Locked Down Thoughts

Tears are very loyal

They never flow without your bid

Let them cascade

After-all, what’s their purpose

Inside those lids?

Tell the moon to sleep

For the morn has dawned.

Take rest and refresh

To rise, the next night again.

Anger is prodigal

It doesn’t heed your say

Wrap it in your arms

It does nothing

Except, alas, betray!

Other’s salary & own face

They say, we always rejoice

Better earn your own money

But with your face,

Do you really have a choice?

Remind the stones not to build

But lie by the riverbed.

Tell the mason not to laze

But, build the stones instead.

Dreams can be dangerous

Rather live in the now.

Although yesterday’s dream

May not be today’s realm

Life continues somehow!

Locked Down With Pumpkins

Lucidly, I saw last night in my dream

I was having pumpkin soup with cream!

I caught hold of my wife’s serving hand

And semi-consciously began to scream!

 

Pumpkin with gravy

Pumpkin in stew

Cute green pumpkins

Some are yellowish in hue.

 

Ever since the start of the lockdown in town

It has always been pumpkin - green and brown.

No other veggies are available around

Making my son and me always frown.

 

Pumpkin from my neighbours

Pumpkin from my niece

Pumpkin from upstairs Sonam

Pumpkin also from my sis!

 

We have pumpkin in the fridge of various kind

There’s no corner where pumpkin you can’t find.

Three pumpkins lie next to each other on the table

There is even one on the verandah, near the cable!

 

Pumpkin with potato

Pumpkin with whey

Pumpkin sliced and done in oil

Often cooked the local Bhutanese way!

 

Yesterday, I bought some green corns, you see

In the mid-afternoon at three

With Nu. 500 worth of green maize, with glee

The seller gave me half a pumpkin - for free!

Home Delivery and Crumbled Trust

Hard times call for innovative measures. In the 21^st century, such measures would mean riding on the latest technology. Brett King and Elon Musk wouldn’t let you believe otherwise, under their First Principle. Thanks to COVID-19, everything has gone online.

It was 11:30 am on the 3^rd of May 2020, the year of the Masculine Rat.

I peeped out of the peephole of the main door at my residence at Changedaphu, Thimphu. Two young boys were peeping in. Our eyes met in between.

I opened the door, for it had already been half a minute since the boys had pushed the doorbell. Talking of doorbells, the one at my brother’s place at the Doctor’s Colony, sings a complete nursery rhyme before no one opens the door. Mine is a conventional one that goes ‘ting ling…’, or whatever depending on how sounds are conceptualized in different languages. Or else why should a Nepali hear a cockerel sing, ‘Kukhuri kaa...’ and a British as ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’?

The boys were there. By now, they were leaning against my door. When I opened the door, one of them stumbled to nearly hug me.

There was no introduction. No niceties. Younger of the two boys flashed an A4 size paper in front of me. ‘Uncle, we will deliver fruit, vegetable and grocery to you.’

I didn’t know if it was an offer or a threat. Confused, I looked at both the boys together. Then I understood their mission.

I quickly exchanged roles and explained to them.  

‘You are starting an enterprise that will home deliver grocery. Delivery will be free of charges. The price rates for your veggies and nuts will be very cheap. Right?’, I surmised.

The older of the two boys smiled at me. He had copper teeth, not because of any dental procedure, but an outcome of his apparent over indulgence in doma (betel-nut and betel leaf chewed with a dash of lime).  He must have thought, ‘here is a man who understands our purpose...’

The boys asked me for my name and number. I gave them my official visiting card.

‘Sir, you can order anything in this list; we will deliver’.

In less than two minutes, I became a sir from an uncle.

Honorifics are important in our society.

A few years ago, one day a retired Dasho was buying green grocery at the Centenary Farmer’s Market, when he stopped by a shop and bought quite a few things from a young farmer woman.

Once done, he asked the woman, ‘how much is it…?’

‘Five hundred Ngultrum, Bajay (Bajay is a Nepali word used to address someone who is perceived as grandfatherly)’, the woman replied in good faith.

Dasho got furious. He had just retired from one of the most conspicuous positions in the country – Royal Advisory Counsellor. He was used to being addressed as Dasho. And he considered himself still young to be addressed as ‘Bajay’. He emptied the purchases he had made and left the shop. ‘Your father’s a Bajay ...’, he was heard muttering as he left.

As a long-time entrepreneurship facilitator and trainer, I take it upon me to offer free advice whenever I meet someone venturing out to make a living.

‘There are so many gas delivery firms on Facebook. But no one responds when we need a cylinder. It is very difficult to rely on these people.’

I told a short story. The boys understood.

‘You can trust us’, one of the boys said. I nodded and wished them luck. They ran down the staircase to ring another doorbell.

Later that afternoon, I went out on my regular walk with my wife. As we were about to cross the car park, a corner of my left eye saw a piece of paper with my office’s logo. I stepped forward and picked up the paper. It had been freshly crushed and thrown. I was reading my own business card. It was obvious, the boys had thrown away my card on their way out.

Can I trust these boys to deliver my grocery? What has a business card got to do with home delivery?

Virus Diplomacy and Allied Tales

1.   The Happy Bad News

It was 6 O’ clock in the morning of March 6 2020, when I read the Prime Minister’s press release. A 76-year American tourist had tested positive for COVID 19. The first in Bhutan. Schools and institutes were ordered close. My son who was squirming to wake up for school went back to his adolescent snores. His mother, who had already shut down the alarm clock twice, had never felt happier.

