Monday 19 October 2015

Relationship is a responsibility

Genesis: My father-in-law was a career serviceman. He retired from the Royal Bhutan Police in the early 1980s. During his career he was posted at several places including Daifam, Gelephu and Trashigang. Indeed, he was in Trashigang for more than a decade in the 1970s and 80s. It was in Trashigang that he, together with my future mother-in-law, set up his family. My wife was born in Trashigang – Chazam below Trashigang town, to be precise - so were her elder sisters.

My dad-in-law has his roots in Chirang (yes, that is how it was once spelled and probably more correctly so). As a Kharel, he was related to the many Kharel households in Burichu and Saureni. However, as a Chhetri Kharel he was rather detached from a majority of his ilk, who were Bahuns. Although his service took him to several places around the country, he never returned to Chirang – his paternal pastureland. It took his daughters (including my wife) many years to know that Chirang was full of their paternal blood relatives, including dad’s own eldest brother and many more from a higher branch of their family tree. 

Discovering roots: After completing my first degree in 1990, I settled in Thimphu and within the next three years I got married. Soon after that my wife’s paternal relatives from Chirang started visiting us. In the early days, there was nothing to look forward to from the visits as my in-laws were struggling to find new economic and financial anchorage, in the aftermath of the recent socio-political turmoil. However, as time passed by, the visits and exchanges grew. Overtime our relationship took the shapes of bottles of honey and ghee, crates of eggs and boxes of oranges. My wife’s cousins came and stayed with us whenever they had to come to Thimphu to seek medical care at JDW or to appeal their citizenship cases at Tashichho Dzong. Gradually, my wife and I knew enough to know who was ‘jetha daju’, ‘maili didi’ or ‘maili bhauju’. Today, we are particularly attached to the youngest male cousin – we simply call him ‘kanchha’. His name is Birkha Bahadur, the same as that of my dad-in-law - his paternal uncle. In 1991, we were also introduced to one of dad’s relatives from the extended Kharel household – DP kaka. Although he was a ‘Bahun’ Kharel, he knew that there was a close relationship to call. He had just returned from India on completion of his agriculture degree and Thimphu was the common watering hole for job seekers. Today he is settled in the USA. Recently, we got connected to one of his younger brothers (BP kaka), a medical doctor in Nepal.

Fragility of relationships: Talking of relationship and reconnections, these days relationships are often made and broken over the net. Between Facebook, Viber, Skype and Whatsapp, relationships are made as a result of long held thirst to connect with your separated parents, siblings and relatives. On the other hand, relationships are broken if you are unable to manage the time differences and the monetary and emotional expectations of the other party. If you fail to answer when the Skype bell rings, the relationship tethered at the two ends of laptops or smartphones snaps.

A happy family photo taken during a Dasain
Drinking: This brings me to my favourite topic – drinking or more precisely beer. Recently, I have been reading about the pros and cons of drinking. While some analyses and articles read almost like advertisements for beer and whisky to the point that you suspect that breweries have sponsored them, others provide more balanced views on the pros and cons of drinking. Whey would I read such articles? Because I enjoy my tipple! PERIOD. Whoever invented it, many thanks! Sure, the aeroplane, wheel and computer chip were great inventions. But none of these go as well with a plate of home cooked mutton or fried chicken, as does good old beer.

When it comes to drinking and alcohol I learnt early in life not to pretend and not to abuse. My sympathies to teetotalers. I have a cousin who is a teetotaler by choice, not by pretension or force. On the other hand, there are many who have made uninformed decisions to not drink ever. Take a look around your table and you will see many teetotalers gulping down glasses of Coke or Fanta because their moms or their own uninformed conscience has advised them not to touch alcohol – even beer. Many of our friends do not drink because their parents have warned them, ‘jaat janchha (you will lose your caste!) I don’t understand how you can lose something that you never had in the first place! On a more pragmatic note, which is healthier, two glasses of fine lager or three glasses of Coke?  Yuck! Don’t be an ass*&#@ – drink beer in moderation if the alternative is Coke or Fanta and for heaven’s sake don’t call Coke and Pepsi (any cola for that matter) juice. You may wonder why I am writing about beer, when I am talking about relationship and reconnections. I have a reason – I will show the connection later in the essay.

Dasain: The other day, I met a distant cousin of mine in front of 8-Eleven in Thimphu. Before long our conversation veered towards the looming Dasain. ‘Are you going? I asked her. ‘Yes, dada, I have already missed two Dasains. I will be going with Sumi didi’, she replied. Wow, I thought. Relationship is a responsibility! In the Nepali Hindu culture, which is predominant in southern Bhutan, Dasain is a festival of meeting and greeting elders (especially parents and grandparents) and seeking their blessings while enjoying good food.

