Hard times call for innovative measures. In the 21st 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 3rd 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?
