Of all the days in a week I hate Mondays. Mondays are my most tiresome days. Most people assume that sitting on a chair eight hours a day is a luxurious job for a man. I contradict that. Seven years into the career as a Health Assistant seem like a century of perspiration and lot of self-sacrifice. On my usual count I attend to no less than seventy people on Mondays and far lesser on others days. If it was a coincidence it was real bad coincidence. The number of patients increases every year exponentially. I take three to five minutes for each patient on an average. I understand the impatience of those still in the queue moving forward in centimeters. I have a statute for myself to make things better for them; I do not vacate my chair for reasons other than my nature’s call of an administrative exigency.
September 6, 2010 was one such hectic day, or let me say more strenuous for me. I attended to 103 patients within seven hours and even missed my lunch. A customary cup of tea and five pieces of snack Ata Changlo brought me was all I had for lunch. I left home at 4.00PM feeling like devouring an Everest of rice. However, feeling tired I cooked koka noodles for a belated lunch after which I slouched into my couch with a pint of brandy to rest my brawns.
Manchester United was playing Arsenal on the screen. It was a replay. I dozed off for hours only to be awakened by the blaring evening Muslim prayer. ‘Damn! Why do they have to shout so loud for the God who never answers their prayer?’ That was the first wisest thought I was too tired and dreamy to make any rational judgment at that moment. It was dusk and Phuentsholing was lit up under the dark clouds which presaged a thunderstorm any moment.
I decided to visit the Zangtogperi Park for a rejuvenating breeze. The sanctuary of sanctity and the tranquility of the colourfully lighted fountain and the lithe children at play always soothed my fatigued sinews.
I circumambulated the Pelri thrice more to approve the convention than to demonstrate my superfluous piousness. I took a seat on an empty park-bench under the shadows of the dates plant. I was engrossed at the playful children in a cat and mouse chase when a young woman reluctantly sat on the other end of my bench. My bench? Yes; as I occupied first I considered it mine! The black skirt and a brown blouse matched her coloured hair. She laid down her plastic of apples on the bench across me –three apples to be precise; and took out a mobile phone. She was calling someone; perhaps her boyfriend. She looked too innocent to be a mother. She put back the phone into the bag mumbling some incomprehensible blasphemes. ‘Uff! What the…’ She tried again and failing to get connected shoved the phone into her handbag demonstrating despondence. ‘What am I doing here watching her suspiciously?’ I thought to myself. I wanted to leave but some unnatural force seems to hold me at the bench.
I was at unease sitting alongside a stranger in silence amidst the crowd of people around us. Three boys on the opposite bench were ogling her in a humiliating way and she behaved as if it was not an unusual scene she faced every day.
To break the eerie silence between us I made a deliberate cough and asked her in almost a whisper, ‘ Naa..chharo lu ghup eena?’( Are you waiting for a friend?) Her abrupt reply was a total contradiction. ‘Mangi kor ni chhowa chha.’ (No! just loitering around) I wondered if she meant she had no reason for coming to the park. I was apprehensive if she was drugged or drunk. I could not make out under the shadows of the tree. I engaged her into conversation again, ‘Ni…nan o’ ga chon chha ya?’(So…where do you stay?) It was supposed to be a casual request. She grinned at my tsangla lo accent which I knew was blunt and incomplete as she replied, ‘Jang mo? Deki Lane frang ga chon chha ko.’(Me…I stay below Deki Lane) I became nostalgic when I heard the infamous street. She asked me if I stayed in Phuentsholing. I told her I stayed at the Pekhil House and worked at the hospital. ‘I am alone…’ I added. I did not know why I was lying. Perhaps that is what men do when he sits with another woman at another place.
A car making a turn on the road alongside the park illumined the park briefly. I then realised that I was sitting under the date plant shadows with the prettiest woman I ever met in my life. She was in her late twenties, with an endearing dimple on her left face. She was neither fair nor dark -a complete blend of beauty. It took a lot of insistence to make her tell me her name. I told her that hers was the most unique name I heard so far. ‘Dechen gi la,’ she said shyly.
‘Dechen thur sho mo? Ja ga Phuentsho Pelbar gi la.’(Only Dechen? Mine is Phuentsho Pelbar) I wanted to give my hand for an introductory handshake but held back.
