The Story of My Name

I wrote many names—many different names—when I was a kid and a student. It was a plaything. I wrote in my notebooks, on my geometry boxes, on my beds, everywhere. I wrote the names of kings and imagined them as my own.

I added "Drukpa" to my name. I added "K," "F," "D" to my surname. I played.

But one name that remained in school was Saacha. And the sound of this name changed permanently. It became "Saa" from "Shacha."

We had a very phony headmaster at Tsebar Primary School in the 1990s. He was a southern Bhutanese, and you know, they have some difficulty pronouncing certain sounds like "tsa" and "cha." I feel they don't have these sounds. Even English people cannot pronounce them. So really, it wasn't his fault—it was the universe conspiring against my syllables.

This phony headmaster was very particular about me. I was pulled by my ears in front of the whole assembly and asked to be a house captain for a year. Pulled by my ears. That's one way to offer a leadership position. No résumé required. Just cartilage. I did the job, and he liked it, I guess. Either that or he enjoyed the ear-pulling more than he should have.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he was also our Class VI teacher. During that time, Class VI had a common exam in Bhutan, and the results came from the board. It was a huge deal for us and meant a lot. We had to burn the midnight oil. I nearly got burned by the papers—literally. I think one of my notebooks still has scorch marks.

So, this is how my name got changed—from Sha... to Saa. He not only gave me this southern-sounding name but also assigned my date of birth, which would remain with me throughout my life. Yes, you read that right. He gave me a birthday. Like a gift no one asked for. "Congratulations, you were born on March 12th." I hadn't even consulted my mother.

The school was my birthplace. Our mothers were at school in those days. Like me, many friends received their DOBs and names. Ngydrup became Nidup, Gyalpo became Gepo, Chedrup became Chedup, Drolo became Dolo. It was like a mass rebranding. No marketing team. No focus group. Just a headmaster with a pen and a lot of confidence.

He changed it all, and the school changed it all. We had no voice. The school was our name, DOB, father, mother, and everything. Such was the power of the teachers. They could have declared us born on Mars, and we would have nodded and said, "Yes, sir. Cold there, sir."

As for me, I did not tell my parents about my different-sounding name—otherwise, they might have thought I had an Indian-sounding name or type. I didn't bother much. Name or no name, it does not reflect who I am. Outer physical appearance, outer wealth, and such things do not define me. The real "I" is inside. It is a matter of self-worth.

Also, inside me, there is a small voice that still whispers: Your real birthday is probably in June.

But I keep that voice quiet. The headmaster might be listening.

Placement Mania

I recently earned my degree after completing a two-year master's program. I then reported to the Ministry of Education's Human Resource Office (HRO) for my placement. I requested my previous school, Darla MSS, since my wife is working there. After days of waiting, I was placed in Zhemgang Dzongkhag without my knowledge. In deep despair, I submitted a request with genuine grounds. I even wrote a letter with several points today, and it is now in process. (God help me. We are only human.)

Letter dated 26 July 2013

Saacha Dorji

Darla Middle Secondary School

Chukha

The Human Resource Officer

Ministry of Education

Thimphu

Subject: Request to Stay at Darla MSS

Dear Sir/Madam,

I, the undersigned, would like to respectfully request to continue my teaching post at Darla MSS, Darla, Chukha. My reasons are as follows:

1. My wife is working at Darla MSS, teaching general subjects.

2. We have a young son who needs to be cared for.

3. I have served at Darla MSS for only two and a half years, whereas the Education Policy requires three years of service before a teacher is eligible for a transfer.

4. I previously served at Tsirangtoe LSS, Tsirang—a remote location—for four years with dedication and integrity.

5. I earned my degree through self-funding, not through any government source, and I took out a significant loan to do so. My main purpose in pursuing further studies was to help and serve better. I hope the ministry will consider this matter seriously, not as a punishment or an unwanted transfer.

