Tribute to the women in my life

Politicians, policy makers and social workers around the world have found reasons to celebrate women on the 8th of March every year. I believe someone as special as a mother, sister, niece, girlfriend and wife need to be celebrated more frequently. Nevertheless, I take the opportunity of this year’s women’s day to pay tribute to the beautiful women in my life. As I do so, I wish that these same women happen to me in my next life. I know Buddhistically, it calls for good karma.

My mother died of complications from postnatal placenta retention when I was barely five years old. Seven months earlier she had lost her husband – my father. My youngest sister, who was the product of that fatal delivery died fifteen years later. As my maternal aunt raised her, we grew up as cousins rather than as full blood siblings.

After the demise of my parents, my paternal uncle took care of my siblings and me. However, tragedy was to continue in our family. Barely a year later uncle lost his wife in another post-childbirth complication. The male baby survived and today he is a confident young man taking good care of his family. He bears a bit brownish façade and has light resemblance to Barack Obama.

 My eldest sister was given away on marriage to a man who had long stayed in our family as a long-term member. His ToR included tilling the land with the help of a pair of bullocks. He was a moody, yet genial man. My paternal uncle had decided that he was the best groom for her. Everyone in the family kept a dignified silence on the decision. My elder brother and I, who were expected to resist and challenge uncle’s matrimonial decision, were too young to do so. My sister and brother-in-law started their independent lives under a tree. House there was none and the two struggled for about a year at the bottom of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

Two of my elder sisters are in the USA, said to be the land of opportunity. However, they didn’t go there on their own as Mexicans and other illegal immigrants would do; destiny took them there. The detour from remote Neoly to Rhode Island and Virginia was long. The stopover on the way was two decades long as political victims and refugees are wont. One of them is making her living tossing towels into a laundry machine and bending her back ironing and folding the products. The other is busy taking care of her lovely doll of a granddaughter.

Together, my three elder sisters (and particularly the eldest), tried their best to fill the vacuum left by the early demise of my parents. They provided me with near maternal love and care. I still remember the many times that I ran away from my uncle's house to my eldest sister's place. In between my uncle's and sister's house was a narrow gorge and semi-forest and a perennial stream ran through it. I would stay late pretending to study and just when everyone settled into their rooms for the night, I would snatch my school bag and run away. The little runaway boy took about fifteen minutes to run through the gorge. The narrow path was either pitch dark or frighteningly bright depending on the lunar phase. I did not care as there was plenty of love waiting for me beyond the gorge and the narrow uphill climb. Although there was no mobile call, short message or a Facebook post to inform my sister, she was always waiting for me!

To this day, one of my younger sisters struggles to meet her ends. Hardly two years separating the two of us, we grew up together. I took care of her and she took care of me. Our relationship was highly symbiotic – I scratched her back and she scratched mine. Eventually, one major thing separated the two of us – school and education. While uncle sent me to school, Kaili (Nepali for fourth daughter) was kept back at home. She cooked, tended to the cattle and ran numerous household chores. When she was barely 18 years uncle gave her away to a much older man in faraway Daifam. She begot three boys; it was highly common and acceptable to have four, five, six, up to dozen children at that time. She is now beginning to see some light at the end of her sons’ education and some hope for old age support. The other younger sister of mine has had a relatively smooth sailing so far. After school she became an agriculturist. As a good civil servant in Bhutan, she continues to wrench her way through.

Beyond my mother, six sisters and numerous cousins, the second set of women I came across was my school and college mates. During primary school, girls were just students as were the boys. I was too young to understand the gender difference. As a small built boy I was considered unsuitable to be part of the boys football team. I always teamed up with the girls. By higher secondary girls meant more than just students. They provided physical attraction. The more robust and adventurous of my friends started finding girlfriends. By the time I reached Sherubtse College in Kanglung, I found that girls were more studious and scored good marks – often with the help of ogling young Canadian teachers. I was teased into becoming competitive in studies. I remember a time when my boyfriends confronted me once and said, ‘Om, you are our only hope. You must study hard and beat these girls.’ I was not sure. I comforted my mates by saying that I would beat them in the board exam. I was buying time. A compact was signed.

