The Old and The Young.

Young.......

“The wisdom in an old head is worth all the treasures of the world. And to say that life ends after retirement is to commit a travesty of facts. Doing good to others is for merit and causing pain to others is a sin”

In today’s world, there is a general feeling that old people are burden on Society; they are mistreated by those in positions of trust, power or those who are otherwise responsible for their well being.

Of various stages of human life, old age is the last stage of human life where they become emotionally and physically weak. The modern society is built by the young for the young and in the race of money, comforts and luxury they neglect the old.

An old woman seen begging on the stairs of BNB building

 It’s not uncommon now to see old people abandoned from their home. Youngsters have little tolerance. They shout at their old parents. In some cases they torture them both physically and mentally. The old doesn't have energy to fight back and what they possibly do is just bow their head down and serve their own children as a slave only waiting for their last breath. And many of these disheartened souls often land up begging others for food or money in front of Banks, along the street and in the bus terminus.

An old man begging one of the shop keepers.

Today, the difference between old and young is substantial. Young are better educated so they do not blindly accept the ideals of their elders. Youngsters today have lots of money to spend and enjoy their life at the fullest. And it is often the elders taking all the suffering and humiliations. In addition to it, the old age itself brings more ailments which only make their lives more miserable.

Along Norzin Lam

Interestingly, the old always assume that they know best for the simple reason that they have been here a bit longer.  They don’t like their values being questioned and threatened and this is precisely what young are doing.

The old consider ‘family’ as a good environment motivating them to live happily. They enjoy having meals together and play with their grand children.

 

The Old doesn't have the physical ability of a young person. And this aspect of their life keeps bothering me. I have seen them struggling everywhere; on the street across the town, toasted inside our crowded city bus and on the staircase of our Banks.

Crossing a busy road is just one problem they encounter, getting into a bus is another and they trying to get a seat inside the crowded city bus simply make me feel uncomfortable.

The old and weak

Travelling by the city Bus has always been a thought provoking experience for me. I have seen the old and the weak barely able to stand on their feet. Yesterday, as I was walking back home I saw a bus conductor lashing an old man to wait for the next bus because his bus was jam pack.

On the other day, I saw an old woman being dragged by few police officers and the woman was crying profusely. I wonder what could be the reason.

An old man and his Radio

I have always seen an old man wandering on the street of Thimphu with his radio blazing Bhutanese songs.

In one of the corners of our Bus Terminus lives an elderly man with his thin mattress to sleep on, a blanket to cover him during cold winter nights, a pair of Chinese shoes to help keep his legs warm, a Gho and a woolen hat to wear.

In reality, the mere presences of old parents indeed make us feel secure. They deserve our care and love and most importantly they deserve the due respect. Their dignity must also be maintained at all cost. They have a tolerant approach in whatever they intend to do for their family because of their affectionate nature. And this “Tolerant Approach” should not be misinterpreted in anyways as their weakness.

Pondering over the incident of the bus conductor lashing on the old man, I felt in the core of my heart to thank him. Why? If the old man did get on he would have to stand and that would be certainly not good for his old bones. And you know, people rarely give their seat to let any old man sit. Our youth have no time for the old and sadly the old doesn't have much time either.

 Sketches, Photos and Article contributed by Tara Dulal Bhandari

Azzha visits Thimphu

He has to go now but he also doesn't wish the community know and feel his absence. He leans at the window and wonders.

Later that evening an old man enters the monastery. Azzha couldn't see his face properly. Azzha gently helps him sit down. The old man asks Azzha, what happen? He responses with his plan to visit Thimphu but wishes the community doesn't know about it. The old man keeps quiet for a while and shares his idea with Azzha.

Next morning Azzha Galong informs the villagers that he will be meditating inside the monastery for a period of two months. No one will be allowed to enter the monastery till the meditation period gets complete. He informs the villagers that the meditation is for the well-being of the village and the villagers. The villagers were pleased and they show their willingness to help him.

The villagers were informed to bring hot water and soup made of nettle plants only ones a week and only after the sun sets. The old man had told Azzha that the offerings will be eaten by him to make the villagers believe that Azzha is inside the monastery doing the meditation. Azzha Galong packs his bag on the same evening and gets out of the monastery form the back door. The fake meditation begins on the following day.

In Thimphu he meets with his monk friend who immediately takes him to his well-off monk friends and their gala time starts again. This time the excitement is more. Azzha and his friends visit night clubs in casuals, bluff in plain English and flirt with women in bars.

