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 7^th (sometimes 8^th) 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 22^nd 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!