When I joined the Ministry of Economic Affairs after my first degree, there were very few female employees in the Ministry. In fact, at the Department of Industry, where I started my civil service career, Aum Lhamo, a rotund elderly lady, who doubled up as a steno and typist, was the only female employee. As a young officer, I had to run after Aum Lhamo for all my secretarial needs. Those were pre-computer days and the good old typewriter ruled the roost. Lhamo not only could dissect the strokes from the boss’ dictation, but was also an experienced typist. She helped me settle on my job as I worked hard to support my seniors prepare the Ministry’s Seventh Five Year Plan.

At work, I rose through the ranks and fifteen years later I found myself heading the Entrepreneurship Development Programme of the Ministry. I learned training and teaching and understood the nuances of small business management. I was part of a small and dedicated team that supported business startups and entrepreneurs. One day, in the year of the female sheep, the same year that my wife begot our third child and second boy, two young women joined my office as probationary employees. They had completed their Bachelor Degree about a year ago. They reported to me wide-eyed and soft voiced typical of novices at work. There was excitement in the office. What would it be like working with women colleagues, most of us wondered. The girls settled down quickly. Soon one of them got married and before long her impending motherhood was apparent. When she became a mother, female idiosyncrasies began to surface at work. It was an opportunity for me to exhibit my softer side. As an early orphan, as someone who was surrounded by numerous sisters and cousins and more relatedly as someone who had lost a daughter two years earlier, I was not expected to be tough. I didn’t want to be tough. The young mother reaped my softer side; I allowed her longer and more flexible maternity leave and working conditions. I feel good to this day. My women colleagues still respect me for that.

My first baby was a daughter, a very cute and loveable thing. Everyone said that she looked like me. Until she was born, I didn’t know anything about jaundice, bilirubin or hyperbilirubinemia. When she was a year old, doctors told us that our daughter had Kernicterus. We gradually came to terms that we had a special daughter. We began to love her more as she remained on our laps most of the time. She visited us for five years and left us in the spring of 2001. My wife and I still miss her and the absence of a daughter in the family has left a vacuum. However, I have two lovely boys and numerous nieces - my wife’s sisters’ daughters, brother’s daughters, sisters’ daughters and cousin’s daughters. Some of my nieces are very close to me and regard me as their own father. They also play good proxy sister to my two boys. Our boys do not miss a female sibling as much as we miss a girl child, thanks to their closeness with their cousins. Relationships are not defined by blood alone. Relationships are in our mind, our hearts and in our day-to-day deeds and behaviour towards each other.

My wife is someone’s daughter; she has three sisters and a half-sister. I met her in the summer of 1990. We fell in love in the spring of 1993 and got married that summer. Besides being my partner, she has been an excellent mother to our sons. Professionally, homemaker doesn’t sound very upmarket; housewife, the terminology used in our part of the world is even more derogatory. However, for my boys and me Tika has not only been a wife and mother, but a nurse, a doctor, a chef (she cooks damn well), a strategist and a boss. Using the Facebook language, I am tempted to say that she is the world’s best wife. Today’s generation knows how to show their adulation for their parents and partners. You are the best husband in the world, is a common Facebook salutation. I know it is literally wrong – for best is a superlative and compares between various subjects and objects of discussion. Technically, one has to experience more than one husband/wife to say that a particular one is ‘the best husband/wife in the world’. Let me buy the joke, Tika is the best wife in the world. Let others play second fiddle to her.

Tribute to YCS Part II: Some Finer Aspects

Yangchenphug is celebrating its golden Jubilee this year. As an alumnus, I recently wrote a short tribute and posted it in my blog. While many commended me and connected well with my reflections, there were a few who wanted me to write more. This sequel is for the reading pleasure of those who prodded me to tell more.