One night on the bar counter, Azzha meets with a young woman. She is married but her husband is working abroad. She buys a drink for Azzha and the distance between them slowly became smaller. Soon she starts taking him out on her own expenses. He is groomed well, paid well and fed well too. But he was abused as well. One morning he finds himself sleeping in a drain. He could only remember the woman forcing him to drink bottles after bottles of alcohol on the previous night. The feeling of embarrassment forces him to immediately head towards his village- the place where he is highly respected and worshiped.

He manages to reach back to his village and to his monastery a day before the meditation period gets over. It is a moonlit evening when his enters the monastery. His prayer-bead and his prayer books lay down untouched. He slowly sits down and gets into the meditation posture. After an hour, the morning sun rays penetrate through the window holes and touch his skin. He opens his eyes. He hears his people praying and murmuring outside the monastery. He opens the door and he finds the villagers engross in preparation to celebrate the successful completion of the meditation of their only monk- Azzha Galong. The elder ones are busy praying under a mad-shift hut.

As he steps outside the monastery he finds a pile of notes written in his own handwriting. He gets taken aback on looking at the notes. The notes were messages to the villagers regarding the progress of the meditation and his health. Azzha walks out to search him in the gathering but the old and destitute man is nowhere to be found. He knew it must the old man who wrote the messages too because he promised to eat the offerings made. Azzha really wanted to meet him and thank him not because he helped in letting him go to Thimphu but for making the meditation look real by eating the offerings and for keeping the faith of his villagers alive by writing the notes on behave of him.

Just as he looks down with deep resentment he finds a line on the ground made by a small stick. The line runs towards the tall tree next to the small stream that rushes behind the monastery. He walks towards the tree and when he reaches under the tree he hears a familiar voice. It is the voice of Aggay Sangay who had expired in his absence.

Aggay Sangay confesses that it was his soul which came that evening when Azzha had planned to leave for thimphu. He also confesses that the notes were written by him to keep alive the faith and believe the villagers have on Azzha Galong. Among all the confessions, Aggay Sangay informs that it was he who had found azhha Galong as a baby in a forest nearby and helped him grow into a monk. And the old man also informs Azzha that gods in the heaven has told him that he will attend his salvation only when Azzha whole heartily starts again to serve the purpose of his life- serve the community as a monk.

Azzha Galong: The monk who re-lives his purpose.

Some hundred miles away from Thimphu lived a monk in a far flung village in the east. He was tall, good looking and Azzha Galong was also the only monk in his small community. The village where Azzha Galong was considered as a precious jewel was isolated from other villages. Though the village had no road and electricity, the community was self-sufficient and happy. Nobody in the community ever felt the need to go out of their village.

Azzha Galong standing in front of the Monastery.

One early morning when Azzha Galong was untangling the prayer flags beside the monastery, he saw a monk coming towards him. Azzha greeted and invited him into the monastery. The monk told Azzha that he has lost his way to his village in the other side of the mountain. Azzha assured him that he will ask his village men to help him find his route tomorrow and requested the monk to stay overnight with him at the monastery.

After much discussion on Buddhist philosophy and religious practices over a butter lamp burning in a corner, the monk started sharing his recent visit to Thimphu, the capital city of Bhutan. The monk told Azzha how different a life of a monk is in a city. He told Azzha that monks in the city drive biggest and the most expensive cars, wear branded clothes and eat continental cosines in five star hotels. And he also told azzha that the monks in the city use iphones to talk, laptops to read religious e-books and they speak foreign languages too.

Listening to what the guest had to share, Azzha got lost. In fact, he couldn’t resist asking more and more about the unique monks until the butter lamp in the corner went off which only compelled the two monks to stop their uncanny conversation. The news of the monks living their lives differently triggered Azzha’s mind and he starts thinking about visiting the capital city along with the monk. The monk also agreed to help Azzha reach Thimphu and spend sometime there.

The next morning Azzha informed the community that he would be going to Thimphu and would be staying there for a week. He assured the community that he would be back to perform the annual ritual of the village. With the word to return soon, Azzha went along with the monk for a week to stay in Thimphu and enjoy the modern life.

While in Thimphu, the monk friend introduced azzha to all the monks and nuns who live in spacious and well furnished bungalows. Azzha enjoyed each moment of his life in Thimphu; The ride in the most expensive cars, tasting continental cosines in five star hotels and wearing branded clothes along with his red robe.

On returning back to the village, the villagers informed that the elder most member of the community expired in his absence. The monk of the nearest village was also out of station. They couldn’t perform the funeral rites for aagay Sangay and without the rituals they had to also bury him under a tall tree next to the small stream that rushes behind the monastery.