6. Darla School also faces a shortage of teachers.

7. Staying here will allow me to support my family better. We duly respect the Ministry of Education's policy of keeping working families together, as well as the principles of GNH.

I therefore wish to continue teaching at Darla MSS for another year or two. I hope you will look into these serious matters, understand my situation, and respond accordingly. I sincerely ask that my request be given the utmost consideration.

Yours faithfully,

Saacha Dorji

Employee No. 200501381

Our system seems to operate on many questionable principles. Not only are some officers very rude in their manners, but they are also heedless and unmindful of justifiable problems. I am left with lingering questions that trouble me deeply:

1. Why are some teachers posted to the same school after their studies? At Darla School itself, there are two such teachers.

2. Is it due to connections, nepotism, relations, or bribery?

3. Is a master's graduate given a punishment transfer? I was even asked to go to a community school to teach, despite holding a B.Ed secondary certificate. Is this not a mismatch? I would love to teach anywhere, but this creates confusion for my future.

4. Is family relationship not important for doing any job fruitfully?

5. Why does the MOE separate working husbands and wives, even within the same organization?

6. Why was I not allowed to choose a dzongkhag, but instead placed in Zhemgang without my knowledge?

7. Are we truly aware of GNH?

8. Why must I transfer after only two and a half years in the same school when MOE policy requires three years or more to obtain a transfer?

9. Why do some teachers have to face the hardship of remote postings again and again?

10. Why don't we study the ground reality?

11. And so on…

I am not frustrated, but I am sad that our HRO does not consider family matters or subject requirements at the ground level—especially when Darla has a teacher shortage. At the very least, I am now aware of how our system functions.

THANK YOU

As I write today here, and as I write about my graduation and departure, all that comes to my mind is ‘Thank you,’ ‘Thank you,’ ‘Thank you.’ Today I write words of excitement and appreciation. Words devoted to many great souls. This short note is in honor of you all my professors and the life you all have made me. Truthfully, a million pages of gratitude are not enough. (See my Professors profile link:five-dons-of-aims )

I thank YOU ALL a million times, for what you have done is sometimes more than anything. When I first came to the literature class, I was nervous and skeptical, but there were just these huge abundance of fine people who helped me to get my groundings. Thank you all for teaching, thank you all for guiding, thank you all for showing a smooth path in reading literature. You have been my best friend, teacher, guide, and parent.

Teachers and students of the graduating cohort of 2013, thank you for all that you are and for all that you did, and for caring about us. We know your work is more to you than just a job, it is a calling, and for that, we are so grateful for your sacrifices.

I have learned to read better. I wouldn’t have understood the depth of literature; British lit, American lit, Indian lit, World lit, Criticism, linguistics, Post Colonial Studies, Teaching English Language and Literature, Gender, Communication, etc if it weren’t tutored by you all.

You all deserve a huge congrats and thanks. Who could forget our amazing trip? Who could forget our noisy class? Who could forget the charming and angry faces, where you got annoyed with too many works and responsibilities? 

There are many good things to be remembered…

I probably can’t thank you all enough.

Thank you for everything, my teachers.

I am happy because while I cannot take you all with me, I can at least keep the memories with me always in my heart.

Thank you very much, Mrs. Mamta, Mr. Prabha, Mr. Samuel, Mrs. Parveen, Mrs. Chitra, Mr. Umashankar, Ms, Charita, and others.

A Cohort of Graduate Students with some Lecturers.

Coming Home

Come 17th July, I am going home. I am completing my MA course, and I am finishing with a first-class result. I tried to be the best, and I achieved it. Literature is tough. Rote learning still matters here.

Anyway, I have longed for this. Come what may, I wouldn't turn back to this place. I have had enough of everything—or rather, of nothing here. I simply feel jaded. I will return to my everyday business: teaching in Bhutan. I love teaching; it is my life. I feel a kind of true satisfaction, happiness, and joy when I see my students flying higher than me and swinging through their lives. One of my intentions as a human being is to help better others' lives. I contribute a little—a pinch of salt—to make life taste better. Now, I think I will be able to help anyone more with my advanced skills and knowledge. I will try, and I will not let anyone down.