Prateek fulfilling my responsibilities when I was away in 2008
When I was a small boy, Dasain was grand, it was special. As Obama said in his speech at the Sustainable Development Goals Summit in September 2015, like many children around the poor world, my siblings and I were just one mosquito bite away from death. Looking back, I thank the many mosquitoes for not biting me to death and allowing me to celebrate Dasain. Today, when I discuss Dasain with my relatives over Skype, they say, ‘everyday is Dasain; after all we have the head, legs and the complete torso in the fridge’.

Gruesome mutton: When I was a tiny orphan boy, devoid of good food and proper fitting clothes for 11 months, Dasain was indeed special. We, the family kids (all ten of us) would get a new set of clothes each. Dad was a smart manager – he would give us a new pair of school uniform so that it served dual purpose – Dasain and school. The other treat during Dasain was fresh mutton for a week on the trot. Every year on the 7th (sometimes 8th) day of Dasain, ceremonial slaughter of a castrated he-goat would take place at home. Dad would set up a small altar like stall at a corner of the flower garden above the house. He would take a bath early in the morning, go to the goat-temple and perform some ritual including throwing and tossing away of vermillion curd rice and minted water. A while later, the carefully reared goat, which looked handsome and healthy by now, would be led to the stall. There, the goat would be cheated to believe that it was being fed as usual. A morsel of maize would be placed on a small plate placed strategically in front of a log of banana plant. As the goat stretched forwards to lick the fodder, a long and thin bladed knife known as ‘katti’, which was already cleansed and purified, was forcefully thrust with great force and precision down its stretched neck.  I always saw a breach of trust between the goat and the family! Children were never allowed near when the killing and cleaning took place. I never enjoyed the thought of having to kill our most favourite goat for filial satisfaction. I can’t describe enough the moments before and immediately after the death of the goat for words are superfluous when images are so stark.

Dad pretended to remain dry in water: I don’t remember dad killing a goat for he only performed the pre-slaughter rites. The so-called able-bodied man from the neighbourhood mostly did the actual killing. Many times, it was Moktan Antaray daju our immediate neighbour.  Dasain culminated into Tika and continued for up to six days depending on the shape of the moon and our childhood luck. As children, we tried our best to manage the Dasain days to maximize our returns from the blessings. It was not spiritual and cultural blessing we valued so much as the 50 chetrum (aath aana) that we received as part of the blessing. Visits to twenty relatives would make ten Ngultrum and that would be a lot of money. But then not everyone gave monetary blessings – if we went to our paternal uncles, they would make us touch their legs with our foreheads, but gave no money. We usually avoided such relatives. It was mainly our maternal relatives that gave us money. 

Nostalgia: The last time I was at home in Neoly for Dasain was 1988. I had travelled all the way from Delhi; 48 hours train journey and couple of days of bus journeys included. That was a different time. There was a purpose to that journey. After nearly three decades, I don’t know how Dasain is celebrated in my native Neoly today. Dad is long gone, so the ceremonial slaughter probably doesn’t happen anymore. Good for the goats.

Self-invitation: Last Saturday, during one of our weekend dinners, we decided to place a call to Kanchha. There he was in Chanchey, Chirang waiting to hear from us. Although younger to my wife and to all of us – he bears the cultural tag of being from the father side. He is authorized to put Tika on us during Dasain and bless us. I may have a management degree, but he has the cultural degree. Kanchha would not believe that we would visit him. ‘I have long stopped expecting you all to visit me’, he said sounding exasperated. My wife and her sister spoke to him in turn convincing him about our plan. He was excited and passed on the phone to his sister, who was nearby. ‘I will keep a bottle of tama ko achar (bamboo shoot pickle) ready’, she offered.  We made a deal and finalised our plans.

Nail the plan: To relive my childhood memories, my wife and I are planning to go to Chirang for Dasain. And we will take our boys along so that they get to experience Dasain the way it is celebrated by our rural folks. Going with us are my wife’s eldest sister and her husband and their lovely daughter. I have chosen Chirang for it is the nearest that I can afford given the single day holiday we get. More importantly, that is the place from where relationship has come calling this time. And, when relationship comes calling it brings its cousin -  responsibility - along. However, I must return soon enough to Thimphu  - before the moon turns full for I have my eldest brother, sister, nephews, nieces and myriad cousins, with whom I must relive Dasain the way we have been celebrating it at Thimphu for decades now. As I head to Chirang, I will have to remember to carry a few bottles of Lager (this is the connection I promised earlier in the essay between relationship and beer!) with me. I hope I don’t have to witness any ceremonial slaughter for I hate that part of our culture. But I hope to enjoy fresh mutton with a glass or two of chilled lager even as the afternoon breeze changes its direction and blows towards Chanchey on the 22nd of October 2015!  


