A collective shame-blame

One morning we woke up to a cacophony of bashing willow-sticks. A group of captains and senior students had gathered at the site. It wasn’t a good sight either. Right beneath our dormitory’s wooden ladder, someone had conveniently relieved himself the previous night. And furious captains would not leave without solving this issue; either they needed to find the culprit or let all inmates clean it.

“How could anyone do that?” expression was writ bold on everyone’s face. No one dared admit. In fact no one knew. I was shivering on that morning not so much from cold but from fear of captains, to whom it seemed thrashing us all, was of immense satisfaction.

“What does it smell?” they questioned us all, willow sticks touching our noses.

We felt like shouting “Jada you stupid … what would a willow smell of?”

In the end, those devils commanded that it was our collective responsibility and that because no one was ‘cooperating’ with them, all of us should take part in cleaning the mess. Just because of someone we were to face the biggest embarrassment of our life. As we lined up with gho-sleeves covering our noses, to take our turns, our girls enjoyed the sight from their hostel. A collective responsibility, a collective blame, a collective shame!

We appeared like new army recruits lined up ready for the first command. We had to clean the mess with our fingers. Those who braved to go fast received it fresh and soft. Only scattered remains were left for the seniors who were at the other end of the queue. As I stooped to dip my index finger, the heap was half way through.

All cursed the culprit amongst us that morning like a devout chanting baza guri nonstop. Everyone saw culprit on everyone’s face.

I think it was only me who had seen the real culprit. And for the next few days, I was fortunate to be able to observe the boy’s guilt ridden face, if he had any at all. Even to this day, I am haunted by that incident. Maybe I should have told captains. Maybe I did the right thing.

I saved a man from being ridiculed yet I could not stop accusations being thrown at an innocent crowd.

Community of Bhutanese Bloggers Conceived

And finally it happened. I must say that it was by far the most attended Bloggers Meet. In the past we had bloggers agree to attend and cancel at the very last minute. But on June 24, 2015 – almost 100% of bloggers, who confirmed came. I would like to thank everyone for keeping his/her words, especially those who had to come all the way from Wangdue or Paro. Thank you! 35 Bhutanese bloggers met in Thimphu. We were honored to have the presence of senior bloggers like Aue Yeshi Dorji and Dasho Sangay Khandu. The meeting assumed more significance because of their presence. Equally, we were happy to have many young bloggers in whom we see so much enthusiasm and potential. On top of many things that transpired during the Meet, one of the most significant outcomes was the unanimous decision reached to form a formal group of bloggers, a platform aimed at encouraging and inspiring more bloggers around the country. The members decided that we will call it Community of Bhutanese Blogger...

An endemic sense of place

A sense of place is a feeling that makes one feel at home and thereby at peace whenever he or she is in a particular area or think of one. It is the first impression or a deep sense of recognition that is deeply rooted in our memories. It is a feeling of happiness, and a sense of safety, an expression of endearment toward a particula r place (Cross 2001). Before I travelled to Perth for my studies, I used to work in Thimphu, though I was born and raised in a small village called Wamling in central Bhutan. Although Thimphu offers modern facilities and infrastructure, it is only back in the village that I feel entirely at home. It's here I get a sense of peace and experience a sense of belongingness; it's where I can genuinely be myself. In Wamling, our day breaks with a crowing of a rooster and mooing of cows in the distance. Somewhere a horse neighs, and another reciprocates from nearby. A dog howls and chickens chuckle in the coup. A stream gurgles down the hill turning p...

Utpal Academy - Bhutan's first All-girls High School

Academic Block Welcome to Bhutan’s first all-girls school. Isn’t that wonderful news to all our parents? Certainly, as a parent of a one-year old daughter I am excited about the coming of a school exclusively dedicated to the needs of girls. Our girls need special treatment, which we can for sure entrust the responsibility to Utal Academy, Paro. Dinning Hall I really like the name – Utpal – in Buddhist world, Utpal is another name for lotus flower, which is believed to grow from mud and yet blossoms into a beautiful and majestic flower. It stands for purity and many deities are depicted holding flower Utpal, more prominently Jestusn Dolma, the Goddess Tara. Symbolically, it also stands for the transformation of our girls. What an apt name for the school! Hostel Room The Principal’s message posted on the academy’s website promises providing our young women an “opportunity to participate fully in a wide range of extracurricular activities to develop skills and qualities that...

Nawang P Phuntsho

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