Undead Poet Society

One observation made during the Literary Festival was that Bhutan was leapfrogging from an oral society to audiovisual media - bypassing everything in between. True this may not augur well for a country bent on preserving age-old culture and traditions. Folk tales and stories have been the vehicles that transported the very culture and tradition we are trying to preserve. And efforts have to be made to preserve them.

However, the audio-visual media is not the Terminator of the oral tradition. Rather the new digital technology can help in the conservation efforts. These days recording equipment come at throwaway prices. For those of us who started with Nagra machines and U-matic gears costing thousands of dollars, digital audio recorders and video cameras are almost godsend. They just cost one-tenth compared to analogue equipment and are ten times better. Even mobile phones have the audio and video recording features that could be put into some good use. So rather than cry wolf, one could take advantage of the availability of these cheap equipment and go out there and do something. I feel much of the oral tradition is still there. The real enemy is our own mindset.

People have the habit of nagging about something that is going wrong rather than appreciating what's going right. The Bhutanese radios are doing an excellent job by including the oral traditions like lozay and tsangmo in their daily programming. If someone in Merak Sakten can understand the national language it is thanks to BBS Radio. Local films have also contributed a lot to oral traditions and Dzongkha. The nation-wide appeal of Phurba Thinley is a proof of this. Even the much-debated Druk Star brought out the best of zhungdra and boedra. And all these are made possible because of cheap availability of new audio-visual technology and the good use of the much-hated television. So blanket statements don't help in any way other than to attract donor sympathy (and possible funding). We have good writers, many aspiring poets, a fledging film industry and a good radio listenership. Why not intervene where it works rather than decry what’s not working?

Another comment made was that “these days children don’t read.” This may be true to certain extent. But then, whose fault is it anyway? How many of us read or read to children? Children ape their parents. If parents don’t read, it is very unlikely that children would take up reading habits. What is more worrying is that we assume children don’t read. And so we neither create better libraries nor do we buy books for our children and we are okay with fifty or hundred bars for every bookshop in the city. And yet children as far as in Kheng Gongdu have asked for better reading materials.

The literary festival brought in some of the best contemporary Indian and Bhutanese writers. Sadly everyone was very “busy” to even attend. But there were some students who sat through every session and thoroughly enjoyed the katsoms of Sonam Kinga, Dasho Kinley’s story from Laya and, of course, the timeless poems by Gulzar in person.

FaceBooked and Blogged

Keeping in touch with friends sure has changed over the years. In school, writing letters with pen was the norm. Then typing them out on WordStar became the trend. Emails followed soon after and now we have the Facebook. Every literate person I know is there. These days besides, “Do you have an email?” you are also asked, “Are you on Facebook?”

So, to be trendy and to escape from people bugging me to join them, I found myself signed up in all these social networks – Facebook, Myspace, Hi5 and Kuzoo. In the beginning I did not find much use. For me socializing means meeting face-to-face. Besides, on Facebook most of the people I have as "friends" are either people I see or meet in my daily life or people I don't have anything to say to or any reason to call up out of the blue. Neither did it make any sense in casually commenting on people or their profiles.

Then a miracle happened. I started getting “friend requests” from people who were really my friends back in Italy - my soul mates throughout my time there and thanks to my carelessness I had lost touch. I missed my friends. I was determined not to lose them again and so I started dropping them a line, they commented on new hairstyle, I told them I missed some real pasta. Many trivialities later we were back together – at least in the cyber space.

The habit has caught on and now being on the Facebook is being connected not only to friends but also to friends of friends - and friends of friends of friends. We learn to know each other better. Even people who are not so close. Understanding and appreciation grow and hopefully there will be more peace and friendship. Above all, my workaholic habit fits well with this virtual social networking where I just post about my whereabouts and what’s going through my mind. I post some picture I take in course of my job. Now my real friends and I don’t feel drifted apart.

Social media is here to stay and has become a part of our popular culture. It is a powerful means to reach out. Obama used it effectively in his bid for the White House. Multinationals like Apple have developed a social media policy to reach out to its clients. In Bangkok Post, the editor-in-chief told me, it is almost a requirement for people to have accounts and interact with the readers and fans.