Greetings! Happy Dasain to all my relatives and friends – far and wide. Please don’t get offended if my Skype doesn’t respond this Dasain, for I will be in far away Saureni and I am leaving my phone and tablet behind! And no malice intended towards teetotalers – I actually envy you guys!

Wednesday 14 October 2015

Mankind is One

Our countries may be different, our earth is one
We may hold different passports, our destination is same
Our religion may be different, our soul is the same
Our ambitions may be different, our needs are same.


Our colours may be different, our flesh is same
We may eat different foods, our hunger is the same
Our languages may be different, our message is same
Our houses may be different, our homes are the same


Our eyes may be different, our tears are the same
We may cry in different tones, our heart aches as one
Our dresses may be different, our grace is the same
Our names may be different, our identity is the same

This earth is our country as well as our home
Mankind is our identity and a common surname
Tolerance is our religion if we pray from our heart

Why, then, are we fighting when mankind is one?

Tuesday 13 October 2015

Lessons from a marketing journey

In January 2014, the Royal Government of Bhutan commissioned the largest cement plant in Bhutan, a 4,130 MT per day integrated greenfield project at Nganglam, Eastern Bhutan, about 150 kilometers from Guwahati, Assam, India.

In March 2014, I was one of three senior employees deputed by Druk Holding and Investments as Strategic Marketing Advisors to set up DCCL’s marketing and sales functions. A year after the challenging assignment, my reflections attempt to share some basic marketing lessons I learnt on the way from Thimphu to Nganglam to take up the assignment.   

We left Thimphu right after Losar. The horse had kicked us out of our cocoon in Thimphu to the heat of Nganglam. The fact that Losar had just exited was starkly reminded by the driver who came to pick us on the morning of March 4, 2014 – we could see and smell Ara[1] all over him. Nevertheless, we had a smooth five hours to Phuentsholing.

The drive from Phuentsholing to Nganglam is about six hours. After crisscrossing through the unkempt human and hutment jungle of Mangalbari, you hit Hashimara. Depending on your luck and timing, you wait at the Hashimara railway crossing for a British era train to pass by. After the railway crossing you are not yet ready to speed, for there is a mini-hill of a speed breaker to negotiate. Half a kilometer later, you reach a big and blessed road junction. It is blessed because there is a Hindu temple at the crossroad. Remember to take left for Nganglam, Gelephu and Samdrup Jongkhar. If you take right, you are heading for Gomtu, Samtse or Siliguri. Marketing is about reaching and serving the right market and cutting down on the lead distance.



After a wild drive through the freshly topped road through Alipurduar jungle, you reach Barobisa. Phuentsholing to Barobisa is about an hour. If your destination is Kalikhola, now renamed as Lhamoijingkha, you need to leave the highway and take a left turn at Barobisa.  At Barobisa you hit the so-called Asian Highway. From Barobisa to the Assam-Bengal border of Srirampur, the road is befitting of its moniker – Asian Highway.  Thereafter, the highway disappears and reappears in patches and all that you are reminded about is the fact that you are in South Asia. Although work started about a decade ago, several bridges on the highway are yet to be completed rendering the road rough and dusty in patches. Marketing is about exciting customers by under promising and over delivering. The Asian Highway announces itself rather loudly, but soon disappears into puddles and dust beds.

About two and half hour from Barobisa, you reach Himalaya Hotel, the popular eatery for Bhutanese travellers. Himalaya would provide quite a good case study on how to market and conduct business. The signboard is in Dzongkha and the proprietor knows the importance of targeting the drivers who ferry passengers across the dusty plains of India from various parts of Bhutan, including Phuentsholing, Gelephu and Samdrup Jongkhar.  Essentially, the hotel knows who the opinion leaders and influencers are. Himalaya caters almost exclusively to the hundreds of Bhutanese who travel across the plains of Assam to various destinations. Talk of branding and positioning!

Taxi and bus drivers who ferry passengers to the restaurant are provided with free food of their choice.  One can indeed hear hungry Bhutanese drivers demanding ‘chicken lao, machhli lao, aur phaksha bhi lao[2]…’ after all they don’t have to pay. They are also given annual and seasonal gifts. For example, in January 2014, all drivers were given a packet of 25kg superior quality rice and a tin of cooking oil each as New Year gifts.  The hotelier knows that the restaurant business is a game of volume. You cook today and eat today! Talk of rewarding your channel partners!

