BREAKING CLUMPS OF SOIL UNDER MOON-LIT NIGHTS

It was a full moon night. Houses in the village nearby can be seen silhouetted against the moon lit background. The village looks to have slept long time back, soon after the night has fallen. There were no electricity and people hardly stayed awake for few hours after the darkness.

But, out in the barren field someway away from the village, a group of young men and women, and few boys and girls are in the middle of a work amidst laughter, whispers and occasional bouts of singing. Bizarre it may sound but, sometimes, some households in my village hired helping hands of young men and women during the full moon nights to break clumps of dry soil in preparation for the oncoming wheat sowing.

I didn’t understand then on why people hired helping hands during nights. Now I understand how people must have had their hands full during the day, so that something less serious like breaking down clumps of soil can be done in the low visibility of the moon-lit nights. However, young men and women and even small boys and girls always looked forward excitedly to be working in barren fields during night time. In fact, all the young people (single) in the village will turn up for the task, each holding a long handled wooden mallet. The reason for excitement is all too obvious.

Winter is cold in place like Bumthang even during the day. Night is even colder with temperatures plummeting below freezing point and the gutsy wind that blows in the valley adds to the misery but, when you are young, you always have the gut to ignore the inclement weather. And the prospect of being able to flirt with the beautiful girls of the village under the cover of hazy moonlight with the opportunity provided by the night errand always makes it exciting for young men and women. It can be possible, that some of the matches must have taken shape while attending such errands.

Younger boys and girls who are too naïve to understand true romance are consigned to one side while more matured engineered their plans to be closer to each other where they can share their feelings and hatch naughty plans under whispers and flirt with each other.

Often, the talks in the night are between a pair in hushed tone and the sounds of bursting clumps under the force of mallets are all that can be heard loud and clear. But sometimes someone in the group starts talking loud so that rests of the members hears him. Even though, someone demands attention from the rest, there would be nothing serious to talk about but, share some raunchy jokes, that triggers bouts of laughter in the group. Sometimes, the young people sing in unison and sometimes, young men and women contest in the rendition of ballad (Tzangmo).

Tzangmo is sung in such a way that, after the first group or individual rendered four lines, the other group responses with another four lines that is basically a reply to what the first group implied through their rendition. On occasion like this, young men on one side will face off with women on the other. These kinds of rendition contest are known to go on till the wee hours of mornings. If the first one sings something sweet, the respondent tries to make it even sweeter and likewise, if one group sings something with unsavory connotation, the other will try to make it even nastier but, this normally ends with reconciliatory note. I admired at the reputation of some people who are known to be a great repository of Tzangmos.

It was funny too that, although blisters may begin forming in their palms, there is no lacking in will to go on hammering the last sizeable clumps.  Perhaps, the excitement of working side by side with the girls and boys of one’s liking may have enabled their hearts to pump lot of adrenalin into their muscles that, holding high, long handled wooden mallet and bringing them strongly on clumps of soil with thuds just comes spontaneously and effortlessly. As nights wear on,excitement among the young ones fade. Their eyes become bleary and they wish to run back home and snuggle under blankets but, the older ones remain oblivious to their plight blinded by their adrenalin rush.

This often goes on into the wee hours of the morning depending on the sizes of fields. In the end, all walk back to the house which hired those hands. The relative darkness offers privacy from prying eyes and most would be walking either hand in hand or side by side nudging each other’s shoulders flirtatiously. But, that is it. After a mug of steaming buttered tea and some snacks, boys will leave for their homes and girls will sleep in the host’s home until the next morning. 

That was how it used to be then. Now, wheat and potato fields are giving way to mushrooming of hotels, resorts and other commercial ventures. I am sure people no longer need to hire helping hands and young men and women also no longer need to go to break clumps for a chance to flirt any more.

Gyembo Namgyal

 May 19, 2015 11:55 PM

THE FIRST ARDUOUS WALK-A WALK TO REMEMBER

picture: google

Tshering and Namgyal were mere acquaintance during their training days.Tshering is from Haa in Western Bhutan and Namgyal is from Bumthang in Central Bhutan. Both had their separate friends in the training institute and despite being cordial to each other, their association cannot be termed as that of friendship.

But what happens next is a complete surprise. After the training, both were sent to a remote village in Pemagatshel in Eastern Bhutan to serve. And neither spoke a word of the local dialect Tshangla. So after spending some weeks at the dzongkhag headquarters, they finally embark on their journey to their place of posting in Dungmin village. It is the remotest gewog in the dzongkhag devoid of roads, electricity or any communication facility.

