bombay dreams, good night sleep

After a breakfast of fruit and buttered toast, Darlene and I go next door and pay a visit to her neighbors. They’ve been performing puja for weeks now, both mourning and celebrating a relative who recently died of cancer. In the morning, a lama and several monks come and chant before the altar, which is all lit up with butter lamps. In the evening, after the monks leave, the family gets drunk. This goes on for 49 days.

The matriarch rolls out a bamboo mat in the main room of the flat and quickly brings us milk tea. The Bhutanese are hospitable and would think nothing of a total stranger coming into their home. A guest is always treated with honor.

Today I’m supposed to go to Punakha and give a lecture on design to the girls at the Souvenir Production Center, a combination boarding school and vocational institute where teenage girls learn to make handicrafts and entrepreneurship. I’m to meet Gama at YDF at 10:00 am. I’m running a bit late, so I practically run down the long hill from Langjo Pakha to Thimphu, greeting passing monks with a hasty “Kuzuzangbo la!”

Gama and I go out for coffee — my first cappuccino from a real espresso machine — and little toasted cheese sandwiches with pickle that taste of mustard and curry. Jigme, the programme officer for the Souvenir Production Center, is unwell, so Punakha is off for today. Besides, there’s a musical at the big Youth Center at 6:00 pm and I’m invited. I spend a few hours at the YDF office checking my emails (60 junk emails; 2 from friends.) I take a break around noonish and run into Darlene doing her grocery shopping. I want to go back to the Handicraft Emporium and purchase another thangka, and she joins me, enjoying any excuse to see the beautiful works inside. I’ve already bought a vibrant one of Sakyamuni, the historical Buddha, and settle on Chana Dorje, the god of power and victory whose thunderbolt is the fundamental symbol of Tantric faith. He is pictured in a wrathful form with an angry face and one leg outstretched.

I treat Darlene to a cup of lemon tea and we part ways at the top of the hill, so I go back to YDF and write more emails.

At five I meet Darlene at the north end of Norzim Lam and we walk together to the Youth Center. She is teaching her yoga class today, and though I could use a good stretch, I’ve made plans to meet Gama and her cousin Mila at the auditorium for the musical.

Tonight we’ll be watching Bombay Dreams by Andrew Lloyd Weber, performed by the high school kids from Himali Boarding School in India. They have come all the way from Darjeeling for the Coronation and to put on a show. They are extremely professional for their ages, delightfully talented with flawless singing voices, and with exquisite costumes. I have a great time, but wasn’t prepared to stay out all night and am seriously underdressed. I start to shiver, and can barely hold my camera, so Gama whips off her pashmina and tucks it all around me. I feel a little warmth at last.

Afterward, Mila drops us off at Gama’s house and I get to finally meet her mother Norzom. I meet Ugyen at the kitchen door and he sees how cold I am. He gives me a great big bear hug and rubs me vigorously. “Thanks, apa.” I love Ugyen so much, and I realize my previous faux pas was nothing to worry about.

Norzom promptly gives me a coat, has their servant prepare me some soup, pizza, and cheese, and opens a bottle of Australian shiraz. In minutes I am myself again, and we all have an animated debate over who’s the best James Bond. Ugyen and I both agree Sean Connery is Number 1, but Daniel Craig is no slouch and has the best abs.

At 10:30 Gama and her brother drive me back to Langjo Pakha. Darlene is home with Ugyen (the civil engineer) and his wife Karma. Darlene is having stomach trouble from something she ate, and her friends and keeping an eye on her until I get home. Tonight I give Darlene back her portable heater that she had lent to me to keep the spare room warm. She’s unwell and could use a bit more comfort besides her down sleeping bag. Tonight is the coldest night yet, and I got to bed wearing three underlayers, a wool sweater, fleece vest, gloves, and hat. This will be the best night sleep so far.

the King and I

5:30 am: I wake up at first light and pull back the curtains. It’s a clear morning, and the light is just right to photograph the dzong, the massive fortress-monastery and the administrative center of Thimphu. The view of the dzong from Langjo Pakha is breathtaking, so I traipse out into a neighbor’s field and use a fence post as my tripod. Fences are to keep animals in, and no Bhutanese would object to a person passing through their property.

This morning Darlene and I are meeting Ugyen’s brother Penjor. He will be our guide today when we go the stadium. Today, Sunday, the people of Bhutan will be presenting the kata, or white ceremonial scarf, to their sovereign. Thousands of people, almost all of them Bhutanese, file into the stadium field and we sit in double rows, one half us us facing south, the other half facing north. I’ve borrowed one of Darlene’s ready-made kiras but it barely fits me. I can’t quite close it shut, so I use the belt to hold it together.

When we get to Penjor’s family home, his older sister takes one look at me and shakes her head. Immediately, she drags me inside and starts readjusting me. Somehow, I’m able to hook the kira closed, and Penjor’s sister wraps the belt as tight as a corset. I can barely breathe, but I’m looking pretty dandy.

We get to the stadium at 8:30 am and file into the field. We’ve brought our katas which we are to hand to His Majesty. He has promised his people that anyone who wants to meet him can and will. I don’t know of any monarch in this modern age that would do such a noble thing. We sit cross-legged on the grass for hours on end. The sun is hot, and in my tight kira I feel like I might pass out from the heat. It’s not until 10:30 that His Majesty arrives, and I thank my lucky stars that he begins in our section, moving past the rows of Bhutanese eager to touch his hand and offer the kata. He touches each and every scarf. By noon, and hot and thirsty to boot, the King reaches our row. Darlene and I are giddy as schoolgirls. “Here he comes!” “Does my hair look okay?” “Is my lipstick on right?”

His Majesty approaches me and I offer the kata. I’ve come a long way, and I must, at the very least, offer him my congratulations.

“Tashi delek, Your Majesty. It is an honor and a pleasure to be in your beautiful country on such a historic occasion. I wish you a long and prosperous reign.”

“Thank you! You both look very nice in your kiras, but be careful and stay out of the sun. You will get very brown and you’ll be mistaken for Bhutanese.”

Sigh.

It’s late in the afternoon when we get a ride back to the village with Penjor’s older brother, one of the Royal bodyguards, who’s been up since 2 in the morning attending to his duties at the stadium. He looks like he’s ready for a hot meal and a bed. He drops us off at the top of the road.

After a hot shower, I go outside and meet some of the village kids and take their photo. They are shy at first, but once they see themselves in my camera’s LCD display they are beside themselves with excitement. You’d think the circus had come to town. They all want their pictures taken, so they all pose and make funny faces.

Afterward Darlene and I need to fetch water, so we carry small buckets to her neighbor’s spigot about 40 yards down a dirt track and bring them back to fill the larger vats inside. A young teenage girl named Karma quickly runs out of her house and helps me carry the buckets. She’s a sweet girl of about 15 with big brown eyes, but she comes from a difficult home environment with an alcoholic father. Darlene tells me she is bright and ambitious, and if she can get high marks she’ll be able to continue on to university. It all depends on how well she can study when her father is drunk. Karma insists on doing most of the hard work, and I ask her to come inside. I give her a couple of hairpins covered in cheap plastic rhinestones. She blushes profusely and hurries home.



Darlene cooks a delicious dinner of curried squash and vegetables, and we drink a couple of red Spys, a Thai wine cooler, with our dinner. At night, I sleep like a baby and dream I am hurtling through space like a rocket.