‘Dolkar…Dechen Dolkar.’ The coaxing got its result.
Dechen told me that she worked in Thonglay Drayang as a bartender. For the second time a cold impulse filled my heart when she told me her work place. She came to Thimphu eight years back to stay with elder sister who was married to a policeman. She worked at the Drayang since three years ago.
“’Where are you actually from?’ I became more inquisitive.
‘Jang Wamrong gay gi la?’(Am from Wamrong) I thought she would say Mongar the place where I had worked before. I moved closer to her. ‘Nan…tha ga oma eebi ga nong chha ya?’ (Who are you waiting for?) I was behaving like her lifelong friend.
The response she gave surprised me, ‘Lopen, chhas thur yek chho mo? Jang fai ga jin dha gi fai gay shon gay ma. Rent ma bee wa, lani sam deewa’ (Lopen, I will tell you something. I could not pay three months’ rent so the owner drove me out today) I looked into her beady eyes in total perplexity. I felt pity at her.
‘Don’t you have a relative around?’ That was the only question that came to my mind.
‘Ajang chha…lek pu aah lu ma la…oga dee laym mastong…’ (I have my uncle but he does not treat me well. Don’t know where I will go today) She trailed away.
I asked about her belongings which she said was kept in one of the restaurants. I told her how exorbitant the rents were in Phuentsholing and we talked about the prices of vegetables, the noises and the vulnerability to various diseases. She told me she will leave for Thimphu the next morning but was in dilemma where she would stay for the night. I suggested if she could go to her uncle’s place or some friends place. ‘Ajang gi kong may…ma de la. Chharo ba la Drayang ga room ga choncha.’(Uncle will beat me, I will not go there. My friends stay at the Drayang’s rooms) I asked her if she wanted money. She refused blatantly.
‘Lopen,’ she pleaded, ‘thhi nong nan ga fai ga dee lay khhe lay la…’ (Lopen, may I go to your place today for the night) It was the request I never imagined a lonely girl would say unless she was out of her mind. Perhaps our long conversation gave her courage to do so. My mind bombarded with questions. Should I accept her appeal? Will I not fall into legal harassments later? What if my neighbours know? She must be infected with HIV. I felt like saying goodbye at that time. What will I tell my wife?
‘Lopen, apple zhhay.’ (Lopen, have apple please) I was lost in questions without answers. I took the apple and looked around. I did not realize that the people around the park have vanished into thin air except for the traffic policemen on the road and two elderly women circumambulating the Pelri. ‘Sitting with a Pretty woman truly knows no time.’ I fumed a bemused grin to myself.
I suggested if I could walk her to her Ajang’s place. That was the bravest suggestion I thought I made that time. She was too innocent to be asking me to come to my place. The resoluteness in her denial was more out of desperateness for a nights’ rest than for mere want of a companion. I was hungry and it was late too. I do not know what came over me after that I was saying, ‘Mo ni de lay…late dee wa la.’ (Let’s go then, it’s late too) My statement was more of an excuse than an invitation. I was overwhelmed either by carnal yearning or by the pitiful circumstance of Dechen. I felt a crude confidence broiling in me as we walked towards my residential building hand in hand.
Am I dreaming? I questioned humourously. Why did I lie I was ‘alone’? How will I convince her later? Should I tell her that my wife is at home and ask her to go back. It was a cruel way to treat a woman after a romantic acquaintance.
As we entered the Pekhil House gate Ram Bahadur, the night guard stared at us with a sly frown on his bearded face. I nodded at him as we climbed the stairs. My heart began to rattle with an ominous fear. Dechen Dolkar followed me like a puppy after its mother. As I fumbled to open the door Dechen’s warm breath breezed down the nape of my neck. ‘O’ ya, jee ghee fayk pay.’ (Please, let me open for you) She took the keys and opened the door as if that was her house. I realized I was trembling then. No sooner we were inside the room I bolted the door and she disappeared into the toilet. She seemed to know the rooms very well. I sat on the couch and put the television on. There was some disturbance on the cable. I took quarter of brandy in one gulp to compose my mind. I asked her if she would like to have tea or Fanta. ‘Hang rang ma zhhu la.’(Thank you, I don’t want to have anything) She sat on my left side like an old friend. I looked at her calm face. ‘What am I doing with a bartender in my house?’ I closed my eyes as I took a deep breath in and leaned back on the sofa. I could hear my heart beat as I tried to still my ravaging thoughts.