Here is a song: Chris Daughtry's "Home." I love this song. My son and I often play and sing it while driving. My dear son, your papa is coming home. Let's sing. This is our home. Let's sing together before we go to our permanent home.

Home

I'm staring out into the night,
Trying to hide the pain.
I'm going to the place where love
And feeling good don't ever cost a thing.
And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain.

Well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
Well I'm going home.

The miles are getting longer, it seems,
The closer I get to you.
I've not always been the best man or friend for you.
But your love remains true.
And I don't know why.
You always seem to give me another try.

So I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old,

Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all,
And then some you don't want.
Be careful what you wish for,
'Cause you just might get it all.
You just might get it all, yeah.

Oh, well I'm going home,
Back to the place where I belong,
And where your love has always been enough for me.
I'm not running from.
No, I think you got me all wrong.
I don't regret this life I chose for me.
But these places and these faces are getting old.
I said these places and these faces are getting old,
So I'm going home.
I'm going home.

Give, and you Shall be Given Kick.

If you give anything for free, you will be misrepresented and wronged someday. I have learned this the hard way: free without heart kills. DPT is right in some ways. Go on banning Druk Prohibition Party (DPT)—if you win next time, that is. No pressure.

Sometimes, religious philosophies mislead you. The religions say, "Give, and it shall be given to you" (Luke 6:38), and "Give to those needy poor" (a common Buddhist saying). The truth is, everyone needs. The rich need to get richer, and the poor are battling to become richer. So where does that leave the rest of us? Confused and lighter in the pocket.

Give? I bet these human species will not give you back. They have learned to take and forget good deeds faster than a dog forgets who fed it. I have never heard of anyone who got so much free just like that without something going wrong. This "freeness" creates misapprehension in relationships too. Because of giving, I lost many people in my life. One was a relative who smilingly borrowed Nu. 10,000. Later, he stopped talking to my family. Apparently, silence is cheaper than repayment.

I have had many grave experiences like this. There was this boy—a crook with a grouchy mouth and a habit of showing very bad behavior. I taught him for free many times. I expected nothing, but I was afraid of kicks. The Bhutanese have a saying: if you raise a horse, you will only get kicks. Well, I raised a donkey. The next time he asked me again—because I have a job too, not a money tree. He became so dependent and so lazy that he couldn't even read a single line from a book. The more I told him to learn and improve, the more dependent he became. He wouldn't listen. That's how he got angry. Now, I am considered mean and selfish. He gets me wrong, and I find myself in the most awkward predicament. And guess who ends up in trouble? Not him. Me. Always me.

Last time, we had a guest lecture, and it was free. Nobody attended because it was free. Free seems to be worthless sometimes. The Sharchop word for free is "Tongpa," which literally means nothing—empty. Zero. Nada. You've got to think about that.

This freeness has become an impediment to a peaceful life. Everything in life doesn't come free as we think. Everything is cost-effective. It's do and get, pay and receive—not always receiving. Learn to give back. The receiver becomes lazy and dependent. The Buddhist teaching says that to reach an enlightened state, and if you want to see the door of heaven, you must not search for and receive free things, but submit to gain freedom. Or maybe just submit to working for a living.

In giving anything free, I feel we must take some considerations into account. Here is my list, based on my own painful experience:

1. Why are you giving it for free? (Are you stupid or just nice?)
2. How to give it? (With conditions, hopefully.)
3. What will be the consequences? (Spoiler: bad.)
4. What is your future position? (Probably broke and bitter.)
5. Give only twice or thrice, and you will know the person. If you give every time, you are a fool. A generous fool, but still a fool.