But the tiding was anything but happy. Since December Wuhan had been re-christened and it had already transformed from an oriental malady into a worldwide menace, hitting even the white world hard.

I reached office at my usual - a little before eight - time. Messages started pouring into my WhatsApp and SMS. ‘Is it a holiday, chief?’, asked many. ‘How I wish, it was’, I said to myself. It was not. Only schools and institutes were closed. 

2.   Hand Sanitizer

Soon after, the frenzy for face masks and hand sanitizers began. The first day, people walked around like zombies and half-batmen. You didn’t have to greet anyone, for you wouldn’t recognize anyone!

It was crazier with hand sanitizers. Anything that smelled a bit like alcohol sold like the proverbial hot cake. Within the next day, Thimphu ran out of hand sanitizers; even the duplicate ones with less than 60% alcohol were taken.

Our government thought quickly. Hand sanitizers were concocted from spirit, glycerin and lemon grass. With large coloured drums, Bhutan's Guardians of Peace went around town distributing the propitious liquid. People flocked to the Centenary Farmer’s Market and Norzin lam, empty bottles in hand, to receive their 100 ml. Many didn’t know what to do with the liquid. There were rumours that a couple of elderly people at the Market drank it. They thought it was potion for the virus!

‘Hello, Phuntsho’, I called my office colleague. ‘Can you go with a large jerry can and get some for our office?’. He obliged. The volunteers would not issue bulk quantities. Phuntsho posted the empty can on WhatsApp.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Soon people were looking for spirit, glycerin and lemon grass. Word went around that the virus was scared of alcohol – 60% to be precise. That was interesting!  Bhutanese in general are not scared of alcohol. 

Offices started making their own sanitizer. Whether it actually sanitized or not, did not matter. If it was high on lemon grass, you smelled good. However, when the spirit was more, you smelled like a half-drunk loafer. The Indian spirit appeared to work on the Chinese virus.  

3.   Baby Not Mother Virus

One of the early days of the virus, I called my eldest sister, a mother figure, at Neoly. ‘Hello Didi, how are you?’, I enquired. She slowly appeared in the corner of her newly bought smartphone and grinned, as we Messengered for ten minutes.

‘Kanchha, people are talking about this corola virus. What is this? If it is a corolee and not a mau, it should be fine’, she tried to reason with me. (In Nepali corolee refers to a young cow and mau means mother).

The villagers thought it was a baby virus, so why all the fuss! It was not a mother.

4.   Atithi Devo Bhava (Guests are Godly)

Meanwhile, everyone started talking about the Index American. Even with my fairly good English, I didn’t understand why the septuagenarian should be referred to as the Index. I googled. Index case or zero case refers to the first documented patient in an epidemic. If so, the American was indeed Index - tall, burly and the first COVID 19 case in Bhutan!

People waited for updates on his condition. Some out of unfounded fear that the virus might spread faster if he kicked the bucket. Most out of genuine concerns. After-all, he was our guest and guests are god sent, although this one came infected.  Fortunately, he survived; enough for his worldly wealth to come and fly him back.

The Partner remained. Everyone called her Partner (with a capital P). Even the local FM referred to her simply as ‘the Partner’.  After-all she was the Partner of the Index COVID 9 case.

She stayed back. Nay, she was kept back and quarantined! She tested negative until after her fortnight of quarantine. The American legacy continued.

‘Where else did she go?’ The touch points and touch point tracing were playing out like treasure hunt. Her footprints began to matter!

One day, I was walking down to my dusty garage when I overheard a neighbourhood teenager negotiating with his mom. He wanted to go for his usual basketball dunks. His mother wasn’t allowing him. Then he asked her cheekily, yet seriously, ‘did the Partner even go to the basketball court?’

Never since Sherlock Homes have human footprints been so carefully traced and documented.

5.   Small world

The world has never felt so small. Whether you are a Japanese, American, African or a simple Bhutanese, the fear of survival today is the same. COVID19. Even the calm elderly Prince Charles has not been spared.

While physical distancing and social distancing matter in order to contain the virus, the vastness and distance between the continents do not! It is unfortunately the same everywhere. The little Italian girl losing her muscles to the virus, staring from Facebook or the burly Chinese who has conquered it. Both typify the COVID19 world.  

6.   Virus Diplomacy

In between, Prime Minister Modi decides to organize a video conference of the SAARC leaders. It was an opportunity for him to demonstrate good leadership. All the countries participated. Even Pakistan came online, although they chose to ‘send’ their junior health minister. Our PM Dr. Lotay participated with his usual grace and eloquence.

Felt even more proud when Bhutan was the first to respond to PM Modi’s call for the SAARC Emergency Fund. The pride was in the giving and not in the amount. The pride was in the quality of our response, not the quantity!

7.   All is Well That Ends Well

Last weekend our King appeared on television. He looked a bit worried. His usual concern for the country and people was evident in his slight frown. With his usual grace and poise, he advised us to remain calm and vigilant. He reminded us that in order to be collectively efficient, we need to be individually responsible.

Goose hairs sprung through my thin hands, when HM said, ‘we must not lose a single Bhutanese to the virus’. The royal resolve resonated through my living room into the thin, yet pristine Thimphu air. I said a quick prayer, ‘we hope the virus will spare us; should it not, we are prepared, what with the leaders we have!’

Meanwhile, our Partner continues to do well. She is still asymptomatic! Let me google what that means!