‘Tring…tring…tring…’ Startled from catnap I took out my phone from the jacket. It was not the phone. Dechen was not on the sofa. I assumed she must have gone to latrine again. ‘Dechen….Phone…’ I called. ‘Tring…g…g…g…’ The door brought me to my feet. On the screen Blackburn was playing live against Aston Villa. The game was into its 88th minute. ‘Where is Dechen gone? Who could be ringing the bell at this hour of the night?’ I thought, somewhat shaken from the moment. I opened the door slightly and peeked outside suspiciously, anticipating policemen standing at the door.
‘Aaaahhh….jo ba gho phyee may! Na lab now may sa…’ (aaaah…open the door quickly. My hands are paining) There stood my wife beaming with annoyance. She was carrying a bag. My heart froze as I pulled the door wide. My daughter was standing there on the doormat looking like an angel. I lifted her off her feet and cajoled, ‘Aaii naughty dhu mo baby…’
‘Ga dem chi gho gi bell dung ru go ni mindhu-nga dhe chhoe shi sop dre say noyi.’ (I rang the bell so long and you don’t hear it. I thought you were dead.) She joked at me. Momentarily, I was relieved to see them return from Thimphu, though very late. I reasoned why I did not hear the bell ‘Gha tee. Nga na Dechen chi kha trowa toen pay gang een may sa…’ (Ooh! I was enjoying with Dechen all this time)
‘Ngelam nang lu ya?’ (In your dream perhaps) She retorted enviously
‘Nge lam nang lu ra mam..?’ (Of course in my dream, where else) I giggled feeling nostalgic. I had had an enchanting slumber for the night. I had slept for nearly four hours. Feeling little guilty at my fickle reverie I went to the bathroom for an awakening shower. I knew I had an unfinished dream, but the presence of my daughter Tsendhen back at home after a fortnight was an enchanting moment for me. Am awake now?
September 6, 2010 was one such hectic day, or let me say more strenuous for me. I attended to 103 patients within seven hours and even missed my lunch. A customary cup of tea and five pieces of snack Ata Changlo brought me was all I had for lunch. I left home at 4.00PM feeling like devouring an Everest of rice. However, feeling tired I cooked koka noodles for a belated lunch after which I slouched into my couch with a pint of brandy to rest my brawns.
Manchester United was playing Arsenal on the screen. It was a replay. I dozed off for hours only to be awakened by the blaring evening Muslim prayer. ‘Damn! Why do they have to shout so loud for the God who never answers their prayer?’ That was the first wisest thought I was too tired and dreamy to make any rational judgment at that moment. It was dusk and Phuentsholing was lit up under the dark clouds which presaged a thunderstorm any moment.
I decided to visit the Zangtogperi Park for a rejuvenating breeze. The sanctuary of sanctity and the tranquility of the colourfully lighted fountain and the lithe children at play always soothed my fatigued sinews.
I circumambulated the Pelri thrice more to approve the convention than to demonstrate my superfluous piousness. I took a seat on an empty park-bench under the shadows of the dates plant. I was engrossed at the playful children in a cat and mouse chase when a young woman reluctantly sat on the other end of my bench. My bench? Yes; as I occupied first I considered it mine! The black skirt and a brown blouse matched her coloured hair. She laid down her plastic of apples on the bench across me –three apples to be precise; and took out a mobile phone. She was calling someone; perhaps her boyfriend. She looked too innocent to be a mother. She put back the phone into the bag mumbling some incomprehensible blasphemes. ‘Uff! What the…’ She tried again and failing to get connected shoved the phone into her handbag demonstrating despondence. ‘What am I doing here watching her suspiciously?’ I thought to myself. I wanted to leave but some unnatural force seems to hold me at the bench.
I was at unease sitting alongside a stranger in silence amidst the crowd of people around us. Three boys on the opposite bench were ogling her in a humiliating way and she behaved as if it was not an unusual scene she faced every day.
