You Have All

The sun has the whole universe,

and you too have all-

the generosity, the merriment-

a man’s personality.

Joyful as always to a girl’s heart!

You are optimistic as you are,

and as powerful as a man needs to be.

Good in conversation and believing,

and sometimes in the life's keep gaps; independence,

Bother not what others do:

bother only what you do.

Self-praising hurts you at the end,

but sometimes it uplifts you.

You need that expectation.

Your future is as shiny as coral,

for you have everything

that a man sometimes doesn’t have:

character, the ability to build rapport, confidence, persuasiveness-

These will truly win you through life.

May god bless you, always.

And my wish is god’s wish.

And SO, Did You Have a Good Head?

The Stone, the Egg, and the Heads I've Survived

A journey to an unknown destination is always an apprehensive one. Will there be food? Will there be internet? Will I regret leaving my house? And this journey of life becomes quite exhausting at times—like hiking uphill with a backpack full of bad decisions.

Some days, you like to live the most. Other days, you like to end your life (or at least end your work shift). These two opposite feelings are shaped, twisted, and created by the people around you—especially the ones sitting in the big chair with the clipboard. And this is the journey you have to make. You cannot avoid it. So is my journey. Welcome aboard. Buckle up. It's bumpy.

Life just isn't fair. There's a realistic Arabic proverb that recognizes this perfectly: "If the stone falls upon the egg, alas for the egg! If the egg falls upon the stone, alas for the egg!" Either way, the egg loses. The stone never apologizes. The stone never attends sensitivity training. Life, my friends, is that stone. And we are all very breakable eggs.

Today, I would like to write a brief essay about the heads and bosses I have worked under. These people have affected me, provoked me, and—against all odds—helped me become a better person. Or at least a more patient one. Barely.

Over the years, I have encountered a colorful zoo of supervisors. Good, funny, humorous (yes, both), strict, rigid, cunning, boorish, nefarious, sly, lewd, erogenous (don't ask), and various other flavors of questionable leadership. Let me introduce you to a few. Names have been omitted to protect both the guilty and my career.



The Drinking Head

There was a head who always drank and made other subordinates drink too. Staff meetings were held at the local bar. Minutes were written on cardboard of whiskey bottles. Decisions were made—and then unmade the next morning with a headache and regret. He believed in team-building through hangovers.

The Khuru Head

There was a head who could play Khuru like Degor—minus the accuracy. He could hit spectators better than the target. Villagers learned to duck when he wound up his arm. One time, he hit a cow. The cow is still angry.

The Volleyball Head

There was a head who could smack the volleyball on his own side, no problem. But when it came to kickball? He could kick the ball straight into his own balls. Twice. In one game. We didn't clap. We winced.

The Grazing Head

There was a head who could graze on ladies like cows grazing on lush grasses. He had a favorite field, if you know what I mean. And then he would spare them—like spare parts. Left them on the shelf, dusty and confused. We called him the Tractor. Because he plowed indiscriminately.

The Poking Head

There was a head who could poke into the personal details of others like a dentist with no appointment. He would find faults—only to discover that every finger he pointed had three pointing back at himself. But he never noticed. Too busy poking.

The Barking Head

There was a head who could control crowds like barking dogs—loud, aggressive, and mostly ignored. The problem was, he remained barking himself, even when the crowd had gone home. He barked at walls. He barked at tea. He barked at his own reflection.

The Lesson Plan Head

There was a head who revolved around lesson plans all the time—but never actually taught. The plans were beautiful. Color-coded. Laminated. Framed, probably. The teaching? Terrible. The result: bad teaching, good lessons. As in, lessons on how not to teach.

The Always-Right Head

And finally, there was a head who thought that the boss was always right, and the multitudes were always wrong. One against a hundred? The hundred are fools. Evidence? Who needs it. He once argued that the sun rises in the west. When shown the actual sunrise, he said, "That's an optical illusion." You cannot argue with that kind of confidence. You can only bow and cry internally.


So yes, life is a stone. And we are eggs. But somehow, after all these heads—the drinkers, the kickers, the grazers, the pokers, the barkers, the planners, and the always-rights—I am still here. Slightly cracked, but not broken.

And for that, I thank them. Because every stone teaches the egg how to be stronger. Or at least how to roll away faster.

School Rimdo

 

Choshum

A two-day Darla School Rimdo was conducted at the Darla MPH Hall. The Rimdo—religiously named Jingsey, the fire rite—was organized by Darla School and conducted jointly by the school and the Darla community.

The two-day ritual was presided over by His Eminence Tshugla Lopen Samten Dorji.

During the ceremony, various rituals were conducted, including the lighting of butter lamps, Tshogkhor (wish-fulfilling ritual), purification ritual, Tormas, Jingsey (fire), and others.

Buddhists are nature-worshippers and believe in divinity, the soul, and primordial energy. Jingsey is one such ritual; it is believed to appease harmful evils, pacify death spirits, and strengthen life. The rituals are performed by offering nine grains (such as rice, millet, wheat, maize, and mustard), flowers, fruits, and holy water to the deities.

The celebration was very simple and nature-friendly, as meat and alcohol were not served. Students and the public were served butter tea, sugar tea, biscuits, and a pure vegetarian meal on the first day.

Thousands of devotees from Darla and nearby areas offered prayers at the annual Rimdo.