After my last story, people messaged me from far and near. A lady – Lubna Abedin - commented from abroad. Like me she is an YCS alumnus - ‘I am of the 1986 batch’, she reminded me. That makes her only a year junior to me, I calculated. Yet, I don’t remember her. One Mr. Edward Kelly connected from California, USA. He said that he had taught art to junior students at YCS in the early 1980s. I could recollect that. A tall robust white man, often in gho, used to be among YCS faculty when I was in class ten. He didn’t teach me, but I remember Mr. Kelly.

Some commentators tried to take me further back into the history of YCS. JB Tyson, RD Sing…rattled one old boy citing a continuum of larger than life principals who had governed Yangchenphug over the years. One asked me, ‘what about Mr. Verma, the then Chemistry teacher? I hadn’t written about Mr. Verma in my last story because he didn’t teach me anything, let alone Chemistry. Of course, I remember him; he was the Chemistry teacher for 9A and 10A, while Mr. John taught me the same subject in 9B and 10B. Verma was purportedly a better Chemistry teacher than John. But I had no option – John was destined to teach me Chemistry. I had to try hard to reason with my Facebook friend who found Verma missing in my story. ‘How can I write anything about someone who I had barely met?’ For me, Verma was like a movie star, I knew him, he didn’t know me!

One reader commented that I had written only about stealing apples. ‘But then we used to steal peach and plum also’, he reminded me. He is right - apple hunting was meant to be a prologue to the well orchestrated marauding of various fruit by YCS students of yore. However, while we stole peaches in broad daylight from the Indian Embassy and GREF estates, apples were mostly hunted at dark. Another mate reminded me about our regular trips to Tandin Nye. Tandin Nye was both a protecting deity as well as a romancing spot for the more romantic of us. The path to Tandin Nye from YCS ran through a sublime blue pine forest. Some of my mates used to pretend to carry a book or two under their arms and walk towards Tandin Nye. Very soon, female shapes would follow suit – books under their arms and onwards to the Nye. Whether they studied, prayed or did something else is everyone’s guess, I guess!

One mate reminded me about the boys’ toilet up on the hillock. ‘How can you forget that?’ he chided. It was a one-of-a-kind of toilet. There was a long low-roofed house with two long rows of cubicles fitted with two cement bricks about 20 centimeters apart for students to squat while emptying their bowels. The excrements - be it solid turds or diarrhoeal - flowed down a single drain. As a result, if you were using one of the cubicles towards the end, the exhaust delivered by some five to six of your mates further up the discharge chain would come gushing by and pass under you. It was fun predicting who sat and shat above you from the colour of the stool. The walls of the toilet cubicles were mini-encyclopedias of some sorts – students scrawled good and bad with the green grass they would have taken along to wipe off their under sides.

A few of my friends called me and suggested, ‘you could have written about some of our mates who are public figures today.’ Except for fleeting references to a few mates, I hadn’t written about any of my mates in particular. I was afraid of not being able to cover everyone, thereby offending those I miss. The more pertinent reason was that I wanted to focus on the external environment rather than on the details of friendship and camaraderie. Kinga Tshering, Hon’ble Member of Parliament from North Thimphu constituency was my immediate bed neighbour in the Tiger house dormitory. When I was in class nine, Kinga was in eight. He was already shining as a student. Besides his intelligent academic capacity, I remember Kinga as a good artist. Yes, he used to draw good pictures. Apparently, he didn’t develop or pursue this hobby.     Kaka Tshering, who had merited a mention in my earlier story, was also a dorm mate. He was a fine boy and a good leader of Tiger House. As the Hon’ble Member of the National Council representing Paro, Kaka continues to lead to this day.