I support DPT for their forceful and valid way of banning many things to bring the country back on track. Go on, DPT. And PDP (People's Dead Party, as I like to call them) farcically gives deadly attacks and deadly promises to kill DPT's banning. Here's a small—and favorite—joke of mine. Prime Minister Jigme Y. Thinley (JYT) proudly declared in one gathering before the 2008 election in Nanong that there are three "JIGMEs" in Bhutan, and the country may not function if two are missing: the Big Jigme (the King), the Small Jigme (JYT), and the Smaller Jigme (JD), who is not in the picture. The survival of the Smaller Jigme makes me laugh. That poor fellow survives his life beating his goat skin-coated dramnyen (Bhutanese guitar). Rock on, Smaller Jigme.

That autocratic statement by JYT to the Bhutanese media was really striking and strong. (Click for more info, The Bhutanese.) He warned media house owners and accused the media of creating disharmony and spoiling the country's image. The DPT President said, "I will not leave you." I am with him. The media will become strong. Facts and concrete proof will be reported. The freedom of the press doesn't mean they have the freedom to give false information or news to the public. In a free society—and especially under democratic rule—we should not take offense at our beliefs or wrongs being criticized. That is the hallmark of a healthy, vibrant democracy.

However, censorship and banning are the character of totalitarianism. Yet some standards of a totalitarian regime must not be allowed to drop. If they do, that would bring hatred and stifle the very liberal ideas of a vibrant democracy. The cost of freedom comes with the cost of sacrificing another freedom. It's like choosing which leg to stand on.

Some media must be banned to have a humane lifestyle in society. Some harmful social media like Facebook and Omega kill time, distract life, erode culture, and direct a false life. China has banned many such media to bring goodness to the country. We too can live without some of these harmful channels. If we can ban, we are moving forward, not backward—toward a civilized, culturally and socially attached life. Banning tobacco had significant benefits, and it was the right move.

Ban. Ban freedom to understand what freedom is and to value freedom.

Ban.

Gibberish

Note: Sometimes, to kill time, I write whatever comes to my mind—pure jabberwocky. What follows is the product of nonsense thoughts. It almost killed me when I read it. Proceed with caution.


A man adjusted his bow,
Trying to shoot a crow.
The crow scooted away—the man was sad,
But the crow? The crow was very glad.


Storming out, he shouted with rage
At a lonely old sage on the hill's edge.
"Today is not your day," the sage declared.
"Come, let's pray." The man just stared.


The angry man was in despair.
"Life is not fair!" he cried through air.
"I have to feed my wife, you see,
And she will chop me up for tea."



The gentle sage gave a sudden smile,
Paused and thought for a little while.
"To feed your wife, you need not kill—
Just send her up to me on the hill."



The surprised man screamed right in his face
(There was barely any space between the place).
"You dirty oaf! You clueless clown!
That crow's my wife's favorite loaf in town!"

No Reason

His eyes are on fire.
What is this nonsense desire?
Near her, a man stands—
jealousies, pains, itches creeping.
What is he whispering?
So near, he stands.

Wish he were dead
before he wakes from his bed.
He has no reason to say,
but if he could, he would flay.



She talks softly,
and she smiles too.
Why aren't you the same with him lately?
It is vile—like bile.

You paw-like cat.
He can smell rats.
He has nothing to say,
but you treat him like clay.



Some people don't know what love is.
Love is nothing.
You love someone without reason.
You simply love something,
but in return, you find the worst season.

Some people don't know what jealousy is.
Jealousy is love for someone.
It says: You are better than anyone,
and you are being cared for the most.
You simply resent for no reason—at most.

Some people can talk so much good
but have no basic understanding of what love is.
They simply ditch away like a piece of wood,
and with the smallest thing, you get hurt in love.

Some people have no good heart
to know about love's hurts.
They simply cry without understanding much of what hurt is.
They simply put a full stop in love
and suffer from the lack of love.