Lets go to Doklam!

“Tshering...why don’t you understand. It’s the most important journey we had agreed to embark may na? We just cannot afford to give up now. After rigorous planning, purchasing all these expensive mountaineering equipment and this huge hand-sewn National flag that cost us almost a fortune...because for past one month we had to sent the flag across the country to let all Bhutanese citizens place their signature on it…you don't say NO now....” Looking at Dondup, a travel agent and a college friend of mine, "... please talk with him", I directed Dondup, to convince Tshering about the expedition.

Dondup in his attempt to break the difficult conversation between Tshering and me, he announces his preparedness for the expedition. He informs me, "Pelden... I could manage these tents, prayer flags, Lungtas....please tell me what else I should be arranging...we are super duper excited! Wow!...right Tshering?...Can't wait anymore now!" He added frequently glancing at Tshering in his attempt to convince him.

Tshering still didn't look convinced after Dondup's modest attempt but I had to do what I wanted to do. "Silly emotions, at the moment, needed to put aside for we are prepared for the mission of our life", I assured myself and therefore I maintained my cool and continued to bring Doklam back to our prospective.

Thus, I debrief my two friends, if Tshering is willing or not,   regarding this journey of our life time. The dates on which places we would reach to, the emergency kit, Plan B if Plan A fails and how exactly we would maneuver our planned action the moment we reach there.

Its such an urgent and significant journey we were to embark on. At least I presume it to be so. Because the magnitude of the situation urges us. The gravity of the issue demands us. No matter what...we are all set and prepared for the expedition to Doklam! "If not anyone, I shall go all by myself" I declared.

The following day, Tshering stands aside the taxi on my drive way which would take us to the end of motor-able road in extreme western part of Haa Dzongkhag  which will take us  towards Chumbi Valley. From there we were to descend, hike and finally reach Doklam. 

Deep down we knew Tshering would come along with us anyway. He is a true son of this Dragon kingdom. Only his interview for an enriching working experience at silicon valley in California, USA gave him some hiccups. We learnt on our way to Haa that after our confrontation he had made a trans-continental telephone call to US. Luckily his American counterpart agreed to his plea to extend the interview for they better understand the gravity of the situation at Doklam  and its impact on the future of the entire South East Asia.

We finally reached at the base camp near Doklam plateau in the evening of 6th August. "Congratulations friends,” I said, "we are on schedule..... Tomorrow is the day we all have sacrificed, prepared and have been waiting for".

On 7th we climbed the plateau of Doklam again and hoist the prayer flags, hung the Lungtas and collectively we then painted ‘om mane pamay hu’ mantra on the huge rock nearby.

That day and the day before, we only had preserved food meant for mountain climbers. The real home-made sumptuous Bhutanese cuisine shall be prepared and self-served on Doklam Plateau itself. It was also enlisted in the bucket list of sort that we ought to do there apart from the hoisting of prayer flags and our National Flag.

My software engineer friend who  aspires to work in silicon valley  requested me to explain why 8th of August is so auspicious on the eve of the d-day of our mission. Surrounded with flames of a large bonfire, I explained immediately that it was on 8th of August, 1949 when Indo-Bhutan Treaty was signed Bhutan had officially made use of its National Flag to exhibit our status as a sovereign and independent country!

Its a bright sunny day on 8th of August. Clear blue sky without a single fringe of cloud. I told myself, "what a lovely day! Today will be again marked in the history of Bhutan; 8th of August, 2017...ofcourse this time for a different reason". 

In the early morning of 8th of August, Dondup prepared the pre-agreed cuisine namely emadatshi, red rice, ezay, Lang Sha, Thukpa, home made noodles, suja and home brewed alcohol which Dondup surprised us with. He had brought more than what was agreed. But we didn't mind. While Dondup was busy, Tshering and I forged ourselves in digging a deep hole stable enough to hold our huge hand sewn National Flag.

Together with utmost respect we hoist our National Flag on Doklam Plateau, sang our national anthem with our hands held high and then we served ourselves the sumptuous Bhutanese cousine amidst the air of conflict blowing from the power corridors of Asian giants; China and India.