Among my classmates, I am still in touch with many – thanks to Facebook. After a brief, yet distinguished stint in the Ministry of Finance, Sonam Jatso (the Jatso was added much later and he was simply Sonam those days – fondly known as Disco Sonam for his dancing skills) started his own business. Quite a few of my mates from YHS went on to become doctors. Dr. Shah Bahadur Gurung and Dr. Dhan Kumar Acharya immediately come to my mind. Kinga Namgay became an engineer and today, he is an executive director at DGPC. Ugyen Tenzin (popularly known as Abdul) ran a successful stint as Haa MP. Diwakar, one of my closest pals is doing well as an engineer. He has been part of the Government’s school planning and building initiative for decades now. Chandra Rimal, another close pal, is in Phuentsholing and I meet him regularly. I have lost Thag Bahadur Powdyel; I know he is alive and kicking somewhere, but I don’t know where. Three of my female mates joined Bhutan’s health services. After serving as nurses, to day, Sonam, Chimi and Sapna are either health administrators or trainers. I used to have an adopted sister – Karma Choden. She was one of two Bhutanese archers who participated in the Los Angeles Olympics of 1984. When she returned from the USA, she had brought for me a pair of socks and a very nice T-shirt, which I wore until five years later. I don’t know where she is now!

Sometime last year, I came to know that Karma Kinley was in the Bank of Bhutan, Phuentsholing. I sent him words through Rimal suggesting that we meet over a dinner. A dinner meeting was fixed for the day I was to arrive in Phuentsholing from Nganglam. Pocketful of money, I was ready to host my two old mates to a sumptuous meal. Around 6:30 PM, it started raining. I called Rimal and enquired about our meeting, as I was quite keen for a reunion. Rimal called back a while later to inform ‘Karma Kinley says it is raining; so he wants to meet you another day’. My excitement was drowned in the early monsoon shower. Friendship is supposed to be all weather, but here an inclement weather stood between my mates and me. At that time I realised that not everyone I had met at YCS wants to reconnect.

My memories of YCS are not connected through my classmates alone. Today, I count among my good friends alumni who may have been a year or two junior to me. Parsuram Sharma (GM, CDCL), Binai Lama (Senior Advisor to SNV Bhutan), Madan Chhetri (Financial Advisor to WWF Bhutan), Wangchuk Namgyel (CEO of GIC Bhutan Re Ltd), Finance Minister Namgay Dorji and Suresh Nepal (Consulting Engineer of international repute) are a few with whom I meet and interact regularly.

I end my reminiscences of YCS with a salute to all the wonderful people I met there – as classmates, housemates and schoolmates! Happy Jubilee YHS!

One spring day to another – Reminiscences three decades apart

Introduction

In 2015 Yangchenphug Higher Secondary School is celebrating its golden jubilee. This premier public school has served the nation with distinction to realise the vision of its founder, late His Majesty, the third king of Bhutan. I have had the honour of spending two years of my academic life at the school, thereby sharing a common identity with a myriad of illustrious alumnae and alumni, many of whom have served or continue to serve our nation with excellence.

As the extended Yangchenphug family comes together to celebrate and rejoice, I would like to share some of my experiences from the momentous two years at the then Yangchenphug Central School (YCS). These reminiscences and reflections are divided into various sections, beginning with my arrival in the spring of 1983 – the year of the water pig, to my departure in 1985.

Arrival – the country mouse arrives in the city

Pema Gatshel in eastern Bhutan to Thimphu, the capital city of Bhutan in the west, is a long drive even today. I completed my class eight from Pema Gatshel Junior High School in December 1982. By February 1983, the results of the All Bhutan Class VIII Common Examinations were out. As per the instructions of the Department of Education, I was to continue my schooling at YCS. The department of education was then implementing the policy of the government, aimed at integrating the society through cross-cultural communion of various ethnic groups. As part of the policy, students from the south were sent to boarding schools in the north and west, whereas students from the east and west were sent to schools in the south. Thanks to this noble policy of the government, today we have senior public servants who are quite well versed in local languages and cross cultural practices. 

I arrived in Thimphu in the first week of March 1983. The journey from Phuentsholing to the capital city took more than seven hours in a long-nosed Tata bus, which proclaimed ‘goods are at owner’s risks’.  A Royal Body Guard personnel hailing from my village, who was travelling with me from Phuentsholing, took me along to his quarters above Tashichho Dzong. I spent the night at his place and he dropped me to the school the following day.