Both become dejected when they leave the last motorable road at the gypsum mines and start walking. Dungmin is officially two days away from the nearest road head. Tshering did spend some months studying in the engineering college in Deothang before quitting it. But Namgyal had never been to east in his life. Both came from rural settings but, what they are embarking on is something they have not even imagined in their life.

At the bottom of the valley, they have to cross a stream several times back and forth. After that, the climb begins. Both the young men sweated profusely and from time to time they had to take rest underneath shades of trees. After hours of walking they reach Tsebar village. They were extremely thirsty following the loss of water from their body through sweats that have drenched their shirt when they reached the first village.

So relieved were they to find a water tap in the middle of the village. Both the men were not accustomed to the tricks of walking long distances. So thirsty were they that they drank and drank until they felt satisfied. They thought this will energize them to make the remainder of the journey. How wrong were they, they could hardly walk few steps. So lethargic they have become by then that they could barely take few steps at a time before slumping to the ground. This was the first hard lessons they learnt on walking that, no matter how thirsty you are, you must refrain from excessive drinking.

From Tsebar village, they could see the majestic chorten on the ridge above. The chorten looked tantalizingly close and within reach but,  in reality, the young men felt as if the chorten was moving away from them. At last, the reach the small pass where the chorten stands. They circumbulate the chorten three times and then resume their journey.

These novice walkers thought that, walking downhill would be an easy task. They found out how wrong they were. For few hundred metres, the men walked light footed but then after an hour of walking downhill, they felt weakness and pains on their knees. The walk slows down but the sun will not wait even for the first timers and since it is winter darkness creeps in fast. So the young men must pick themselves up and push on. The two men learn their second reality that, walking even downhill on steep terrain is no easier than walking up hill as was widely thought.

They reach Dungmin by the sun down and soon the darkness was all around. The silence of the night was eerie as the village nearby sleeps early. They put up in a small office for the night and although they were hungry, they skip dinner. Soon, sleep overtakes their senses and they drift to dreams. Both the men sleep fitfully on the same bed, there was just one.

Both the young men were so tired but, the experiences of the day have impact on the mental state of the young men that they dream uncomfortably. And in the crucible of his dream, Namgyal  saw people of various sizes and shapes shouting at his face in unison as if conveying some kind of message in alien language. He woke up and opened his eyes to see what was happening. And yes, people were indeed shouting. He opened the window little and saw people carrying huge bamboo candlelight and walking away from the village. There were sounds of clanking of small bells tied around the necks of horses. Is he dreaming? He pinched himself to understand if he was awake. Yes, he was. He wakes his friend and they discuss why the village folks are running away in the middle of the night. They became panicky but, stayed put wishing for the dawn to break.

The following day, they learn that people from remote villages had to walk in the middle of the night to the nearest road point at Denchi to do shopping for even the most basic essentials and return back the same day. This was the ways of the village. By sun-down, the village sleeps and wakes up in the middle of the night to begin the day. There are so much to learn for these two men in the days and months ahead. Will they learn, only time will tell.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 10, 2015 11:58 PM

THEY CAME SINGING AND DANCING

pic. courtesy: Google 

I was thinking what to write for today’s blog. A good friend was online who suggested that I write something about women in village. And yes, this post is about how some women never cease to smile and find ways to be happy even in the face of hardship. This is truly amazing.

Last night, a group of women accompanied by a distant relative came knocking at my place. They were returning back from a house where annual religious puja called Lhasoel (annual household supplication to their protecting deities) had taken place during the day. They came singing like happy kids do and it was a sign they are in high spirit.  

This kind of annual pujas are never short of food and drinks. It is a time when people from the villages come together and socialize. A member from each household makes it a point to attend the ceremony taking along their little contributions. Neighbour, relatives and those in special terms make it a point to go a step further and render help in organizing the puja. It is a special tradition that still exists in the villages. In the past, people sing and dance at the end of the day, to wish the family well for another year, but this has declined over the years.

So this must be what was missing yesterday because these women walked in singing and dancing.  One of them who resembled the comic character Aunty Acid (giving her take on dieting and body shape) entered singing and dancing the popular Hindi song “muqaabla.” She has a massive girth, and it was fun watching her do her best to shake her hips. “Wow, you do have talent like Prabhu Deva,” I said.

 No sooner had the first finish her singing and dancing, another woman stood up and began a Rigsar song, “chhoe Thongtse.”  She virtually croaked but was determined to complete a stanza or so. I complimented her by saying; “You should be competing in Druk Superstar.  But for today, you seem to be having cold and sore vocal cord to be deserving of any points. But, you certainly deserve a glass of ara for your effort.”