As we climb down, Dondup was leading us. And as usual, Tshering positioned himself between us. I was at the end. With great satisfaction I kept glancing at the prayer flags and our National Flag flying high on Doklam symbolically nullifying the hollow claims and confusion created by our neighbouring giants.

                              

The well painted mantras on the huge rock and the Lungtas dancing in the air gave me a sense of assurance that happiness and peace shall prevail. The mantras on the prayer flags will spread far and wide. Owing to its power, the evil thoughts will be subdued and it shall  help to give rise to only positive ones. Of brotherhood and lasting  peace. 

China in the north and India in the south would then mind their own business and let Bhutan be alone. Let the mantras on the prayer flags and mantra encurved on the rock sweeps away the dark political clouds hovering  above the sky of New Delhi and Beijing.

The moment we spent and The Weapons of Mass Happiness and Peace we had left behind and engraved on the Plateau gives me immense pleasure. "We did it..we did it!" Sincerely I pat on my back.

"I think someday our Tourism Industry have to open "Doklam Trekking and Camping" for our esteemed  politically minded tourists, will fetch a lot of dollars", announced my friend Dondup. And Tshering shared his wildest dream of having a multi-national multi-billion research center stationed on Doklam Plateau all for the betterment of the entire region.

As we descend further down, I suddenly hear a firm call by a lady from far distance." I am familiar with this lady’s voice...", I muttered to myself. "...but how would someone know my name in this isolated, tri-junction and so deserted  place?" I wondered myself. Another loud call forced me to open my eyes. Alas! It’s my wife pulling my hand and waking me up for school. I was literally in deep sleep after a month long summer vacation.

Oh man! It was a mere dream. A thought provoking one. But worthy of recollecting and rejoicing the moment at Doklam; The hot and happening place right now!

                                           # Picture courtesy:  Concern photographers/Google.com.

A Monologue: Your dreaded Gangster Nyingtob Tshering pours his heart out.

"Lekey left me....right after my dad's funeral rites got over...she attended the ceremony...not to console and support me...she had attended to be with my ailing mother for she felt for her…the pain of losing someone special and the loneliness that ensue...my mother lost her lifelong friend and Lekey knew what it meant...she was a sensible woman....who could sense a lot...But without a word...she left.she left to never return...she left to live her life far away from me...away from my world.

I can still feel the warmth of the funeral pyre...those fire fringes and the heat that consumed every bone and flesh of my father...burnt it down to black and grey and turned it into nothing but ashes......I am sorry dadI couldnt be the man you always dreamt of Every time I think about myself.... I miss him even more...and I shed tears.and those tears only pray for forgiveness as they roll down my cheek.

My father was the kindest I knew a man could be. He was also as brave as he was kind. He was, he is and will be my hero. My dad had to sacrifice his life to save me from being beaten and dragged by a gang. He was stabbed thricebleeding blood and braveryhe saved his only son. He reached me home like a war comrade who never leave anyone behind...but he couldnt make itnow I am left all alone.

My mother… she is also not doing well since then…and when I look at her I am reminded of all my failuresI know I am the reason for her suffering, her losing of her husband…let alone that I dont have a decent job to support my mother too.A hopeless sonYes I am.A hopeless me!

Thus one night, I slammed my door, picked up a knife and I was ready to slice my nerves...I had pressed the sharp edge of a knife on my wrist and was ready to press it hardercut deep and get deeper…thinking all my lifes frustrations and disappointments would ease with every deep cut I make.

 But all said and done.things have changed a lot now.a subtle thought has intrude and has invaded my minda ray of hope sparkles in every directiona long forgotten dream renewed!

A Drug addict, substance abuser, a dreaded gangster…uselessunproductive human being.call me what please you...but naming and shaming isnt going to robe my determination to change myself now… For I have found the true meaning of my lifeI am free from all confusions...Thus I am more alive....Alive to enjoy this precious life again.

Yes I am alive to live a whole new life! Come along with me. Lets take a walk together in this beautiful journey called life."

Thank you
Yours sincerely
Nyintob.

If my protagonist Nyingtob Tshering was born to a Muslim Family

 Had my protagonist Nyingtob Tshering of my recently published Book ‘Eight: Nyingtob Tshering’s Amazing Journey’ was born to a Muslim family far in one of the war torn Middle-East countries this is what I see as a plot summary of the story.