So it is with a total disdain that I learn of employers trying to ban these sites and even don’t sanction Internet access at work place. The irony is that we are talking about making Bhutan a knowledge-based society or global IT hub. We are talking about e-governance and e-commerce. Agreed that they could be “misused”. But won’t a little awareness and some education be more practical than banning? Won’t it better that over time, after “misusing” for months, the employees themselves learn to use the facilities meaningfully? It may sound little condescending. But I am talking from my own experience. When I landed in Italy as a student, I was so mesmerized by the TV that I was hooked for entire weekends. But soon it dawned on me that I was only wasting my time. Now I would rather read a book or write a note on my blog than watch TV. Ban never worked on anything anywhere.

History sure repeats itself. When telephone was invented, companies in the US banned it from the work place because of fears of people doing what it was invented for - talking. And that was more than 130 years ago.

Remains of the Day

I enjoyed the SAARC week. Besides being proud as a Bhutanese I achieved my dream of walking around Thimphu without all those vehicles, noise or pollutions. Sadly my dream was short lived. The big party over and the guests having left, we are back to the same nightmare – traffic congestions, litters reappearing everywhere and cars rushing as if the world was ending.

In the months preceding the Summit, when people asked me if I thought whether we could host the summit successfully, my answer was “Yes. We will not fail. But we will never learn.” Meaning, we are excellent last-minute organisers but we never learn from our earlier mistakes of rushing at the eleventh hour. That holds true not only in organising celebrations as large as the Coronation or meetings as big as the SAARC Summit, but also in paying our bills, filing our taxes or buying shares in companies.

Bhutanese are at their best when there is a crisis. When things are normal again we get back to gossiping our life away. We came together as a nation to celebrate the Coronation. We rallied behind our Monarch when our sovereignty was at risk and we grieved together when disasters struck the East. So during the Summit, to no one’s surprise, we saw many people volunteering, working towards a collective success and showing the best of Bhutan. It means intrinsically we are all good citizens who love our country.

So my question is, can we elongate these brief wonderful moments? Ideally, why can’t we have the best in us all the time? If that's not possible, at least, how about leaving some social and cultural legacies from these events besides those physical ones? The Centenary celebrations created the Centenary Park with a beautiful open-air theatre. A youth performing art festival could be instituted to commemorate that celebration. The massive earthquake mobilised many groups and individuals – some as far a New York. Can these groups stick together, formalise, organise and keep doing some social works?

The Summit week was free from uncivilized motorists because the even-odd rule made only the essential ones plying the narrow streets of Thimphu. The biggest impact, however, was not on the congestion or the pollution but on the social aspect. People started calling up each other to share rides and go out for lunch together. Office colleagues pooled their cars depending on whose was allowed on that day. How nice! With rising living standards we are seeing people becoming too independent - almost bordering on selfishness and self-importance. If this even-odd rule is retained, perhaps on weekends, may be this togetherness can continue. May be we will learn to share things again. And to the World, we would not only be making the Thimphu Statement but Thimphu would be meaning real business.

Or – we could go all back to our cars and let unruly Landcruisers, car-smashing buses, wayward taxis and litterbugs regain the streets. We have a choice.

Shhh… Galuya Malab

I went for the premiere of a new movie – Shh.. Galuya Malab. It is another movie by my friend Tshering Wangyel but with Tsokye Tshomo Karchung in the lead and also executive producing it. Knowing both Wangyel and Tsokye, I had a huge expectation from the film. Especially because of Tsokye’s sensitivity to social issues we face in this country.

The film tells the story of Deki (played by Tsokye) - a successful career woman but who contracts the deadly virus. Tshering Phuntsho plays her arranged fiancée who accidentally infects her. Her career and her life come to a halt only to be rescued by her jobless and happy-go-lucky childhood friend (played by Karma Chechung).

I must say, all in all, I was not disappointed. There was, of course, the “necessary” dose of commercialism in the first half, with disjointed sub-plots and dance numbers, that does not take the story forward. But I know, and Wangyel tells me, without these the film won't sell. And there is no use making a film that won't sell. The wonderful tweaks by Phurba Thinley and Gyem Dorji keep you going though.

But once the film moves beyond the turning point, every scene, every plot and even the song sequence is powerful enough to move the hall. Tsokye is brilliant in her role and so is Karma. Tsokye, Karma and Tshering Phuntsho together with other younger likes of Chencho Dorji and Tandin Bidha are whom I call the “young guns of the Bhutanese cinema.” Hopefully they would take our cinema to the next level. They are young, they are energetic and they are in the industry because they are passionate about films.

Shhh... Galuya Malab is a must-see. For one reason. It is brutally honest in depicting a major flaw in our character – the hypocritical behaviour of our society that is quick to act on ignorance rather than on sound reasoning or logic or on jampa dang ngingzhi (compassion and altruism) that we proclaim to have as Buddhists. Film is a powerful mass medium that is also supposed to make you think, contemplate and discuss. This film did make me think.

