Back Home

I think I had mentioned in one of my earlier posts that I hated nine to five jobs, and here I am back to one.  It is a case of both chance and choice. This has happened after six years of mobility from one thing to another and not getting anywhere in particular. I was trying a bit too hard to be a good free lancer in a world of competition of luck and wit rather than intellectuals  or professionals with the drive for  excellence. Simultaneously, I imagined I would have a training institute or CSO of my own and I found myself competing unconsciously with people who were born on a golden platter and fed with a spoon of gold. 

My free lancing experience was nevertheless enriching, while my imagination taught me to think creatively. The learning I've had in these past years is something I could have not had in twenty years if I had adhered to  'business as usual.' So, do I regret not having been in a nine to five job? Of course not! Am I sad to be back into it? Certainly not! 

Why am I not sad? Well, first of all I am in a field (Education) that I am most passionate about (besides dancing ). Second, it offers opportunities for inhibited research work and innovations. I never enjoyed 'doing as instructed to do' - one of the reasons 'fitting in' has been a major problem for me most times. Chamchagiri has never ever received any acknowledgment or recognition in my dictionary and I sympathize with those people I know who chamcha-d and are suffering today from not getting the lift they once got from hardly achieving anything extraordinary. Lesson: Chamchagiri is unreliable in helping us sustain ourselves. Better to build our own capacity and capitalize on that and we would have no cause for severe concerns. My all time advice: Belong with others harmoniously, but never to the point of losing yourself. Shortcuts are short, after all, and cannot really get us far enough. This is my personal belief.

Being back in the field of education makes me feel like I'm 'back home.' I wonder if this is how it is with our people who have travelled to the far west with big dreams. Do they feel they're back home when they get back? I'm sure they do. I've travelled too, although not privately, and never felt at home anywhere else but here in our home country. The fresh air.....the greenery......the miles of wilderness in the east......the caring village hosts.......the people's innocence........all these put together can never ever be matched by other places. And, in a world of great uncertainties due to global warming Bhutan truly feels like haven. Exactly so in the world of consultancy here - full of uncertainties! So, yes, being back into a nine to five job in my field of expertise feels like being in haven. There will be challenges, as there were before, and this is what's going to make the job even more enticing, like driving along our bumpy roads is.

So, here I am. Back home. It feels good. Warm. Batteries recharged....... and rechargeable. 

The doctor's signature

I was at the hospital today to get a medical certificate. The last time I had to get one was in 1993, so I had no idea where I was supposed to go and what I was supposed to do. Luckily for me, I met a friend doctor. I learned that I had to go to the top floor. At the door, a notice read "Medical Certificate at 11:00 AM" and it wasn't even 10:00 when I got there. I walked in, nevertheless, to inquire about the medical certificate in case I misunderstood the notice. The lady at the table said rudely and with a frowned look, "11 o'clock!!!" I thought to myself that it served me right for not paying heed to the notice. After all, I am literate and supposed to know how to read, right?

Since there was plenty of time left and my husband and I were hungry, we went to a restaurant nearby and enjoyed coffee, suja, toast and puri with mushroom daatsi. The first things that a waiter brought to our table were two cups of coffee. We asked, "Why two cups of coffee and no suja?"  The waiter was surprised we said we hadn't asked for two cups of coffee. After some exchange of words we realized our double coffee was understood as 'two cups' rather than 'one large cup.' Perhaps, we should have said 'large.' The waiter went back to get me my suja and she asked if she should take back one of the cups of coffee. I explained to her the difference between 'double' and 'two' with respect to orders like this. At the end of it all, I realized I had yet again acted the teacher I was at heart.  The funny thing is I myself ended up getting confused between 'double' and 'large.'

Back at the hospital, I was surprised I had to pay 15 bucks for the medical certificate form. The lady at the counter explained that I needed to fill in the first two lines and then go to Chamber No.4 for signature. Filling in the form was easy, but getting the signature wasn't. At the door of  Chamber 4 was a notice that read "Signing of Medical Certificates after 1:00 PM. To bring citizenship ID and other relevant documents." There were about two hours left. I ran to a shop nearby and got photocopies of my ID. I ran back to an information desk nearby the counters where we get our medicines. I asked the lady at the counter what documents were required to get the medical certificate signed. She said there was no need for any documents. The doctor just signs the paper. I said the notice at the door of Chamber Four informs the signing will happen only after 1:00 PM and that there's a long queue. She said I could go to chamber 19 next to the canteen and I happily rushed upstairs. The chamber was big but almost empty. Somebody looking like a doctor was sitting in front of a computer close to the door. He very kindly asked what I wanted and I told him that  I was told I could get my medical certificate signed by a doctor in that chamber. He said the doctor was attending a meeting and that I could get it signed at the emergency as well. This meant I had to walk to the new building and I was already exhausted from running around like a mad woman... in search of nothing and no one.

