's right—a tree taught him to be natural and in harmony with nature. No PowerPoint. No tuition fees. Just leaves, roots, and silence. The ultimate God, it turns out, is Nature itself.

Powerful nature both destroys and creates. It leaves no stone unturned—literally—in punishing the sinful acts of animals like us. It tries to wipe out those who destroy nature. Irony of ironies: we chop down forests, and nature responds by shaking our foundations. Fair enough, honestly.

Yet here's the strange, beautiful, and deeply hypocritical part. When disaster strikes, people flock to help one another. They come together to share love, truth, and faith. They become saints overnight. But are they like this when the world is normal—when tragedy has not shaken us awake? No, I would say. Then, they cheat, fabricate, and terrorize. They cut corners and cut each other down. It takes a collapsed building to remind us how to be human. Catastrophes like this teach us to love and to truly live. Shame it takes so much death to get there.

Thank God—or thank Nature, same thing—Bhutan has been blessed and was not affected by this earthquake. For now. The ground beneath us is only pretending to be still.

I would like to express my deep sympathies and condolences to the victims of the earthquake in Nepal, India, Bangladesh, and Tibet. May the living find strength, and may the dead find peace.

I will leave you with a photo of the national flag of Bhutan flying at half-mast. It hangs lower than usual, as a symbol of our deep sentiments, condolences, and mourning for all those victims and others affected by the earthquake. A small gesture, but sometimes a bowed flag says what words cannot.

Thank

 

My Khayey Poem

From Google

Note: This poem is purely the product of my personal experience of a remote kind of hard, yet easy, comfortable, and free life. The countryside was it! How I spent nights chasing animals from the field crops. And in the end, the animals and I would be friends in the night. Animals like deer, when I make noises, are saved from the tiger.

Khayey (Sharchopa term): A stilt hut made of bits and pieces of wood, poles, leaves, etc., usually built as a guardhouse for farmlands.

It's hard—
hard in the rain or shine.
But it's free.
It's demanding—
calculating the yields and the meals—
but it's carefree.

A Khayey is thatched with banana leaves.
Through perforated leaves, I see the moon.
The moon is the king of the night,
just as wild animals are.

The Khayey itself is all naturally built:
tall poles, little poles, leaves of varieties.
In this nature, a human as I stand
with an insipid fire burning near my bed.

My maize plants surround the Khayey—
tall and tilting, they swing gently.
Sometimes waves are just under my feet.
Who protects?

Anyways, the fresh evening breeze keeps me fresh.
I can hear every tiny sound—
the sound of all insects and creatures,
the sound of the cuckoo,
the chatting of birds,
the sound of animals rushing beside the farmland.
It's their world.

Slowly the sounds die,
but my friends come to life—
not bothering whose crops they are destroying.
What do I have?
What do they have?

I shout, throw stones piled beside my head.
My guests sprint down for a minute or two.

But soon,
alas! Loud roars roar through the deep valley of the forest,
making different sounds.
There is commotion.
"My deer!" I cried.

And the only way to help them from the prey
is just to shout continuously.
I expect some of them to come near my Khayey
and take refuge.
But it is a two-way blockage.
It is an easy trap for a tiger,
and he would never leave without having one.

There is a painful cry of a deer for many minutes
as he drags it down the valley.

Oh dear, it is painful to have lost my favorite orange deer—
I saw her the previous evening—
and I believe it's all because of me,
because I chased her away from my field.
She came here for refuge.
If she sought refuge here,
then where is my refuge?

The sinking thought answers silently in the night.

Cluster Sports Meet 2015

Darla School is hosting the cluster schools’ sports meet, which begins on 16th and runs until 19th April 2015. Five middle and higher secondary schools from lower Chukha Dzongkhag are participating: Darla MSS, Gedu HSS, Pashikha HSS, Chumithang MSS, and Kamji MSS. A variety of outdoor and indoor games will be played over these four days. Today, on the first day, many athletic events were won by our host school. I hope the other schools won’t have to return home with very red, defeated faces!

After this cluster meet, there will be a Dzongkhag meet, followed by a regional meet, and then the national level. I leave you with some snapshots from the day.