If I have to coin a one-liner for the film – It is a movie with a meaning.

If you have never seen a Bhutanese film, start with this one!

Parenting on values and traditions

I went for a teachers-parents meeting today. I just went for one reason. My daughters feel proud to show off their school to me and may be they also feel proud to “show off” their father to their teachers and their friends. Whatever, I don’t want to let my daughters down. That’s the only reason I attend the parents-teacher meeting.

My wife and I leave the teachers to do their job in providing them the formal education while we focus on passing on some soft skills that may come handy in life – good values. In other words, teachers and parents have distinct responsibilities. Now don’t get me wrong. I am not saying who is more, or less, important - teachers or parents? I am saying, to cite a cliché, teachers and parents are like the two wings on which our children can fly. And if either party play the part well, our children can fly very high.

Of course, I do meet the teachers. I say hello to madam principal. I sit down with respective class teachers to ask few questions. "Is there anything I could do or I should know?" "Are my daughters causing any problems in the school?" "Hope they are not behind with their assignments." After receiving no to all my questions, I sign the participation form and walk away with pride. Other than that I only make sure that my children are enjoying their school and they are moving ahead with their studies.

My job does not allow much time with my family and so I am careful about doing at least the bare minimum. Attending the parents-teachers meeting, collecting them from the bus top when I am in Thimphu, trekking to a temple on a Sunday afternoon, going for a movie together (they take me because we get free access. I know most of the film producers).

But what is more, my wife and I try to focus on imparting good values. This is where parents should take their role seriously and don’t leave it to the teachers. I teach them the difference between right and wrong, respects for elders, regards for colleagues, reverence for the King, love for the country, compassion to those less fortunate and fear for God. My wife, being a Japanese, hammers them on cleanliness, discipline, good manners, honesty and hard work. When I come back from tours, I also talk about how we sleep in tents and huts and bare floors because that’s the reality in some places in Bhutan. And not to take their good life for granted because “out there” there are people who have nothing. My younger daughter, who is seven, sometimes gets too inspired that she sleeps on the floor in my sleeping bag and calls it “sleeping like in Mongar”.

There is the on-going debate on the “degrading” quality of education and “substandard” graduates or educated lot. I am just wondering where exactly we are going wrong. In imparting the hard knowledge or in giving the softer skills – or in providing both? I am not saying that my way is the right way. In fact my regular absence from home makes me anything but a perfect father. My consolation is that, in any case, there is no formula for successful parenting and only time will tell if I have been a successful parent. But if we are little more serious in passing on our values and traditions, I am certain that we will have lesser to complain on the quality of education and the teachers.

Just try……

Lastly, my definition of education. "When you have forgotten what you have learnt in school and still be successful in life, you were well educated"

Reflections on a journey with the King

The three-week tour over and on my way home I sit in one of the many “resorts” in Bumthang and scribble down these thoughts. What has this epic journey through 6 dzongkhags, several villages and thousands of faces taught me? In the end, what has remained of the journey on me as a person?

Definitely, the 10 day-trek from Mongar to Nganglam passing through some of the remotest part of this country will remain etched in my memory for a long time. We have been to some of the most dramatic and exotic places where breathtaking sceneries made you lose a heart beat and where the heat, as comedian Phurba Thinley described, gave us free steam bath all along and the climbs so steep that the footpaths nearly touched our noses. And if the climbs were steep the descents were horrible. Do that few more time and you will lose your knees. The whole trek was as tough as it can get but the end result was rewarding. It gave us sense of achievements and valuable life lessons. It has made us understand our country better and more sensitive to harsh local realities. It taught us to cherish who we are and what we have. Because out there are some people who have nothing.

The brief visit to Rangjung (I was born just few miles from there) brought back my early childhood memories – especially of my late mother who was, at that time, the only one to believe in me. I don’t remember but apparently I was slow to learn to speak and late to walk. In fact I started walking properly only when I turned three and uttered full sentences only when I was four. Many had given me for a disabled yongba and for a long time my father called me by that name. But no one is to be blamed. Even when I was past seven, I remember the whole family having a great time over my Supandi acts. I had very short memory power and very often I was unable to convey full messages to our neighbours because I would have forgotten the words by the time I got to their house. But my mother believed in me. We were extremely poor and often we didn't get three full meals. But my mother always kept us happy with endless jokes, bed-time stories and songs. She never had one bad day.

