From Kheng to Japan

Well, now I run out of confidence to write and feels like my creative muse had just deserted me. It has been a huge break. I could not keep up with the consistency and perseverance of writing. So it nearly left me delete the blog account.

Anyway, I shall write succinctly about the journey I embarked from a remote land of thunder dragon to the shipshape land of sunrise.

On the morning of 30^th April, I flew from Paro to the capital city of India. Akin to maiden travelers the thought of boarding plane did fascinate me as it was my first time in Druk air. However, I was constantly bothered by series of works awaiting at Japanese embassy, New Delhi.

Exactly at half past eight, the mammoth dragon took to its flight. It was an emotional farewell to my beautiful motherland.

Sometime from the take-off point, high above in the heaven, I was slightly disturbed by the turbulence and could not resume the catnap. The man in the cob web had maneuvered the giant dragon to quite an elevation and all the passengers on board were deep in slumber except for the roaring sound of the engine.  Just as I peeped through the glass, a mellifluous voice broke open from the cabin. It was the mention of the mighty Himalayas on the flanks blanketed in clouds and snows.

Alas! The joy of seeing it with my own eyes from high above defied the very striking expositions of geography lessons, and was unmatched in any way. Not even the hour glass figure of stewardesses that walked past the aisles could gain my attention, for the drifting clouds over the mountains were truly a fairy tales. But such a fine sight disappear in a trice only kept me panting for more seductive voices from behind the cabin.   

Two hours later, I landed at IGIA New Delhi, India. Oh my god, Delhi was at the peak of its heat confused by the chaos of commuters. While on the other end, I was equally confused by the backbreaking articles and followed suit. Fortunately I stumbled upon few Bhutanese students, and with their firm assistance I gracefully checked out of the airport. We had a brief refreshment in a New York minute and headed our ways.

Beaten by the searing heat of Delhi and hefty stuffs to watch out for, prudent than usual, off I went to Bhutanese embassy in Chanakyapuri to put up rest of the days. My pidgin Hindi didn’t allow the cabbie to ponder I was someone more than a foreigner.

Yes, I was dispatched straight away to Bhutan embassy. No sooner did I tip the driver for his honesty, then a smiling face greeted me from the gate. An army, probably in his mid-thirties with a prizefighter figure was taking charge of the day. Having explained him about my purpose, he hospitably ushered me in. Once inside, I could barely believe I was on foreign soil because almost everything was Bhutanese- little strings of prayer flags, building architectures, faces, dishes and even the settings of the work place.

The clock neared noon just when I was about to check in.

Realizing I still had some time, with quick shower and hearty lunch, I went to Japanese embassy and handed the visa application form. It hardly consumed 15 minutes to wrap up since it was a government scholarship, and not even a dime was charged.

Relaxed I felt, and returned to my room desperately looking forward to the day of departure from Delhi. All my struggles for the day finally paid off. Thereafter, I didn’t feel the tick of time until on the evening of 3^rd April.

That night before I hit the bed, a singular sense of joy overwhelmed me, marking the start of my journey while the unbounded ocean of knowledge ahead stimulated my intellectual clits. Just then the soothing voice of the air-hostess invaded my thoughts and broke the reverie. 
I wondered if she could be more alluring than the mighty Himalayas.

...................................................................................to be continued 

To all the teachers of Bhutan.....

May 2^nd marks the birth anniversary of our third king Jigme Dorji Wangchuck who insightfully played indispensable role in shaping Bhutan through modern education. And for all his worthiness and unmatched timeless deeds, the day is celebrated as TEACHER’S DAY in Bhutan. To ‘The architect of modern Bhutan’, we owe you a boundless gratitude.

On this special day, I wish all our teachers a happy teacher’s day.

It’s no denying that a teacher is an artist who inspires creativity, a constant warrior relentless in pursuit of a better world and a steadfast surrogate parents committed to the lives of countless souls.

I am well aware of sacrifices and compromises every teacher make just to keep going the lamp of learning in every child. It has been my three enriching years into the world of teaching coupled with bitter sweet emotional state. And the most beautiful feeling I realize today is the learning I pursued in every moment of my waking hours to keep my learners inspired. At the end, it was comforting to see my hard work pay in a form of success and bettered human beings.

My humble gratitude also goes out to teachers dotted far across the wilderness who are committing day in and day out to bring the best in our children’s lives keeping every personal chores apart. I know how grueling it is to sit for another two or three hours and prepare for the next day when you are already beaten by the day’s activities. I admit to the fact that teaching is not a cup of tea as others put it.