And the third one declared she must now sing a Boedra and began singing, “lopen Phapa.”  This was much better because she did not dance. It was a sign they were emboldened by the liquid-courage. Normally, they don’t even have that kind of courage. From my place these women said they are heading to another house where the same puja was held during the day.

It is not the first time; these women are found to be in good spirit. They always live happily despite their economic plight. These modest women always find time to be together often and share what little they have. Among those in the group, one is a widow and another a farmer now, after graduating as a daily wage national workforce labourer. And the third one is a home maker to a truck driver with many children. The last one is a teetotaler homemaker to a quarry-man husband. Despite her status, she finds time to be with her friends accompanying them and bearing the jarring conduct of her friends.

These women love socializing and despite hardships they never complain. They work in their gardens and weave when they don’t have anything to do in the garden. People in the village admit envying their life. Here is a group who are economically down but that had never been able to bring down the barometer of their spirit.

A local leader in a public meeting had reportedly made a remark on this. In which context was the reference made is not known but to me this is what GNH is. I always admire this kind of spirit in the face of increasing heartlessness around us. To me they represent an oasis of natural happiness in the middle of egocentric and self-centred desert.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 5, 2015 11.30 PM

This was meant for February 5, but I could not post it due to internet problem. 

PEOPLE SAY RESOUNDING ‘NO’ TO A MINING PROPOSAL

Mining is one of those industries in the country that could ideally be banned in the first place. But, over the years, mines and quarries mushroomed all over the country. These mines and quarries are an eyesore to all of us. They look akin to a cancerous wound in what is otherwise green and pristine landscape.

When we talk of mines and quarries, one thing that comes to everyone’s mind is of rampant corruption that was unearthed some years back. We may not know, if those were a mere tip of an iceberg or otherwise. But, mining is about money and where money is involved corruption follows like a shadow. This is the image of the industry today. All those involved in this industry have a daunting task of restoring the tarnished image.

Mining do contribute to nation’s economy. There is no question of this. But, the sector’s contribution to GDP is insignificant at a mere two percent. This contribution is disproportionate to the irreversible damage it causes to our environment and that of aesthetic beauty of our landscape. Mining at best benefits just few individuals at the cost of the nation and communities.

Over the years, people directly impacted by such ventures in their neighbourhood are beginning to understand the consequences and are slowly beginning to raise their voices and concerns as was evident from media reports.  In most cases, it is always difficult for people to make their voices heard and grievances adequately addressed. Corporate people know how best to play their cards.

However, media reports on this kind of issues enabled people to understand the issue better and know their rights and responsibilities.  People are increasingly becoming emboldened to make decisions that are in their interests even if it meant displeasing certain section of the people.

This awareness and the understanding on need to safeguard the interest of one’s own community were evident when on February 1, 2015 people of Nangkor village in Pemagatshel overwhelmingly rejected a mining proposal below their village.  The community passed a major test in showing that when it concerns the interests of the community, people are as cohesive as ever. After a daylong consultation meeting people voted for or against the proposal. An overwhelming majority rejected the proposal. The proponent managed mere six votes from his closest cronies.

It certainly is a matter of pride for the people to have given a clear decision. It is not that difficult for the people to make this decision. Living by the side of a major gypsum mines in Khothakpa for over three decades, local people have nothing but abhorrence on the ills of mining. People know just how inconvenient it is for them to be living amidst dusts flying, machines roaring round the clock and the sore sight of haunting scar each day.

People gave their verdict in no uncertain term although there was lot of apprehension among the people who are uneducated on how the decisions will be forced upon them in favor of the proposal. It was a good sign for the people who are marginal farmers to be harboring such concerns. It was a sign right from the onset that no matter how poor and uneducated they may be, they are not going to yield easily to any kind of pressure.

 After the meeting some people said that some officials seem to sympathize with the proponent. But they cared less about it. They say that from the past experience this is nothing new. One man said that the proponent had the audacity to apply for mining just two years after his illegal mining in the guise of land development was halted. He said these kind of sympathetic officials are abetting and in fact making it possible for shady works to take place.

Gyembo Namgyal

February 1, 2015; 10:10 PM

Dear readers,

I am back after a month long sabbatical from blogging. Hope all the readers are doing well, reading lot and writing too. For many, reading and writing must have made it to your long list of New Year resolutions. Great idea.

Best Wishes, Kadrinche la.

A BEND IN THE COUNTRY ROAD CAN TAKE YOU HOME OR TO GRAVE

“Oooo……ooops,” we kept uttering in unison as the overgrown twigs and bushes rattled the sides and clumps of mud and rocks brushed the underbelly of the car intermittently. I and my friend Tashi were travelling to one gewog together and the experience was nothing short of a nightmare. It was an adrenalin rushing drive akin to those shown in Discovery channel with our SUV (small utility vehiche)-a maruti car. The car got the beating of a lifetime on that day as we ploughed our way through the thicket.