When I got to the emergency area, there were a few people standing in line outside the door to the doctor's consulting room. As I stood there waiting for a chance to go in, I saw a young model type girl in stilettos bring in another girl who was walking in pain. She looked very ill and could barely hold herself together. I asked the others in line if they were waiting for a check up and two of them said they were waiting for their patients who were already inside with the doctor. One other said nothing and didn't look as though she needed immediate consulting  with the doctor. The next minute she walks in and waits and I guessed it was to make sure she got her chance next. I couldn't bear to see the girl in such terrible pain, so I walked in and interrupted the doctor very politely. I asked if the girl could lie down for a while on the couch in his office as she was serious. The doctor said very rudely, "If you think she's serious, you can take her down there!" He didn't even bother to get up from his chair to take a look at what I was talking about, nor to show where 'down there' we were supposed to take the girl. I walked towards the security guard at the entrance door and asked where the girl could be taken and he guided them along the hallway to the right. 

I then started wondering if this doctor would bother to sign my medical certificate and the thought of seeing his face again was a painful thought. Nevertheless, I stood patiently outside the door. Just then somebody in a doctor's attire walked in to the chamber and then walked out in a jiffy. I stopped him and asked if he was a doctor and he said he was. I showed him my medical certificate and asked if he could sign  on  it. He very kindly signed on it and advised us to go back to the office where we got the form from for the hospital seal. My objective of visiting the hospital that day was fulfilled. 

As I passed by the consulting room happily with my signed certificate in my hand, I saw the girl in terrible pain inside getting checked by the undoctorly doctor. I felt happier.  

My belief that Koenchhogsum is with those who wish well for others was confirmed yet again. I claim that Sangay or Guru Rinpochhe came in the guise of the other doctor. The thing to think about is that  the guard had told me earlier there was only one doctor on duty at the emergency.

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Having said all that, I can't help wondering what the whole purpose of the medical certificate is to those agencies who ask for it, when there is no authenticity to it. I had thought such certificates were meant to assure the agencies that we didn't have any serious or dangerously contagious health problems. All that we were doing was paying for the form and getting a doctor's signature that perhaps we could consider to have been paid for indirectly.  

Of Dancing - Part III

Class eleven was a year of transitions for pure Sherubtsians. We started getting students who had studied in Kalimpong and Darjeeling. They spoke a different kind of English – what was called slang, I remember. Words like ‘damn’ and ‘shit’ were new to us pure Sherubtsians. I guess being in class eleven meant we were now old enough to mingle (I mean between boys and girls), for in a building between the girls’ hostel and the boys’ hostel there was started what was called ‘Club.’ By then, of course, we had a very liberal Principal – also a Canadian Jesuit Father like the previous one, who had however been overly strict. We were all of a sudden free to go to the Club during weekends, put on the music (gramophone those days rather than tape recorder) and dance.

We pure Sherubtsians had actually gotten used to not mingling freely (between boys and girls), which we had learnt to be ‘immoral.’ We girls would be punished if we were seen talking to boys. Adopted brothers were said to be, “Brothers during the day!” I think it was a strange world we grew up in, almost like we girls were being trained to become nuns. If we did not do well in studies, the nuns would shout at us “Boys in your heads!” So, when we saw how free and open the Kalimpong and Darjeeling students were, we weren’t sure how to react. They danced so easily. We pure Sherubtsians would just sit there and watch shyly at the sensuous moves of some of those girls. They were dancing to western music! They were dancing in two’s! Holding hands… turning…, twirling. I watched enviously, my feet tapping on the floor. A guy (today in a respectable position) asked me for a dance once and I refused. He gave me a long lecture that until today has kept me wondering what it was all about. I happened to attend a few of his talks last year here in Thimphu that had been specially organized for a small group of trainers. I don’t know if he remembered his long lecture to me but it kept swooshing before my eyes as I listened to his talk. I’m sure there was a funny expression on my face that couldn’t have gone unnoticed by him. He said nothing, though. Neither did his expression.

Well, being the boldest of all Sherubtsian girls back then I quickly picked up the courage to dance at the Club. It was an amazing experience – the sort that is addictive to some people. I remember not liking so much the dances in two’s but rather the ones with girls in groups. This continued during my college days in Delhi. We would organize parties at the Bhutanese Embassy and I’d either be dancing all by myself or in a group. I love tango, ramba samba and salsa (not that I know any of these and they weren’t known then anyways) but somehow the romantic slow dance with boys/men never was appealing to me. I’d always try to escape by literally hiding somewhere safe. I think it was enjoyable for me only if I were attracted to my partner or with the one I was in love with.