The bus drivers and passengers receive VIP treatment at Himalaya. There are lathi wielding sentinels making way for buses to park and escorting drivers and passengers to the restaurant.  Himalaya has two restaurants – an air-conditioned and plush looking one on the right and a dhaba[3] style bigger one on the left. Menu and food are the same in both the restaurants, but you pay slightly higher at the a-c joint, where you can also answer to nature calls in better comfort. Talk of product differentiation and market segmentation!

After a heavy lunch of skinny chicken and overcooked fish, you head to the pan shop run by a middle-aged Bodo man. He very well understands that communication is key to effective marketing. He speaks Sarchopkha making it convenient for Bhutanese customers to order doma of their choice – with or without chamanbahar, with a dollop of zarda, an extra dash of lime or a piece of coconut. After belching the chicken and the fish out of both ends, you pop a doma into your mouth. You relish it if the ingredients are in right quantity, if not, not!

Before you mount your car for the remaining part of the journey, your attention is drawn towards a row of shops that sell a myriad of children toys, cheap fake electrical and electronic gadgets and fruit. It makes you wonder about where the factories that make all these fakes are located! On their part the shopkeepers know that they are catering to bargaining and cheating that is integral to selling in South Asia.

The road onward to Nganglam after leaving Himalaya is better than the stretch you have just covered. There are fewer incomplete bridges and the Asian Highway emerges out of the puddles once again. As part of our pre-departure briefing at DHI, we had been instructed to keep an eye for hoardings and signboards of Dragon Cement and other companies. Pema and I split sides. He kept watch on the right side of the highway while I surveyed the left. At the Bijni junction, we were greeted by a huge hoarding of Dalmia Bharat Cement. Mari Kom, the Indian Olympic boxer endorses Dalmia Cement as their brand ambassador. Bijni, in case you didn’t know, is infamous for confusing Bhutanese drivers, who head straight on instead of taking a right turn to go to Gelephu and Phuentsholing. About five kilometers on, we spotted an entire building painted in red with a pronouncement in large letters: Star Cement: Solid Setting. We were beginning to get some ideas of how hoardings for Dragon Cement should look like.

Near Barpeta, we saw a picturesque hoarding with a beautiful picture of a waterfall and a river dam. As we drove past, we could barely read the product brand and the tagline: Dragon Cement: Majbuti aur Suraksha Sath Sath. It looked different from the hoardings installed by Star Cement and Dalmia Cement. We were a bit confused. 

At Pathsala, you leave the highway and take a left turn to go to Nganglam. Nganglam is about 50 kms from there. The road, built by the government of India as part of their assistance to Dungsam project, is generally in good condition and you can pick up good speed. With several lively Indian bazaars along the way, the drive is pleasant and you soon reach the Indo-Bhutan border. On the way, you pass by a couple of signboards that read, ‘Elephants have the right of way. Drive slowly’. Fresh elephant dung and huge footmarks on the side of the road indicate that a pachyderm has just exercised its right of way. You get some goose bumps and drive on. As an Indian advertisement slogan says, there is victory ahead of fear. So far so good, wild elephants seem to have succeeded in fighting competition and have re-launched themselves in the area.

What stands out at the Indo-Bhutan border is the complete absence of human settlement.  Unlike the borders at Samdrup Jongkhar, Gelephu, Phuentsholing and other places, it is a silent half dried stream that separates the two neighbours and not monolithic concrete gates with picture of snarling dragons.  Nganglam town is about 15 kms from the border. Security concerns due to constant disturbances on the Indian side perhaps prompted the Bhutanese authorities to locate the town and other facilities further inside Bhutan.

Before long we are at the Rinchenthang border gate. I am beginning to relish the prospect of finally being separated from the smelly Santa Fe and its equally smelly driver. Pema and I decide to advise the front office at DHI to conduct better due diligence before hiring cars for official uses. Two important factors, we suggested, were the cleanliness of the car & the driver and his attitude (such as use of mobile while driving and safe driving). We knew that this particular driver didn’t market himself well!

Later that evening as we hit the sack after a dinner of masala curries, rice and chapatti, I suddenly realized that our marketing assignment would begin the next morning.  Am I ready? Although I haven’t sold a loaf of bread or a khamto of doma by way of real life experience in marketing and selling, I knew the team had to hit the road running. Cement had to be marketed in India even if it meant taking coal to New Castle.



[1] Ara is the popular locally brewed spirit in Bhutan
[2] Give me chicken, give me fish and give me pork also
[3] Indian style roadside restaurants