Half way into the journey, we were left in dilemma whether to push forward or return back and take a longer detour. We resolved to push on and after what seemed to protract on for hours we reach our destination-thankfully in one piece. It was a familiar place, but that day, we lost track of where we actually reached at any given point of time. All our attention was focused on the road throughout-excuse me, was that a road at all? Yes, it is a road and someone is even given the task to maintain this road but, how good will the road be, in the aftermath of the repair will depend on responsiveness of the contractor, integrity of the supervising engineer and some voices of beneficiaries too.

Over the last few weeks, I had to travel a lot into the villages and gewogs. It gave me ample idea of the road conditions in the villages. Some are good, some exceptionally good and some in pathetic conditions. I had experienced them all. This gives me the confidence to rate them and, also develop my own opinion-sans technical expertise, on why such a diverse condition exist of what is essentially the same thing called road.

In my personal opinion, the conditions of all these roads are the result of the following factors: planning, consultation with beneficiaries and other stakeholders, technical soundness of engineers involved in planning and designing of roads and commitment and professionalism of contractors. If we lack in any of these areas, the end result can be costly in the long run.

 The varying conditions of farm, feeder or dzongkhag roads depended primarily on these factors and that could be the reason why some roads are better than others. Some farm roads are as good as highways and others-road to hell. Some are comfortable to drive at an optimum speed while on others you just can crawl; one mistake or loss of concentration could be the difference between life and death. And some have the real threat of becoming ecological disasters.

When I say we need proper planning and consultation with stake holders I mean to say that, often beneficiaries are not taken into confidence by convincing them to plan road according to technical specifications. When one farmer on the fringe does not allow road to be taken through his farm land, the entire communities and villages remain deprived of a beneficial road network inside the village. Yes, individual farmers may have the right but that right should not be the barrier for a  many others in the community. This is the reason why in some instances villages are in one side while the road goes in the other side.

Consultations with various stake holders are as important. For example, two or more gewogs may need to collaborate and pool resources together to build a good road network than building many poor ones. This way, maintenance budget can also be pooled to keep it open at all times. This is possible. But why do such collaboration not take place?

Technical soundness of engineers designing the road is the primary reason and the most important determining factor for the overall condition of the road. Gradients of some roads are so bad that, they are fit for only off-road vehicles and, narrow hairpin bends confront you when you least expect. Poor gradients lead to fast deterioration of the overall condition. Spillage of rainwater on this kind of road can be devastating, leading to high maintenance cost. Professionalism and integrity of the engineers are the only way to correct this.

Commitments and soundness of contractor is yet another crucial factor for quality assurance. Honestly, some contractors are merely interested in making money and do not bother about the onus they have towards the society.  I wonder, why at first they are bent on making fast money through various means only to be donated later for religious causes. 

From what others say and from what I have experienced personally, professionalism of one contractor stands out from all others. I haven’t met him but, others say he is a simple unassuming man who can be mistaken for any other farmer. I was told he often wears a simple bata chappal (flip flop). Even his name is not a name at all. It is a combination of his village name and his gender-Tokshing Kota, in eastern dialect. His name is not a name; his name is a brand today. Why can’t others emulate him?

Please remember to be alert when you are on the road. You never know what is behind those bends on the road. They make take you to your destination or to your death bed and, you will never know some of these seeming life lines can also turn out to be death trap. Be alert when you are behind the wheel and don’t drink-drive. I am always reminded by this roadside sign somewhere which said, “A driver is safe when the road is dry and the road is safe when the driver is dry.” But on farm roads you need to be doubly alert because a driver may not be safe even when the road is dry and dusty.

Thank you readers and visitors take care and may god bless you all.

Gyembo Namgyal

November 27, 12:30 AM

LISTEN TO MY STORY

Arr…Alaa la………,the pain in my back do not seem to go away and the arthritic knee had to be warmed and stretched slowly before I decide to slip out of my bed. Embers from last night’s fire were still glowing red but it had given me enough warmth for the night. It was the third call of the rooster and time for me to begin my day even though the darkness still looms all over. From the crack of the mud wall, I can see the sky in the eastern horizon turn lighter than the rest, an ominous sign of the dawn.

My old body made up of the four elements may return back to those elements soon and the nagging pains are the signs of all those aggregates preparing to return back to Mother Nature. These elements together is what made up a form called body which I am so possessive about and protective even when it does not belong to me in true sense. This body did not belong to me like any other wealth before I came, nor will it ever belong to me after I am gone. This body was just a rented body for my soul to take shelter.