ISIS Fighter

His name would have been loosely translated as “Ammar Afraz   Aiman” meaning ‘long life, un-put-down-able and fearless’ guy. If we consider his appearance; a tuft of hair on his chin, a turban on his head and a blank and white striped scarf worn around his neck. With a heavy gun dangling from his right shoulder he stands tall and strong. Ready for every bullet under the scorching sun of Middle-East. That’s a Muslim version of yours truly Nyingtob Tshering in a far -away place.

Ammar Afraz Aiman is self-made Military General who has a large number of loyalist under his command to fight against the ISIS. His reputation as a fearless Military General has resonance far and wide. The enemy would hesitate to launch attacks against his troops. ISIS declares Ammar as one of the hurdles that obstructs their ultimate victory in the region.

One fine day, a messenger comes with a news. Amidst heavy firing from both sides, the messenger shouts out to inform Ammar that his father has been assassinated. And his wife and two sons disbanded. The reason for the assassination and the ill-treatment meted to his family is Ammar’s involvement in the fight against the mighty and the ruthless ISIS militants.

He decides to drop his gun, leave his life as a Military General and sets off to become an evangelist in otherwise a war torn country and help his folks who believe that “Power comes only from the barrel of a gun”.

He knew that if he ever comes out in open, he would be killed too. Desperate and hopeless he calls on one his fellow fighters to find a place for him to contemplate on his own life and learn the greater meaning of life itself.

The fellow fighter returns within a day and instructs Ammar to live and learn inside a wrecked Masjid few kilometers away from their made-shift military base. The fellow fighter arranges many priests who visit Ammar and teache him lessons from the Holy Qur’an. Only one priest could come and meet him on assigned day and time. No priests was given a second invitation to visit and teach him. All priests are brought blindfolded to the wrecked Masjid where Ammar would be ever ready to learn. This precautions are taken to prevent Ammar’s seclusion.

A Few lessons from Qur’an which the several priests who visited and shared with Ammar are;

(4:148) Evil must not be noised abroad in public speech except where injustice has been done. 

(25:74) "Wives and offspring be the comfort of our eyes". (2:187) Husband and wife should be like garments of each other.

(17:53) Say those things that are best. (31:19) Speak fair to the people

(30:22) Differences in colours and languages are signs of Allah. They must not be exploited for the disunity of mankind.

(2:188; 5:32; 6:152) Protection of life and property. (2:85) No one can be banished from his home.

(2:286) The burden of one cannot be placed upon the shoulders of another. Also, no burden can be placed upon a soul greater than it can bear. (2:83) Treat with kindness those in need.

(2:168) Eat of what is on earth, lawful and good. (7:31) Eat and drink but waste not by excess.

(46: 13, 19) Honour and respect is due only to that individual whose "deeds" qualify him for the distinction. 

(2:44) Do not enjoin right conduct on the people and forget to practice it yourself.

(49:12) Avoid suspicion as far as possible and spy not on each other, nor speak ill of each other behind their backs.

At the end of the story, with great difficulties and determination and with some help from divine elements, he manages to curve a niche for himself in the wall of fame of humility. For he could re-teach the world about the essence of peace, love, care, harmony and happiness and transforms his Country and the World to a far better place to live. For Himself. For his Folks in Middle-East and the whole of Humanity worldwide.

There you have it....Ammar Afraz Aiman in his own setting and problems to over come..Nyingtob Tshering at home has his own share of problems to fight and to inspire his own people in his own community.

#My Book Eight:Nyingtob Tshering’s Amazing Journey is a publication of DSB, Thimphu. And the story is written in a Cinematic Approach. Limited copies available. Go get your copy folks and Read the Bhutanese version of the story I have shared as a post here.

Palpable Humbleness; The trait of the Eastern People.

I had created my blogging account in 2009 but couldn’t write anything that year. The actual writing began after I started teaching in Lichen Community Primary School, Trashiyangtse in 2011.

Lichen Community Primary School, Trashi Yangtse

Teaching in a small school in a far flung village wasn't the inspiration alone. The life and the stories of people and children of the community inspired me to blog about them on my infant web page with almost no experience of blogging.