Azzha Galong felt the lost and resentment for not being able to perform the rites for Aagay Sangay. Amidst the lost and resentment, the recent visit to Thimphu kept him exuberant about the life he had during his short visit. The images of tall buildings and the fly-over bridge, high speed rush of the cars he travelled in and the exotic cosines he tasted kept creeping in and out of his otherwise holy mind. The temptation lingered more and so deeply that he decided to go back to Thimphu soon.

                                                                                                              ...........................to be continue.

(sketch courtesy: Tara Devi Sharma(My betterhalf)

Life comes in packages.

One of my colleagues used the phrase “Life comes in packages” quiet extensively when he had to leave our school last year. He seemed to be happy leaving the school and happier to start his life with a new beginning. He was a calm and sensible gentleman with whom anyone would love to talk and enjoy a moment with him. 

The phrase he used didn’t click my mind then to put an effort to understand the core meaning wrapped in those four words. Actually the moment of his departure required me to be more compassionate and not get lost in the wisdom of the phrase.

But the events that unfolded in my own life recently have helped me comprehend the wisdom behind the phrase more easily yet strongly.

Just after the winter vacation commenced, the date of my marriage got fixed. 18^th January was the date. So, before leaving for my village from Thimphu I asked her out for a final date. Away from all the noise and the crowd of our small city we decided to meet near Pangrizampa and walk along the road to spend few hours together.

Reaching home a lot of preparatory works for the marriage awaited me to begin. Excitement filled the warm southern air. But just a week before the marriage date her uncle expired and to fix another auspicious date for marriage would be done only after her bereaved family is done with all the rituals related to the funeral that often takes a week or two to complete.

The bride and the bridegroom

Finally after much waiting, February 5^th was fixed as the new date. We got married! And after staying for four more days in the village we were back in the capital.

 My father and mother accompanied us a week later. They had come to Thimphu with a great hope. Hope to get a new life for my dad after he undergoes a major operation which was scheduled for 28^th of February at JDWNRH. He was diagnosed with kidney failure. 

In the Surgical ward

An unending wave of worry kept rushing in our hearts as we stood silently outside the operation theater anxiously waiting to only hear good news. After four long hours he was moved out of the Operation Theater to the surgical ward. ‘Operation Successful’, remarked a surgeon from inside. 

Grate grand mother lays in peace

A new day had just started for my father after the operation when the news of my grate grandmother’s sudden death shook the ground beneath us. She was 97 years old-The beacon of our family. And she was the oldest and the most respected woman in the village. She left us after witnessing one of her last wishes come true- my marriage. For entire Bhandari family the lost is immense. The knot which connected the whole family for generations has now suddenly got loose!

Down in Phuntsholing my sister got admitted in the hospital. She was expecting. Only 11 days had passed since our grate grand mother’s death when my sister gave birth to her second baby daughter. Happiness and joy got its expression back with the entry of a new member in our family.

The latest addition in our family

Life is Life! In one moment you are happy and in another moment you are sad. Sorrow and happiness is what life is made of; it’s the ultimate truth. But the phrase my friend use to breath in and out then has now made me realize that life indeed comes in packages; some packages(our wishes and dreams) never get delivered to us, some packages that reach us are light(filled with happiness) and others are heavy(filled with sorrow).

Wild Elephants are eroding our serenity

When the sun sets....the beast rises

As I wrote this line, Anjanta clock on the wall just above the entrance door of our farm house had struck “half past twelve”(am). I could still hear , in a far distance, villagers chasing the wild elephants by yelling at them. ‘Tonight is a good normal night’, said my uncle, who has almost mastered the art of chasing the wild elephants from his field. Only three mammoth hungry wild elephants eroded the serenity of my otherwise clam village.

It's not uncommon here. Every evening, all house chores like preparing the dinner, dining and doing the dishes are done before 6 O’ clock. After the meal, family gather around a small fire and indulge in the usual gossip that all Bhutanese families are so infamously known for.

But for my folks who reside in the southern most part of our country-particularly in Hangay, sispoo Dungkhag, their ears are also required to be extra attentive in the evenings to listen the sound created by the incoming elephants from across the border. In the evenings, being extra vigilant is very important to avoid direct conflict with the wild beast.

My father, a government officer, recently got transferred here. The best and the immediate investment he made in coming here was to buy a Foglight touch. It’s a prized possession.

It’s a life and death situation for folks here when elephants intrude our village at night to feed on anything they feel eating. Every tom, dick and harry of my village possesses one Foglight touch each. The touch helps them spotlight the beast in the dark southern night and help make neighbors aware of the elephants.

Crops are eaten and damaged almost every night and it goes without saying that a threat to the very life of the community people is imminent. At least 7 death has been recorded since 1995.