Today, I want to tell my life story in short. This is my reality and the reality that all of us face. It is a cause of concern and worry for the society that something of Tsunamic proportion is taking place in a slow motion. I am worried not for me because I will be long gone when its impact is felt, but for those generations that will follow me and of course yours too.

Half raised from the blanket and feeling little fuzzy, a train of thoughts engulfed me. Today, I have a trip to make to the dzongkhag headquarters. The distance is long. There is an old pickup truck in my village but, the road that was built three years back was washed away. Sadly gewog has no budget and whatever little dzongkhag had was already used. So we are going to walk again including the vehicle owner.

Today, he will not be able to take away our hard earned money and he will sweat profusely trying to keep pace with the rest of us. His massive girth was an indication of where all our money had gone in him. Today, we all walk equal like we always did some years back before the road came. The road has made him richer, while the rest of us only became poorer. He runs the only shop in our village and owns a pick-up truck too. So, all our money goes to him.

When the road first came there was excitement. We all sang songs and danced. The old and the aging and the rest walked the new road. Few children, half naked ran, their unkempt hair flying in rhythm with their gait. But, the initial excitement was short lived. It only drained whatever little resource we had. In the past we had to walk for hours to the nearest shop. We all did. Poor man like me and the rich man in the neighbourhood all walked together. Today, he bought a taxi and we ride in it paying him all the money we can muster. Most of us had gone poorer while the rich man is growing fatter with our money.

Life has become difficult for me to be living in the village at this age. Just yesterday, I went to work in a community forest to clear unwanted bushes that are hampering the growth of good trees. This is the fifth day in the last two months that we have been working. One member from every household is required for the work, failing it will result in the payment of Nu 300 as penalty. You know the whole village now looks after a huge forest converted as community forest. There aren’t many trees in that forest but, with all villages having their own forest areas, we had to take even that or risk not having any, the local leaders warned.

And when I say it is difficult. I mean it. More than half of my time is spent fulfilling various obligations in the village; the lists are endless for me to narrate. Then there are important meetings by dzongkhag officials, followed by gewog and tshokpas which also take up substantial work days. 

Those of us left behind in the village have to attend to all these things. We are getting old but there are not many young people in the village. We have sent our children in school, hoping they will find a good government job and help us. I am told there are not many jobs while there are thousands looking for employment. But, they will not come back home. They are educated.

Even those in the village are migrating to towns. They say life is good there with tall buildings, shining cars and wide roads teeming with cars and people. But, my heart will never find peace in an alien place. I love my village but, my beautiful village is growing old and thin. When I say old, my village is inhabited mostly by old people and in dwindling numbers.  Some empty houses have become haunted place. Just the other night, someone told of encountering a gigantic shadowy figure by an empty house when the night fell.

Back in the villages, farms are shrinking including mine. I cannot till all the land that belongs to me. I have been able to farm only half of my land. Rests are covered in Artemisia plants along with those who left never to return back. Another neighbour is planning to move out to where his son lives.

Bushes in the neighbourhood are a hiding place for wild boar during the day. And monkeys live on the fringes closely watching my maize field grow. Looks like I am share cropping for them and others like deer and even nocturnal porcupine take their share.  The government is in a indefinite experimental mode, so I better forget about any wishful thinking solutions.

Well, we have sent our representative to talk and correct things in the society and find solutions to the problems facing the villages like ours. They also promised so much in talks laced with honey when they came campaigning. I am sad now; they saw our vote and mandate as an opportunity to fatten their pocket. I feel like I will not vote from now onward but, if I don’t vote, it is as good as my vote going to the undeserving person. If I vote, and good candidate lose, my vote becomes futile. This is intriguing about election to us. In between many things can also possibly happen I am told.

And now I pick up aging cane hat (call it zaapi or bello) and head out fetch firewood. Even though, it is developing loose ends at the fringes, it is much more useful than that politician who promised me a handsome cowboy hat, stetson (Jazham) which he forgot after the election is over. The loose strands on the edges are coming out but, it keeps my bald head dry in the rain and also insulates it when it shines. Honestly, I fancied wearing a handsome Jazham once but have made peace with my old bello hat, because this is the reality.

Well, I told you my story but I did not tell you who I am. I am the real face of Bhutan, the 70 percent of the population to be precise. I am Sonam Zhingpa, a farmer who lives in a remote village where life has hardly changed for better, a real farmer in fact. Are you listening???

Take care until we meet again.

Gyembo Namgyal

August 29, 2014