And this time, as I stood in front of more than 7,000 people in Rangjung as His Majesty addressed the gathering, I shed some tears of nostalgic happiness and of a great sense of achievement to have come so far in life. More than thirty years have passed since I walked barefoot and went hungry among those mountains. My mother would have been very proud had she been alive. But I am sure she is looking down on me with pride from above.

So for those of you who still have your mothers, make a call today and say how much you love them. When they are gone, they are gone!

To be honest, I have not done much for the community where I was born. But I have promised to do more. As a start, I managed to reconnect to few of my relatives whom I have not met for a long time and make new contacts with people I had not known before. In a nation in pursuit of GNH, true happiness (and not pleasure) should start from individuals and then should spread to communities and then to the whole nation. Only then we achieve our national goal.

The visit to Tashigang town, where I spent some years of my youth, to say hello to all the people I had known, and who were still there, was a cute experience. Back then I was popularly known as kota and I had many anees (aunties) and ajangs (uncles) because I eyed some of their daughters. This time, when I walked in to their shops my anees still greeted me as kota. But my uncles would tell my aunties that I was now a dasho (?) and they were all little embarrassed. But I just hugged them and told them that kota was okay. Because for me that just meant their affections had not deterred even after so many years of not seeing each other. It was also wonderful to get some free chewing gums like I used to.

The royal tour took us to many places. Wherever we went there were tshokchangs, songs and laughter. Meaning, if there is a place where gross national happiness could succeed, this has to be the country. Of course, there are merriments in other countries but what they don’t have is a leader who is committed to make their people smile and be truly happy and content. We have that in our King whose favorite dance “Jang taley tshokha” makes people collapse with laughter. And of course we had Phurba Thinley, Gyem Dorji and Khengtala whose mere appearances were met with a standing ovation.

Laughter and tears apart, we have a King who genuinely cares for the well-being of the people and in return is loved and revered. The way the people rush to get a glimpse of our King – some walking for days, and the way His Majesty sits down, listens, makes them smile and inspires is something that makes every Bhutanese proud. The fact that the King walks to places like Gongdu to see their conditions in person and treks along the southern borders to secure our borders; one can only feel assured and confident to be Bhutanese. Listening to His Majesty talking to children we can expect a brighter future for our siblings. The unique privilege of appealing directly to the King is a manifestation of the faith and confidence in the institution of the monarch as the ultimate source of justice, equality, hope and nationhood. His Majesty’s soelra of thongdrels to the people who thereafter decide to hold annual drubchens in their village is important to uphold the community vitality and cultural continuity of this nation.

They say the end of a journey is a beginning of a new one. The one through Kheng is over but it is not “over” until we leave behind, or take back there, something that will make a difference in their lives. True, we cannot solve all their problems but still over time if we all do our bit, these less fortunate should catch up with the rest of the country and join the fun. Otherwise, the whole effort we have made and what we saw would have no meaning. Likewise the visit to my birthplace would have no meaning if I don’t reconnect to my roots or if I forget the people who gave me free chewing gums.

And the journey with the King would serve no purpose, and might as well do the trip alone or not do at all, if my perspective has not widened. Or if my Vision remains as myopic as my eyesight or my memory - as bad as when I was a child.

Addicted to titles and designations

I have no explanation to this but I find it quite hilarious - Bhutanese love, and almost an obsession, for titles and designations. Whereas in the West people are known by their names, half of Bhutan knows the other half only by their titles. And nowhere is this practice cuter than in the dzongkhags where the decentralisation process has given rise to scores of titles that are perfectly localised.

The most versatile word is sir (pronounced ‘sar’). Even an illiterate farmer in the remotest of villages addresses you as "sir" these days. But what is interesting to hear is when sir is used in combination with one of your job titles.

In the remote Kheng Gongdu I was asking for the animal husbandry officer. But no one understood me until someone translated my request as "gonor sir" and promptly a young guy in his thirties turned up in front of me. If you need some medical assistance ask for HA sir (pronounced ‘echey sar’) and don’t ask for agriculture extension officer because the correct title is “sanam sir”. And if you looking for the gewog admin you must either say “gao madam” or “gao sir” depending on whether it is a woman or a man. HRO has become "echaro sir". But my favorite is “store sir”, which I discovered in Mongar. I asked someone for some water at an official lunch and someone shouted, “store sir!” at a man who promptly pulled out a bottle from the cartoon. Caller on radio shows refer to female RJs as madam (pronounced "may dham"). And of course during the tour I was given an "artala" (orderly) to help me carry my filming gear.