Admission: the country mouse is accepted  

One of the memories from my first few days at YCS was meeting the then Principal Mr. K George Ipe, a south Indian thoroughbred. He was very unlike the headmaster at my previous school, who wore simple trousers to work and lungi and sarong at home. Mr. Ipe, by contrast presented himself as chairmen of multinational companies would do today, replete with three-piece suits and the dignity and poise of slow measured speaking.  

My first encounter with Mr. Ipe was in the dining hall on my first day at school. Perhaps he was fascinated by the midget of a new-faced boy – for he pointed at me and motioned me to come over. I trod over to him. By then a burly hulk of a boy was standing beside Mr. Ipe. He looked at the two of us and asked basic questions.

‘Which class are you in?, he asked me. ‘Nine, sir’, I replied. He faced Dorji and asked him, ‘and you?’  ‘Seven’, he answered. The way Mr. Ipe reacted at that time became a popular repartee throughout my two years stay at YCS. ‘You look too small for class nine’, he told me and looking at Dorji and with his hands crisscrossed in his inimitable style, added, ‘and you look too big for seven..’. Dorji is as big today as I first met him and I am probably as small as Mr. Ipe saw me that day. I think both Dorji and I stopped growing that evening!

A rare group picture - with Homnath, Bhawani and Santiram

Some of my good YCS friends continued to Sherubtse, where this picture was taken - with Basant, Madan, Shah, late Omnath and Karna

Hostel life – better comfort than home

Like all schools in Bhutan YCS divided its students into four houses. However, at YCS the houses had rather unique names; it was not red, yellow, green and blue or a combination of the eight lucky signs as was common those days. The students were rather divided into Tiger, Bear, Leopard and Yak – all worthy animals, yet I could never understand the genesis of the house names. I was assigned to Tiger House. The student hostel and dormitories were divided by house and the dormitory for class eight and nine students of Tiger House was on the northwest wing of the monastery of a hostel. Today, the hostel is converted into classrooms and my son studies in one of the rooms, which used to serve as the dormitory for class seven students those days.

Each house had a house captain and a housemaster. Mr. R.S Subba, the jovial geography teacher was the housemaster while Mr. Rinzin Dorji was the house captain when I was in class nine. Kaka Tshering, who later became the principal of the school, was the house captain when I was in class ten. Kaka was a fine house captain and I developed good friendly relations with him, which continue to this day. Each house was allotted a plot of land and every Wednesday and Saturday, students had to do socially useful productive work, which was mostly agriculture in house plots. When I was in class 10, Tiger House made the highest earning from the sale proceeds of the house farm and Mr. Subba rewarded us with a big steel plate each.  

With its strict regimen, including physical training and relatively good and balanced diet, hostel life in YCS was good. I came from a rather poor family and student life in Pema Gatshel had been meagre. At Pema Gatshel we slept on flea infested wooden floors and had very basic food, including porridge made of tiny black-elephant infested flour. YCS, by contrast, was five star – we were served fried rice or fried wheat bulgar for breakfast, rice with curry, ema datshi and daal for lunch and rice with curry, daal and meat/egg for dinner. In between, we received tea/milk with biscuits and nimki twice a day. Students also received beddings, school uniform, shoes, soap and other basic necessities for free. I have benefitted from the largesse of the Royal Government and remain indebted to the generosity of His Majesty, our 4^th king. 

Every morning, students were taken on runs and walks. I remember dreading the shrill sound of whistles from the school captains and the PT Master. We used to group by house and go for long walks/runs – mostly towards and beyond the then India House, cross Thimchhu at Dechen Zam, towards Sabji Bazar, before completing a circle at the school gate. If the house captain was generous, he would allow us to change into walk at the school gate, else we had to huff and puff to the hostel in full trudge.    