Yesterday evening was a bonanza, at least for me. It was my first encounter with the wild elephants. I had seen them on National Geographic Channel in the comfort of a soft couch to lean on and a cup of hot coffee savoring each sip that I took. Things are pretty different here. The wild beast and human beings take on face to face.

My uncle and I were working on his diary report when he heard a sharp “crack” sound beside our house. The elephants were feeding on bamboo plants.

Dung and the Distruction

We went out and walked towards our cow shed. From there he switched on the touch and the beast appeared in front of our eyes. They are as tall as two storied house, brown in color and were closer to each other. Only my uncle, grandfather and I were at home. The rest of the family had gone to attend a Puja in a nearby village.

When I first saw them, my knees began to shake and I immediately hide behind my uncle like a small kid. But later I joined them yelling together at the top of my lungs and throwing stones to chase them away.

My grandfather, who is known for his calm and gentle demeanor for ages, turned into a roaring machine in minutes after he spot the elephants. He yells, he shouts and yells again at the wild elephants. After thirty minutes of stoning, yelling and blinking the touch light at them, the wild elephants finally changed the direction and left our house only to move into the interior part of  the village. The yelling continued  and the fog light blinked everywhere in my village as if a night party has just started in an open space.

The Elephants come...the party begins

The government has erected solar fencing which stretches 11 km from the outskirt of Hangay village till Jogimara near Jaldhaka river bordering Darjeeling district. But the fencing has not done much to prevent the intrusion of the wild elephants. The entire fencing runs with the power generated by two solar panels which the community people think is not enough to chase away the beast.

The Fencing that only prevents government officers from BLAME

Almost seven months ago the local community had requested the concern authorities to add two more solar panels which they believe would help keep the elephants away. The authorities had agreed then to look into the matter but nothing has happened till now.

The Three Terminators

The photographs I took with my nokia phone amidst the chaos are blur but the worry of losing the crops for wild beast and the fear of being killed someday are deeply engraved in their hearts and minds.

Sweet Home or a Protective Shell? 

The Fear of wild elephants has compelled the community people to build concert building to protect themselves from the wild elephants. In order to build these concrete houses they are selling their inherited land and has put in all their savings. The construction is in full swing. There are 18 new concrete houses under construction in my village only.

My village was once known for being the rice cultivation hub in the Dzongkhag but now it is turning into a free grazing land (500 acres) or ‘no man’s land’ sorts of. ‘Cultivating rice is like digging ones own grave’, says my uncle. If cultivation had to happen like before, more worry and fear is imminent. In addition to it, the parents and their children won’t meet each other. The parents have to look after their paddy fields at night and during the day their children will be attending their school.

The only time when they see their children will be in the early mornings but the children will be still asleep. My uncle joking says that neighbors won’t ask how ‘tall’ is your son or daughter but instead they would ask how ‘long’ they have grown into. Because fathers are always away from home at night and they have always seen their child lying on the bed in a deep sleep while they return back from their field.

Thanks to the recently commenced BOB office near our village that Bhaiya Lal Munda, late 50s,  will no longer lose his earnings to the elephants again. He had once hidden his savings wrapped in a plastic bag and tucked inside a small wooden granary. Then, one night a hungry elephant had broken the granary and gobbled down the grains along with the money bag. Munda went on to search for it everywhere in the village but to no avail.  Now, Munda will deposit his savings in the BOB lockers and not in his wooden granary.

The Community is now planning to build huge stone walls in all the entry points from where elephants enter our village. Now more materials will be used… like cement and thick wire fencing and Petroling will be increased.

The primitive stone walls had once worked for the community. It had reduced the number of wild visitors drastically. The People had volunteered to look after the entry points and for six long months the villagers had experienced sound sleep at night. The Petroling was purely on a voluntary basis. The Families who couldn’t provide man power use to provide battery and touch lights to the volunteers.

Slowly People had discontinued the practice in the hope that elephants won’t return. But now it has only increased in number of wild elephants and the frequency of their visit in our village.

"Wait and Watch" game continues

Until the concrete wall is built, volunteers begin to guard the entry points or additional solar panels are installed to drive away the wild elephants, my dad will religiously re-charge his prized Foglight touch every afternoon, my old grandfather is all set to roar at night again and my uncle is working diligently to bring more substantial development in the village like collective diary farming.

 He is also looking into bio-gas commercialization, organic vegetable growing and marketing possibilities for the collective benefit of the villagers. He says, ‘lets not waste our energy talking about elephants because no one is going to help us, let's focus on bringing more development in our village.”