The practice in the rural areas is basically done with respectful innocence. But what about in urban Bhutan where if you utter someone’s name it would be difficult to connect to the right person instantly. Like the former zimpoen is known as Dasho Zimpoen. Only few know him as Dasho Dorji Gyeltshen. Likewise “health secretary” or “DoR director” or RTO or “Paro Dzongdag” or “Kurichu MD” will connect almost instantly to the right person. Within my circle, while my immediate colleagues know me by my name, many soldiers and security guys refer to me as ROM director. In social and official gatherings in Thimphu people are introduced with their official titles first and, may be and only sometimes, by their name. Many a times, people are OK with just the title or designation. Then of course subsequently we end up asking, “What is that OC's name? Yes, that guy with specs.” We know the guy, we know he wears specs and we know he is the OC but we don’t know his name. That's what happened to me trying to get a drangpoen's name.

This phenomenon is interesting in a country where our Buddhist teachings require us to forgo everything that is transitory. I thought titles and designations were temporary.

Just an observation… no explanation…..

(in the photo - with NFE "may dam" in Jurmey)

Return of the Native

I am in Rangjung standing facing my native village, Tongling (Radhi Gewog) where on the fifth day of the first month of the fire sheep year (February of 1967), my mother put me into this world. The small hut I was born used to be near Dungyi Gonpa, the ridge above the village of Tongling. Visits to places - especially your native village and where you grew up, bring back memories and nostalgia – especially of people associated with those places.

It may sound strange but I spent the first five years of my life preparing to be a monk. One of my maternal lineages dictates that one male member become a lama and I was the Chosen One by my grandfather lama. I didn’t have any uncles - my late mother was the only child. My earliest memory is of me accompanying my grandfather as he visited the adjoining villages of Chaling, Radhi, Phongmey and Shongphu to perform religious rites.

I also remember going with my mother who had to do the gongla-woola on the Tashigang - Buna road that had just reached Riju. Except for the untimely death of my grandfather when I was five, I have only happy memories of my native place. After my grandpa died, my father, who was working in Thimphu, had other plans for me - to pursue modern education.

Don't know why, but even 38 years since I have left for my father's village in Tashigang Pam and then further on, this place is still very close to my heart and I hope to return someday for an extended period. I guess it is because it is a place I have seen with the innocence and idealism of a child without any prejudice or being judgmental.

I am also of the view that one should never forget one’s roots or origins. Because if you lose your past, you also lose your future. In other words, if your future is disconnected from your past it will be unrecognizable and something that will not identify with you. That's why we put some much importance on history. The history of a nation is a sum total of the histories of its people and its communities. You lose your history, your lose your identity and you lose your sense of direction and we all lose as a nation.

Rangjung has become totally unrecognizable. Except for the beautiful monastery, everything that has come in place of the green paddy fields and the legendary mango tree is a complete disaster. The big beautiful tree is dwarfed by ugly concrete structures that try to ape traditional houses. Another so-called "town planning" is going on over here - not enough of having failed miserably in Khuruthang, Bajothang and elsewhere in the country.

Still, a stanza from a song by the Beatles rhymes well with my mood and thoughts as I scan the whole valley. It is a brief but a wonderful moment to reflect on your past and move on to your future with a nostalgic smile.

There are places I remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I've loved them all

Those naughty boys

(I just visited my old college after 25 years and couldn't help reproducing an article I had published some time back)

As a student in Deothang Polytechnic in the early eighties, I was the eternal third in class. One professor who was very fond of me would keep repeating, “If only you gave up your sports and other distractions and be more regular with your attendance, you will come first! And you have to stop being naughty and going around with those naughty boys.” But I couldn’t care less no matter how much he insisted. And at the end of every semester, when the exam results were announced and the third place was to be given out, a chorus would precede the announcer, “Dorji Wangchuk!” And everyone would have guessed it right.

We may have been naughty, no doubt, but we were never vicious, violent or crooks or criminals. We were only adding colors and spices to the otherwise monochromatic life of Deothang – that consisted of daily lessons, practical workshops and an unpredictable weather. In doing so, we kept everyone happy in our vicinity. Even back then, we were practicing GNH and we were implementing wholesome education by organizing class picnics, archery matches and trekking expeditions. During annual concerts, we would entertain the whole town. Namgay Retty would be at the drums, Sonam Wangchuk was good with his guitar and Dorji Namgay and Phuntsho Wangdi (Kado) would croak some Beatles numbers and I always thought I was better than Kishore Kumar and Elvis put together. As we often rumbled the hostel room, Tshering Nidup, Deepak Kulung and Dawa Penjore would be our only audience clapping and joining in occasionally for the chorus. Then one by one the whole hostel would be in our room until the warden could come and issue another last warning at midnight.