Teachers – overall competent, some wily

At YCS I was taught by very competitive and remarkable teachers. Mr. Subba would take us to the basketball court for his geography lessons. There he would draw lines on the court, place students at various points and illustrate lessons on latitude, longitude and time differences as we moved from east to west. Mr. A. K Sarkar, a moody, yet extremely talented Bengali, was my English teacher in class nine. When a student asked him the meaning of a word, he would close his eyes and rattle at least five synonyms and a few antonyms. One time, one of us asked him the meaning of variegated. He immediately closed his eyes, raised his voice and recited, ‘variegated, colourful, multicoloured, parti-colored, kaleidoscopic, …. He encouraged us to read comic books when he was in no mood to discuss King Arthur’s Excalibur. It was from Mr. Sarkar that I picked up the habit of reading Tinkle and Archie comics.    

 Mr. R B Rai’s lessons were as immaculate as his façade. He taught us Maths and did so with a sense of purpose and diligence. Years later, I met him as a parent at Druk School where he taught my son. I believe he is still around in Thimphu. Mr. John M Chiramal taught me Physics and Chemistry. He had such a beautiful handwriting that many students improved their writings by simply copying him. An Anglo-Indian, John was a very versatile teacher and was capable of teaching any subject, except Dzongkha. He was a very modern teacher and socialized with the students, even eating with us in the dining hall. At a time when power gap between teachers and taught was huge, John was a revelation. John still lives in Thimphu. Mr. P C Roy was a gentleman historian and loved repeating the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962. The incident was still fresh then and Mr. Roy enjoyed enthralling his students with his creepy story telling techniques. Mrs. Aurora taught us economics and the subtleties of demand and supply. She was a quiet lady with a light smile omnipresent on her face. Mr. Pereira taught us English in class 10. He was a Sri Lankan UN volunteer and was more interested in socializing than teaching. He would invite us to his house and treat us to tea, coffee and biscuits. 

Dr. Joshi taught us Biology. He was a bit hard of hearing and used to get irritated by his own fallibility. It was under Dr. Joshi’s tutelage that I learnt how to dissect fruit and fish. I also learnt that apple was a false fruit as it was but an overgrown thalamus. Lopen Jambay Dodo (may his simple soul rest in peace) was the only Bhutanese teacher and taught us Dzongkha. He was a bit fuddy-duddy. More than teaching, he was renowned for scaring and frightening students. He didn’t bother much about students learning the national language and always gave good grades as long as students wrote neat and long answers loaded with honorifics and respectful words. He was famous for regularly scoring his favourite students 105 marks out of 100!

I was a reticent student and kept working hard to keep up with my classmates, most of whom were long time YCS students having been in the school since their primary classes. When I first arrived in YCS, I and other freshers from remote schools had experienced some sort of ragging from veteran YCS students. My Dzongkha was poor, their English was perhaps superior  - so the old students would pick on us and tease us. However, things settled down pretty quickly and before long all of us were YCS students. One day in class nine, Principal Mr. Ipe brought along a group of visiting Englishmen to the class. We were studying English. Mr. Ipe pointed at me and asked me to read out the poem, ‘Lochinvar’ by Sir Walter Scott. I must have read out the poem loud and clear – the tourists as well as Mr. Ipe smiled at me and thanked me when I was done.

Apple hunting – the boys venture out

An apple a day keeps the doctors away. Probably YCS boarders understood this adage better than anyone else. Come August every year, hostelers would wake up in the middle of the night or in the wee hours of the morning and fan out in different directions. The previous weekend, students would have scouted and located the best apple orchards and the best fruit; they knew where exactly golden apples were and where they could find the Royal Red variety. They also knew where entrances to the various orchards were and where a chowkidar slept, if there was one. August and September were heavy fruit season in the hostel. When we woke up in the morning, we would find a couple of freshly plucked apples placed by our pillows. Our thieving Samaritans always shared their booties. I never went on an apple hunting expedition/mission myself. No, it was not moral high ground or ethical clarity – it was a result of strategic partnership. I had a large green Chinese rucksack and I had struck a deal with my thief friends – they would take my bag and in return I would get 25% of the pilferage.  It worked out so well that I never learnt how to steal apples while fending off loud barking Tibetan Mastiffs.     