On the second day, His Eminence graced the venue and blessed (wang) thousands of people. Thousands of devotees and religious-minded individuals—some from as far as Arikha and Phuntsholing—came to revere.

The Rimdo was performed for the peace and well-being of the Darla family, the community, the King, the country, and the people.

The Rimdo was a success, thanks to the worthy efforts and cooperation of all individuals: teachers, principals, students, and the community. It would not have been such a lavish Rimdo without the goodwill and support of the students' parents. As informed during the Parents-Teachers Meeting regarding donations, many parents generously contributed both cash and kind. Sacks of rice, bottles of oil, vegetables, juices, dal, and other supplies piled up in the school store. Thousands of Ngultrum were offered as donations collected from students, parents, teachers, and devotees.

"Rituals such as this have multiple functions in the family and in the culture," said one of the Lopens. "It is an effective agent in promoting family health and well-being. Not only that, rituals facilitate the transmission of values and beliefs. Rituals provide support and containment for strong emotions and facilitate coordination between individuals, families, and communities," he added.

Rituals are important and useful ways of assisting individuals and families in dealing with transitions and losses, bringing about healing, and transmitting values from generation to generation. They are effective avenues for strengthening families and creating an environment where personal well-being is enhanced.

Songs and dances were also performed in the evening to refresh and entertain everyone.

The ritual is held annually.

Lama Rinpochea

Jingsey in Progress

The Wang

Outside View

Too many cooks spoil the broth

Students waiting for lunch

Our Chief Guests

Torma...A dog and a child...it's not a safe place to be in

Story Narration by my Son

My son, who is studying in class four, narrated a story titled "Two Cocks" at an inter-house storytelling competition on 15th March 2014. I have uploaded a video of it here: [Facebook link]. I am keeping this as a record of his life and ours. The story is a popular Aesop's fable.

The story goes like this:

Once upon a time, there lived two cocks. They were not friends. One day, they decided to find out who was stronger. Both claimed to be stronger, so they began to fight. They fought angrily for many hours. Finally, one cock was hurt and came down from the top of the house.

The winning cock danced with joy and happiness on the rooftop. Just then, an eagle appeared and carried him away into the sky.

The defeated cock was safe and happy with his luck.

The moral of the story is: Do not be proud, for pride will fall one day.

Story Telling Competition

Class Four Students

This year, I teach Class IV English and Class X English while juggling about seventeen other responsibilities that probably have no job description. But honestly? Being with little humans and watching them actually learn something makes my heart do a happy little dance. Seeing them grow up right before our eyes—sometimes even vertically—and become actual people is a huge source of contentment for both parents and teachers. Unless they become louder. Then we question our life choices.

Class IV kids are barely ten years old, and let me tell you—they are tougher to handle than a bag of hyperactive squirrels. They shout, play, sleep, run, jump, and occasionally achieve the Zen state of doing absolutely nothing. They grumble and complain about each other like tiny retired uncles with zero filter. The Class IV English textbook is the thickest book any school-going child has ever seen—it could double as a doorstop, a weapon, or a dumbbell. So I tell them, “Congratulations, you are now college students, because you’re carrying the thickest English textbook in the entire school!” They laugh proudly, puffing out their chests like little weightlifters.

Starting the lessons was pure chaos wrapped in a blazer. ‘Reading and English Literature’ took almost a week—just introducing what they were going to study. Since they’ve leaped from Class III, they barely understand what’s happening in class. I suspect some of them are orbiting a different planet entirely. I go on speaking English. I go on explaining. I go on making them read, write, speak, and listen. Their universal reply to everything? “Yes sir,” said in the tone of someone who has absolutely no idea what they just agreed to.

We had a spectacularly hilarious time pronouncing the word ‘Literature’. Some said cutely, “Li-te-te-te” (which sounds like a broken robot). A few said, “Lit-te-ture” (close, but no cigar). Some went with “Lit---ta-ry” (mysterious and artistic). Everyone said it differently—like a pronounciation potluck. Only a handful could say it correctly. Then I had to explain what literature actually is. We listed down poems, stories, essays, letters, and that one note you pass in class. Then we had to write what a poem is, types of poems, and basic features of a poem (a.k.a. “What makes a poem a poem and not a grocery list?”). And so, we stumbled forward with other genres too.

A few days ago, we learned a poem with lots of role-plays—suddenly I was surrounded by overacting champions. That made them interested and happy. Then we did speaking practice, where they produced tailless, headless, legless English. One student declared, “The poem is about to remember.” Another one nodded sagely, “Remember is the poem.” I didn’t know whether to correct them or frame those sentences.

The next eternity comes when they write. They write at a snail’s speed—a snail with a broken leg. Tortoise speed? The tortoise would lap them twice. When asked to copy a word from the board, they mutter P-O-E-M like it’s a sacred spell. Writing one sentence in their notebooks takes half the class period. I’ve seen glaciers move faster.

But here’s the thing: they learn fast. They catch on quickly. Many students can now answer my questions without looking at the ceiling for divine intervention. I must always keep an eye on them, though—because the moment I blink, someone tries to become class president by force. When I contort my face and speak in a higher pitch, like a mildly unhinged opera singer, they get scared and keep mum. Finally, silence. Blessed, temporary silence.

Such is my Class IV. Everyone wants to be captain. Everyone wants to go out and play. But nobody, absolutely nobody, wants to get spanked by teachers. Some things never change.

Class IV students writing

 

Busy Writing

Smiling

And Writing