Moreover, it is not just students but the entire society that benefits out of your hard work. So dear teachers let us not leave the task unfulfilled. Together we will push and add wings in the lives of students.

Even as I write this little note, I can already feel the air of celebrations and a song that almost all the schools in Bhutan will dance to as an ice breaker today. I can picture the adages and catchy literary works dancing on the lips of some students ready to pounce the mic, let burst and garner rounds of applauds from fellow mates. Some would even be up by this wee hours thronged with excitements.

How I wish I was the part of rare jubilations.

I take this time out to remind all our students of their purpose in school. Work hard and be curious because even a falling apple has the power to enlighten the world. Praise not your teachers with exorbitant gifts on this day but with punctuality and readiness to imbibe from them anytime.

As I reluctantly put end here, let me leave some lines for our industrious teachers:

No matter how digitalized the world become, the joy of learning from a teacher can never be beaten by anything.

Let us consume ourselves to light them. Let us put in efforts to inspire them. But Let us not forget to celebrate success together even its decades later.

Best regards

Pelden Nima

Graduate school of bioagricultural science

Nagoya university, Japan.

Truncated history of Dobji Dzong

I never grew up listening to the myths and ancient histories relating my village because my parents were always on move. And, as I have not spent good deal of time with natives there, little do I know about the place and often feels humiliated for lacking nitty-gritty information regarding my own birth place. More so, I have never heard of my father making sufficient mentions of histories that my village is copious in. So, I always felt short of snippets concerning my little hamlet whenever someone intriguing posed me queries.

However, my father has a disposition to re-count tales whenever someone new enters as/into our family member. The last time I heard of him was when my brother brought in his wife.

He would share several pleasing chronicles of his own life and move us to tears when he narrate on privations he suffered as a tender boy. Of the many, I will be particularly thrilled by the stories that revolved around Dobji Dzong and feel wondered over the controversies that transmitted from our ancestors.

Few years’ back I ran into a close descendant of Dobji Penlop swapping several ancient conversations involving our village. It was considerate of him to shed detail lights on the history of the Dzong. But unfortunately my recording gear ran out of storing space and I could only take the abridged narrations.

It is no exaggeration that Dobji dzong was once a deadly dungeon for wrongdoers sometimes in the late 1970s. People of the time dreaded the fortress because of the brutality the convicts suffered inside the confinement. It sent a chill down the spine even at the mention of its name and the lethal criminals were compelled to serve their sentence term inside the castle. Once inside only god knew what happened.

Oral history has it that ever since it was put into use as solitary confinement, nothing set ahead well in that entire stretch of region. There was ill-timed downpour seizing all kinds of crops and fruits. Later it was dismissed and converted into seats of learning for monks. Thenceforth it was believed to have bettered the situation. Today it caters to some fifty monks as a Buddhist school.

What many are informed of the dzong is the fact that it was built by Lama Ngawang Chogyal in 1531 following a spring originating below the throne of a great saint Jetsun Milarepa in Tibet. But in my conversations with the close relative of Dobji Penlop, it was actually Jetsun Milarepa who dictated to build the dzong.

Legends say that Milarepa halted for a night there. Next day he was supposed to proceed to a place named Tsamda Goenpa. When people from Tsamda region beseeched him to move the following morning, lama flatly rejected and, in cross legged position, insisted on remaining there. When finally the plea failed to serve its purpose, they forcibly tried to pull out lama and vexed needlessly. But firm he stood thrusting his right leg into the earth and kept their collective forces away never moving an inch. Later on, lama prophesied to construct the dzong at the current location and the name came to be known as “Drobdrek” which in English translates to “resist”.

Quite afterwards Lama told the locals at Tsamda to carve an effigy as his substitute and fixed it in the monastery.

The other marvel is the Lama’s natural spring which is located precariously at the base of the hill on which the fortress is perched. Widely known and esteemed as the elixir, it has drawn a lot from around the country and never did it shake people’s faith in the healing power of the tiny rivulets. Subsequently, to make it accessible to wide range of audiences it was aired up on BBS. Today, around five cozy wooden tubs are installed to have laid back hot stone bath.

And to help the Dzong with monetary growth, a charge of Nu. 500 is levied per day inclusive of room fees, fire woods and stone gathering.

A fortress once operated as solitary confinement is now fascinating people from all walks of life. It has caught the attention, especially of old and the ailed.  

Historians believe Dobji to be the first model Dzong.

Landscape photography

Alike to the sundown and sunup, we all have one thing in common:

We all have one beginning- birth

And we all have one end- death