Autobiography of a Pothole

Greetings from the depth of the ill-conceived, badly designed and poorly constructed roads of Bhutan. I am a pothole – that’s my family name. Our first names are usually, ‘small’, ‘big’, ‘shallow’ and ‘deep’. I am a Bhutanese pothole and live on the roads of Thimphu.

I hear that I have first and second cousins spread around the world. Indeed, one of my friends was recently given the moniker ‘Maruti Pothole’ because onetime an entire Maruti Car disappeared in it. But that is on a road between Gelephu and Samtaibari in India. Maruti and I are not related. We are simply good neighbourly potholes!

I was born a week after the corrupt, lazy and inefficient contractor completed the road. I am the child of an illegal marriage that takes place on a regular basis between corrupt municipal officials and the equally corrupt contractors and their workers. Depending on the thickness of the tarmac, soil conditions and presence of water seepage, it takes up to a month for me to mature. On the roads of Thimphu City, I am beginning to grow and proliferate pretty fast thanks to the connivance of contractors and the damn-care attitude of municipal officials.

People do not notice me unless I am bang in the middle of a road. If I am on the side of the road, they avoid me with mere twists of the steering wheel of their cars. Life as a pothole is exciting as well as tough. It feels nice when it rains and I get filled up. Each time a car passes by when I am full, water is splashed on it creating music. I like those moments. Life is tough in winter, when it is dry. I cough a lot and blow up dust from my guts. However, once I have my children around me, it is hard for drivers to avoid us altogether. They slow down and pass by gently caressing us and cursing the contractors and municipal officials. Every day, hordes of cars drive over me. As I get older they hate me and curse me with their choicest of words!  ‘Jedha’, ‘Saala’, are some of the words I hear every day, depending on the linguistic capacity of drivers. I am not sure who they are cursing, me or my parents!

In case you have not seen a pothole!

My maternal uncles used to live on the ring road below Druk School and Pelkhil Losel School. Unfortunately, one day a dark automobile with tar and gravel came by. With the machines came equally dark people covered in bitumen. They first washed and cleaned my uncles with hard and soft brooms. Then they aired them. My uncles were excited to get some fresh air, for it was quite difficult for them to breathe deep down there. They didn’t know that the black team was up to something sinister. Afterwards, they filled my uncles up with soil and gravel and applied heated bitumen on top. My uncles took their last breaths when a heavy road roller walked over them. I believe all my uncles on the ring road are dead now.

My paternal uncles live on the road below the Changangkha Lhakhang. They are blessed by the deities living in the Lhakhang, for they remain always healthy. Indeed, my eldest uncle there is said to be more than two years old. He has many children and grandchildren in the area.

Facebook tells me that in some countries people are so frustrated that they plant flowers in the potholes. Some even fish in them! I envy those potholes; they must look beautiful.

I have heard that the municipality has started covering and killing potholes in Thimphu. However, it will not be easy for them. We will fight back. As long as my parents (the contractors and municipal officials) continue to mate and make love, we will reproduce. Perhaps, in another road, another town, but we will be born again. My own wish is to be reborn as the incarnate of my Ring Road Uncle, somewhere on the recently inaugurated Damchu Bypass. I am sure my parents will make love there too!

As a pothole, I am pretty happy to be born in the land of GNH. Or at least I pretend to be so; potholes always pretend here. So much so that we have convinced some ill-looking foreigners that potholes are actually good for everyone’s wellbeing and happiness. That it is sinful to remove potholes as they are full of sentient beings!

However, given the constant cursing I receive from drivers and passersby, I am afraid my soul will not achieve nirvana. I want to renounce worldly desires. I hope the Municipality and the Contractors will divorce from their active unhealthy relationship soon and stop producing the likes of me on Thimphu roads.  Maybe, the Government will one day neuter the contractors and municipal officials to render them sterile!

Until the next bump!