Fete day – fun and feast

2nd May was a big occasion at YCS. Every year the school organised a roaring fete on this day. In those days, there were not many fetes, fairs or melas and the YCS one attracted more than 50% of Thimphu’s population. GREF and IMTRAT participated and helped the school set up the various tents and pavilions. Indeed GREF personnel would come to the ground a day before the fete and cook and prepare their delicacies for the fete. The school didn’t serve us lunch on the day of the fete and students were compensated with money coupons worth Nu. 15 for use at the fete. However, most of the students would finish their coupons the evening before the fete feasting on Jalebees and other delicacies. On the actual fete day, we landed up scouting for any relative among the crowd of visitors to emotionally blackmail him/her of Nu. 10 or 20.    When I was in class 10, one of my best friends Diwakar and I set up a game stall ‘kill the rat’. It was a seemingly simple, yet complicated trick. A ping-pong ball would be sent down a short and narrow pipe and a player had to hit it with a mallet when it landed on the wooded base. Many people came and tried their luck the whole day, but except for a rustic looking native no one managed to touch the ball. We handed over the neat amount we had made to the school authorities.

The Bridge – so near yet so far

What is now the RSTA office and the bus terminal in Thimphu used to be known as ‘the bridge’ to YCS students. There was a long row of shops including one owned and run by Mrs. RB Rai. Making a trip to the bridge was an adventure in itself. First thing first – you needed some money for the trip to be eventful. However, with or without money, with or without purpose, for no rhyme or reason students visited the bridge. Some went to the bridge to buy basic needs; others went accompanying those who had money hoping to receive a bubble gum or chugo in return. It was at the bridge that many of my friends picked up drinking, smoking and chewing tobacco, while they were still wet behind their ears. A couple of my friends who first tasted alcohol and tobacco at the bridge went on to become big time and successful addicts eventually succumbing to their habits later in life. Mrs. RB Rai was a kind lady (I meet her to this day and she is still the same kind woman!) and always offered us a free chewing gum or a piece of chugo. Access to the bridge was, however, limited as students were allowed to visit it only during weekends.

Exit from YCS – the half city mouse departs

In 1985 Bhutan was yet to establish its own examination and assessment system and we followed the Indian standards. In the spring of 1985, I wrote my Indian Council for Secondary Education examination. Unfortunately I fell grievously ill a few days before the exams started. I had been feeling groggy for about a week when malady struck me on schedule for the examinations. Mr. Ipe came to me and suggested that I forgo the exams and reappear the following year.   I suggested to him that I be allowed to write – if I write and fail, I will have to reappear, if I don’t write at all, I will have to reappear. So, please allow me to write, I implored. An examiner was arranged for me and I wrote my class 10 exams from my sickbed in the hostel. When results were announced three months later, I had scored enough to qualify for Sherubtse, the only school that offered higher secondary (class 11 and 12) those days. I still had the option of repeating and purportedly improving my results, but I chose to move on. YCS had been very kind to me for two years and I didn’t want to burden it any further. I left YCS at the end of March 1985.

Conclusion

It is March 2015 and three decades since I left YCS in 1985. My elder son has recently completed his class 10 from Druk School, Thimphu. Based on his results and his own interest, he is seeking admission in class 11 at YHS. I enter the newly constructed gate, park my car at one of the two parking lots and lead my son to the auditorium. The willow trees and the old auditorium seemed to recognize me. After completing my son’s admission formalities I take him around the campus. I show him my classroom and we climb up to the erstwhile girls hostel, which now houses classrooms and offices. Many things appear friendly, yet many things look alien. The canvas is the same, but the picture has changed, perhaps faded. I feel proud, I feel nostalgic and I feel happy that my son is back to continue from where I had left 30 years ago.  

I wish my alma mater a happy birthday and many happy returns of the day. As a school song goes, 'i give to you, you give to me...',  I owe to you, YCS, and perhaps, you owe to me, as I continue to try my best to serve our great country with dedication and integrity!