Life in the village was worth living so it was worth writing too. I kept writing about their simplicity, humbleness and their stories of patience and endurance. The humbleness of the villagers, the hospitality they offer when I visit their houses on weekends and the respect they have for others always moved me. My stay in the community was indeed memorable with great experiences.

 Let me share one such experience.

During any ritual in the community, I would be invited and given a seat next to a Lam (priest) who conducts the ritual. We would be pampered in all little ways. 

We would have the best and the most expensive ‘Dhen’ (carpet) of the village to sit on, the best brewed local alcohol, a fine lump of fresh butter, a hill of red rice, a flask of butter tea and aromatic cheese curry specially prepared for us. The ‘jenda’ (house owner) or an elderly woman would be seated nearby to serve us, chat and to look after our welfare. We would be the first ones to be served with the entire cuisine prepared for the feast that would follow after the ritual is completed.

The villagers and their children will be seated a few steps behind our attendant. They will be glaring at us as if we two were the ‘MEN FROM THE MOON’. And when we are half-way in our dining, then the villagers will be served. After the meal is over, folk songs and dances will end the event for the day.

A new day for a media student- turned- community teacher starts again with the oriental sun rising from the eastern horizon.

Images: Google

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)

The Magnanimous Pelden Chodra

[Sequel story of One Night In An ATM Counter]

Bumthang Town                                                                Image: nopkin.com

On returning from his great grandmother’s funeral, a group of youngsters robbed him of all his belongings when he just entered inside a hotel room in Bumthang. One of the culprits had placed a sharp knife on his neck and had demanded the thick golden ring which his diseased great grandmother had left behind for him before she took her last breath. The ring was most valuable gift to him so he mustered all courage from his weepy heart and strength from the heat of the funeral pyre which his skin still feels. He could chase them away without the golden ring but lost all other belongings. Even his backpack was stolen where he had kept his wallet made of Bhutanese cloth.  

Later that night, in his dream he saw Syeldon Rewa Wangchuck sharing a cup of hot coffee with a faceless man. He went closer and closer and closer to see her beautiful face and wished to express his deepest love but heard his boss call his name in an angry mood “Peldennnnnnn…..” The voice awoke him and he couldn’t take the pleasure of looking at her face closely.

The morning was very cold. A thin blanket of snow was covering the ground where Pelden Chodra stood prostrating to Kurjey Lhankhang[ It was built on the site where Padmasmabhava left his body impression on a wall of a cave where he was meditating to subdue a local deity] . He prayed for the wellbeing of those culprits and forgives them of their deed. The bus blew final horn to depart and he quickly jumped in.

He didn’t reveal the incident to his fellow passengers nor report to police. Inside the moving bus he kept wondering why those youngsters targeted him and how could it possibly happen in the most religious district in our country; the place where Guru Rimpoche (Padmasmabhava) first visited Bhutan.

Amidst confusion he found himself tempering the golden ring with his fingers. Looking at the golden ring he is reminded of the unfulfilled promise of getting married soon. He wished that the faceless man with whom Syeldon was sharing a cup of hot coffee was himself. Looking eye to eye and holding hands tightly he made a wish to sing one of the latest romantic Bhutanese songs over that imagined coffee date.

Back in the capital, Pelden’s Boss started to hate him. He started to make numerous complain regarding Pelden. The Boss had not even sanctioned his Travel Allowances for an official tour performed a few weeks before dashing with Syeldon Rewa Wangchuck along the Norzin Lam.

A colleague of Pelden Chodra informed him that their boss is emotionally disturbed. He is to the verge of divorce with his wife because she is alleged of losing a huge amount of money from their joint-account in gambling. And their boss was also having a tough time in repaying the loan on his new black CRV.

Believing on the information provided by his friend regarding their boss Pelden immediately forgives him and he visited Dechenphu Lhakhang in north of Thimphu to pray for his Boss.

On returning from the Lhankhang, Pelden saw Syeldon Rewa Wangchuck with a young man sipping coffee in an open cafeteria near Bhutan Kitchen. He ordered a cup of Suja( traditional tea served with butter and salt) and seated nearby unnoticed by them. Overhearing their conversation he summed up that the young man with that funny French moustache and a curly hair was wooing his dream girl! And seeing Syeldon nodding her head made him uncomfortable. He quickly rushed to the counter, ordered a bouquet of red rose for Syeldon, paid the entire bill and moveed out of the cafeteria.