And like all boys of our time, we were martial art enthusiasts and fans of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. We took to Karate from an Indian master with, of course, pathetic results. But it helped boost our self-confidence, especially with the opposite sex, and no one dared mess around with us. And once, pursued by an angry villager, after a routine raid on his orange trees, I discovered that I could even run fast. So when the annual sports day came, I went on to set few short distance records to the amazement of the college cook who became my fan and served me with bigger portion of food. I was always starving back then.

Dorji Namgay was the undisputed table-tennis and badminton champ and together with Sonam they made up the doubles team. Dorji was also a good footballer and with Tshering, Deepak and I, we were probably the best defense the college football team had ever seen. Namgay was always in the first six of the volleyball squad and also played the spare goalie and did all the fights with the referee for every decision he made. Dawa was the top basket ball player and never missed a lay-up.

Of course we did attend classes - to meet the minimum requirement though. We were more interested in things that would be more useful for us as practitioners in our professional life. And if there was something we really hated was what those so-called “good” students were good at - learning by rote each and every lesson (at times without understanding the meaning or its practical application in the field). Those “good students” would never argue with teachers and would be submissive at all times. We couldn't that take that either. But our system, however, was on their side. Because they could reproduce ad verbatim what was being taught, they scored higher marks and were commended. They were often referred to as “tip top” students. Whereas we were classified as “naughty boys” because we often asked too many questions or pointed out too many calculation mistakes made by the lecturers on the blackboard. Later as a university student in Italy we were mandated to ask questions because in the West a questioning mind signified urge for knowledge and intellectual growth. What a culture shock I had to overcome! In Bhutan our system of learning is answer-oriented where “questions” remain the prerogative of teachers and lecturers.

When preaching got boring, Namgay, who was a gifted artist, would sketch the lecturer - instead of taking notes. Dorji and I would blow up test tubes and create explosions in the chemistry lab to the point that one lab assistant was specifically deputed to keep an eye on us. But weren’t we told to “experiment” or to try out new things? And Deepak would always copy my notes that after a while I used to make two: one for him and one for me.

While the good guys followed every norm, we questioned, gave suggestions and deviated from all conventional wisdoms. In fact when we made to the senior class we made sure to mingle with our juniors and to party together. We often skipped classes to go swimming and fishing by the river. We visited all the houses and temples in the college vicinity, trekked to far off villages and even hitchhiked all the way to Shillong. We ventured into new territories and we made new friends (but not babies). Such experiences as students made us less cynical of other people as we grew older. Human management and public relations became our second nature. Our mental horizon was always open to accommodate more options, seek more opportunities and explore all possibilities. Finally when we got employed, we opted for jobs and careers that best suited our aptitudes and our strengths rather than yield to peer pressures. We were always ready to experiments but without causing explosions this time.

Life, I guess, is like a video game. As years roll on, you move to the next level. As students we had our time. Then we moved on to the next phase of our lives. Those “good students” remained what they were – good students, while we became managers and leaders. Two decades and half later, most of those “good” students haven’t made anything much with their careers. Those “naughty” boys instead have faired much better. That may be because we were ready to “experiment” and focus our energy on what we were good at. The naughty boys even became happily married men and proud fathers.

Dorji Namgay went on to become one of Bhutan’s first hydropower engineers - leading and successfully building the Basochu Project phase II in a record time. He is now the managing director of STCB and has turned around a company that was given for dead. Namgay went on to do masters in architecture in Australia and after completing his obligation with the government he has now become a “tip top” filmmaker, animator and consultant architect. He has received four national film awards including two times for the best director. Tshering is the district engineer in Monggar and Phuntsho a divisional manager in the BPC. Sonam made a name for himself by building Thimphu’s only sewage line. And Dawa Penjore became a successful businessman in Trongsa after a short stint in the government. We lost Deepak but I am sure wherever he is he would humming some Cliff Richard number. The most important is that the naughty boys are happy and content.

As for me, I am the one who made more experiments with my career - from engineering to documentaries to films to journalism and finally landing up in the direct service of His Majesty the King. Doing what I love doing and loving every bit of what I do.

If I could rewind my life, would I do everything all over again? You bet!