I remember a popular music of my Sherubtse secondary level times – Boney M.’s ‘Brown girls in the ring…tra la la la la…Brown girls in the ring….tra la la la la la…’ and ‘I’m crazy like a fool…daddy daddy cool…’ In Delhi, I remember going crazy with ‘Grease Lightning…’ after watching John Travolta in Grease. Then it was Michelle Pfiefer’s ‘Cool Rider…’ in Grease II. In the Hindi category, it was Mithun’s ‘I am a Disco Dancer…’ ‘Krishna dharti pe aaja tu…Krishna pyaar sikha ja tu..’ I also remember Anil Kapoor’s ‘Yaar bina chen kaha rey…pyaar bina chen kaha rey…sona nahi chandi nahi yaar toh mila..arey pyaar karley…’ and of course Reena Roy’s ‘Chhoro chhoro…….yeh hai pyaar ki hathkari..’

I’m very fond of the Indian semi classical dance as well. While commuting by the DTC bus to college in Delhi, I used to sadly glance at the dance institute nearby Connaught Place and wish I were a student there. Similarly, as a little girl in Kolkata, I would watch other little girls dressed up in the ballet attire go for ballet lessons every day. I could never ask my father if I could learn as well, and as I watched these girls in ballet shoes from my window tears would roll down my cheeks. And then, when I happened to visit Israel in the late 1990’s during govt. service, I came into contact with the popular Salsa dance. God! That was like entering into a whole new world. I wanted to learn it so badly, but we were busy and the time was too short. Opportunity lost forever…

My awareness of the tango dance started when I watched Al Pacino tango dancing in the movie ‘Scent of a Woman.’ (Forgot the year) I just love the arching of the female body as she’s led firmly by her partner. The female head held high throughout the dance. Just so beautiful to watch and follow with your eyes all over the floor, your insides almost keeping to the rhythm although your bottom’s painfully glued to your chair.

The last time I really really really danced after college days was in 2006 at a learning event in Paro. It was our last day and we decided we were going to have some fun. So, we did. I remember letting myself go, oblivious of who was around. A senior member asked, “Are you enjoying, Tshering?” “Yes, Ma’am” I replied in full honesty. One member remarked, “Hey! Where did you learn to be the Dancing Queen.” I don’t know what he meant, but I took it as a compliment. That same year, there were other smaller occasions when I found myself dancing and best of all was when I met an equally crazy woman. She is fat, but very flexible, like the Bollywood Choreographer Saroj Khan. We still write to each other and express how we miss those times. The other day I accidentally met her in Wangdue and I noticed she had grown much fatter. I wondered if it meant she had hardly danced in recent years.

It’s been over three years now that I haven’t danced. I think that’s partly the reason I feel quite depressed sometimes. The closest to dancing that I managed was last year at a college jam session. Just standing in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by college students, smiling every now and then, shaking the head a bit from time to time, feet almost fixed, hands in slow movements. It was stifling! I missed the freedom. I guess I was behaving myself in front of the students. Whatever that’s supposed to mean….. I was actually in the company of a conservative lady friend, in front of whom I was too conscious to dance given my age. I returned home a sad frustrated woman that night.

Now, as I’m nearing fifty, I’m just left with enough energy to enjoy watching dance shows on TV – You Think You Can Dance on AXN, Dance India Dance on Zee TV, Nachke Dikha on Star Plus, etc etc etc ….. My favourite DID contestant Shakti won the Takdir Ke Topi recently and my happiness knew no bounds. I simply love her contemporary style in particular. The ongoing DID for little champs is just too good …cannot wait for the audition to be over.

I guess I could say my dream of dancing has been fulfilled in little joyful ways that give me the same kind of pleasure thinking about them today, that the dream could never die despite knowing it’ll never be fulfilled to the desired level. Sometimes, it is more fun living your dream for there is more to look forward to and you never know what surprises are in store for you. I’m imagining that once your dream’s achieved, the fun is over and that’s what I wouldn’t like to let go……….ever……….no matter how old I get.

That's what I think of dancing......

Of Dancing - Part II

I lived in Kolkata – at the Trivoli Court – once, as a little girl. That was the time my late father broke my pencil. I remember those little moments when I would be dancing in the middle of a circle of adults (Bhutanese), who were in the service of the Bhutan Royal Family. I think for them it was a good break from the monotony of daily chores. For me, it was just an opportunity to dance and, of course, to show off my dancing ability. If only they were auditions for dance contests! I could’ve perhaps made my otherwise conservative father proud of her daughter for being crowned the Dancing Star. My mother lived in oblivion of her daughter’s crazy dream. She was too busy with her backbreaking household chores, making sure everything at home was how they should be by my father’s standards. How could I have felt the energy to dance if not for her love and care? My mother was that quiet strength in me – never spoken about, yet ever so vibrant.