    

             

One Night In An ATM Counter

Palden Chodra is 28 years old bachelor. He has just arrived from Mongar to his new place of posting here in Thimphu. It is his first official posting. He was placed in Mongar for two years after graduating from the College of Natural Resources; Lobesa, Wangdue Phodrang. He is an Agricultural Officer and a strong believer and self-proclaimed guardian of our cultural and traditional ethics.

when he last visited his great grandmother  in their village, she kept him busy asking him to settle down soon so she could die happily after witnessing her only  great grandson’s marriage. This was the only wish she had like all great grandparents do. It was his last week in the east. And every single word uttered with her soothing voice is still audible to him. And like all loving great grandsons he did secretly promised to fulfill her last wish sooner.

Almost mysteriously, just after a month or two of his stay in Thimphu-the capital of Bhutan, he and his Miss Perfect happened to dash each other on the crowded pavement along the Norzin Lam. The whole scene unfolded in perfect slow motion similarly how it happens in all the romantic movies of Bollyhood. Her long silky hair danced in the air revealing in mini-seconds her beautiful face.

Palden Chodra missed a heartbeat, took a long deep breath and kept blinking his eyes in even slower motion when he saw what he always wished for. She had a typical Bhutanese face cut; Plump rosy cheeks, small eyes and sharply cut lips. He even heard a romantic tune coming out of Dramyin( Bhutanese wooden guiter) played in some far distant place with a husky voice humming in the background. The ‘time warp’ smoothly came to its normal speed when he heard the final note of that romantic symphony. But in the normal speed of time his eyes suddenly caught the sight which utterly displeased him.

image: Dramyin   source - culturalinfusion.org.au

Syeldon Rewa wangchuck is her good name. She is Harvard graduate and is flawlessly westernized. She is an Assistant Manager in one of the financial institutions in Thimphu. But why on earth was Palden Chodra displeased!

The ‘self-proclaimed guardian of our cultural and traditional ethics’ saw her wearing LEVIS jeans tightly fitted around her legs, stylish boots warming her feet and Northface jacket covered the top half of her body. He never wished such garments invade the simplicity of his wardrobe, his house and our nation at large. The sight of her garments did disturbed him but the beauty of her face still made the unfinished symphony of ‘love- at- first -sight’ to continue.

A friend at his office advice him to wear some decent pants and shirts after office hours whenever he makes an appointment to meet her, loss some extra mass especially around his tommy and reduce the consumption of ARA (home manufactured alcohol) and DOMA (a combination of a betel nut, lime and a wild leaf which is customarily chewed after every meal in Bhutan). Palden Chodra agreed on exercise in order to reduce the size of his tommy but was adamant not to wear pants and shirts and to reduce the consumption of ARA and DOMA. 

In his desperate attempt to woo her, without tarnishing the ethics, he toke her to watch the  latest Bhutanese releases in theaters around the city, to MART and to the SHAREE SQUARE for some shopping. Though he was uncomfortable on the elevator he wore smiles on his face. Interestingly the day of their last outing on which they had spent a time together in Centenary Park was on the eve of Valentine Day but sadly Palden Chodra was unaware of it.

Late that night, his friend called to inform him about this special occasion of lovers on the following day. So immediately he rushed to the nearest ATM Counter to withdraw an amount of money to purchase a gift to his darling. His frequent attempt to withdraw money from ATM counters that night was in vain. And out of sheer frustration Palden Chodra spat a mouth full of DOMA on the screen of one of the ATM Counters.

The following morning, on the romantic day for love buds, Palden Chodra received a call from General Manager of a Bank. He was caught red handed spitting on the screen by the CCTV hung inside that particular ATM Counter the previous night. He was ordered not to repeat the act again. The news was already spread among the staffs. And as luck would have it Syeldon Rewa Wangchuck, who lately had started to show some affection to him, works in the same Bank as the Assistant Manager.

Two days later he receives another bad news. His lovely Great Grandmother left for her ultimate home in the skies.

  

# its a pure work of fiction and should not be affixed with the names of characters, institutions and individuals who might have experienced the same incidents narrated in the article.