It wasn’t surprising then that I participated in dances in school. My first ever experience of dancing on the stage was at Sherubtse (a school back then, a college today), where I joined in 1971. At first, it felt strange to be there, having come from the hustle bustle of Kolkata City. Sherubtse seemed like an altogether different world. The rich greenery. The fresh cool air. The quietude of the atmosphere. The warmth of the people. The nobility of the teachers. I was nevertheless pretty homesick and crying almost every night in bed, not having lived as a boarder. Late Rev. Fr. Mackey (the Principal then) assured my father I would be looked after well. He gave me VIVA (something like horlicks) and chocolates to calm me down, but that lasted a very short while. I would be back to sobbing. My father must have felt his heart breaking to see me cry like that. I wonder what he went back thinking!

I grew up participating in every Dzongkha dance (compulsory), although I never sang a word of the song. I was more of a hindi song singer and didn’t have the voice for Bhutanese type songs. However, I do have faint memories of my mother’s uncle teaching me Bhutanese songs and remarking, “Rigpa du; tsondrue kaygobey.” One of the songs I quite liked was ‘Namkha yuyi (???) phodrang la…’ So, now I’m wondering if music/dance thing is actually in my blood. Was I being groomed to be a national singer and dancer? No idea. When I visited Kathmandu in 2004, I was told by an astrologer that I loved singing and dancing. It was the first time ever any astrologer had said that about me. The other thing he said was that I had two minds about dharma – sometimes following, sometimes hesitating. That’s exactly how it was with me and how it still is. I guess I’m just confused by the increasing world conflicts despite the existence of religions. I settle with the thought that I must try to be good in heart, mind and action and my dharm’s practised. Now I’m thinking… can dance really be bad if mask dances are of gods and deities? There are dances of devis and devtas too. Unless, of course, certain categories of dances are considered immoral because they are ungodly or ungoddesslike….

In Sherubtse those days, we would be staging all sorts of dances besides the Bhutanese ones. There would be Nepali, Hindi, Spanish and other innovations such as the Umbrella Dance. Any dance came easy to me and I remember being a favourite of Mother Peter (Swiss), who would teach us to sing with hands clasped and resting against our chest and our mouths opened four finger wide while she played the piano. I realized later it was the pose of nuns singing hymns at the church. A song I remember most of all is ‘Ma a rch winds…ooh ooh ooh…Ma a rch winds….ooh ooh ooh…’ with the notes getting higher at each repetition. The dance I enjoyed the most was the Spanish dance Mother Peter taught us. She would say, “Look! Point your toes like Tshering. She’s the only one pointing her toes correctly. Very good.” I took dance seriously, so I paid very close attention to her every movement. I wanted to be perfect at what I was doing and in many ways this symbolizes me - the perfectionist! (I must be hated for this by many, but I'm not convinced that it's bad.)  

The Umbrella Dance was a graceful Japanese type dance that we did in traditional colourful handwoven kiras minus the toegos. (I wish we had worn kimonos actually, for experience sake) We twirled the umbrella held horizontally with both hands to our right as we walked a few steps to one two three and up the umbrella was pushed gracefully upright with our left leg raised equally gracefully and our body slightly tilted to the right. The movements were slow but being able to maintain gracefulness throughout was something to be immensely proud of.

Among all types of dances, I was known for my Nepali ones. I’d be in every one of them. I’d be among the chosen ones to do the Nepali Dance when we had functions in honour of special visitors. One of the ones I’m most embarrassed about is when I could not wear my petticoat inside the transparent saari. The girl who was supposed to take care of our costume had left my petticoat behind at the hostel. I couldn’t be spared, so I danced on the stage with my underwear showing. I cried all night and no amount of consoling helped at any point. I think it built some kind of fear in me, for as I grew older I’d be more and more reluctant to participate in Nepali dances and when I got to class eleven, I found every possible excuse to not participate and so ended my Nepali dance episodes. ‘Till death do us part’ was inapplicable here. We had separated from each other much before the dying of either. Not once since then did the occasion arise for me to pick it up again.

When we were in class eleven, we girls had a separate Reading Room at our hostel that girls like me preferred to use as a Dance Room. The record player was with the matron. We’d request her to play music and with the sound blasting through the sound boxes fitted in the Reading Room, me and a few others would dance away to glory. No care. No worries. I remember one of the lady teachers visiting us sometimes and teaching us ‘One Two chacha cha…three four chacha cha…’ She swayed her hips so well, I instantly fell in love with her. She was our history teacher, who repeated ALSO so many times that we’d pass our time in her class counting the number of times she repeated it with the help of tally marks. A good use we had found of the tally system that we had learnt in math!

...to be continued