To break the eerie silence between us I made a deliberate cough and asked her in almost a whisper, ‘ Naa..chharo lu ghup eena?’( Are you waiting for a friend?) Her abrupt reply was a total contradiction. ‘Mangi kor ni chhowa chha.’ (No! just loitering around) I wondered if she meant she had no reason for coming to the park. I was apprehensive if she was drugged or drunk. I could not make out under the shadows of the tree. I engaged her into conversation again, ‘Ni…nan o’ ga chon chha ya?’(So…where do you stay?) It was supposed to be a casual request. She grinned at my tsangla lo accent which I knew was blunt and incomplete as she replied, ‘Jang mo? Deki Lane frang ga chon chha ko.’(Me…I stay below Deki Lane) I became nostalgic when I heard the infamous street. She asked me if I stayed in Phuentsholing. I told her I stayed at the Pekhil House and worked at the hospital. ‘I am alone…’ I added. I did not know why I was lying. Perhaps that is what men do when he sits with another woman at another place.
A car making a turn on the road alongside the park illumined the park briefly. I then realised that I was sitting under the date plant shadows with the prettiest woman I ever met in my life. She was in her late twenties, with an endearing dimple on her left face. She was neither fair nor dark -a complete blend of beauty. It took a lot of insistence to make her tell me her name. I told her that hers was the most unique name I heard so far. ‘Dechen gi la,’ she said shyly.
‘Dechen thur sho mo? Ja ga Phuentsho Pelbar gi la.’(Only Dechen? Mine is Phuentsho Pelbar) I wanted to give my hand for an introductory handshake but held back.
‘Dolkar…Dechen Dolkar.’ The coaxing got its result.
Dechen told me that she worked in Thonglay Drayang as a bartender. For the second time a cold impulse filled my heart when she told me her work place. She came to Thimphu eight years back to stay with elder sister who was married to a policeman. She worked at the Drayang since three years ago.
“’Where are you actually from?’ I became more inquisitive.
‘Jang Wamrong gay gi la?’(Am from Wamrong) I thought she would say Mongar the place where I had worked before. I moved closer to her. ‘Nan…tha ga oma eebi ga nong chha ya?’ (Who are you waiting for?) I was behaving like her lifelong friend.
The response she gave surprised me, ‘Lopen, chhas thur yek chho mo? Jang fai ga jin dha gi fai gay shon gay ma. Rent ma bee wa, lani sam deewa’ (Lopen, I will tell you something. I could not pay three months’ rent so the owner drove me out today) I looked into her beady eyes in total perplexity. I felt pity at her.
‘Don’t you have a relative around?’ That was the only question that came to my mind.
‘Ajang chha…lek pu aah lu ma la…oga dee laym mastong…’ (I have my uncle but he does not treat me well. Don’t know where I will go today) She trailed away.
I asked about her belongings which she said was kept in one of the restaurants. I told her how exorbitant the rents were in Phuentsholing and we talked about the prices of vegetables, the noises and the vulnerability to various diseases. She told me she will leave for Thimphu the next morning but was in dilemma where she would stay for the night. I suggested if she could go to her uncle’s place or some friends place. ‘Ajang gi kong may…ma de la. Chharo ba la Drayang ga room ga choncha.’(Uncle will beat me, I will not go there. My friends stay at the Drayang’s rooms) I asked her if she wanted money. She refused blatantly.
‘Lopen,’ she pleaded, ‘thhi nong nan ga fai ga dee lay khhe lay la…’ (Lopen, may I go to your place today for the night) It was the request I never imagined a lonely girl would say unless she was out of her mind. Perhaps our long conversation gave her courage to do so. My mind bombarded with questions. Should I accept her appeal? Will I not fall into legal harassments later? What if my neighbours know? She must be infected with HIV. I felt like saying goodbye at that time. What will I tell my wife?
‘Lopen, apple zhhay.’ (Lopen, have apple please) I was lost in questions without answers. I took the apple and looked around. I did not realize that the people around the park have vanished into thin air except for the traffic policemen on the road and two elderly women circumambulating the Pelri. ‘Sitting with a Pretty woman truly knows no time.’ I fumed a bemused grin to myself.
I suggested if I could walk her to her Ajang’s place. That was the bravest suggestion I thought I made that time. She was too innocent to be asking me to come to my place. The resoluteness in her denial was more out of desperateness for a nights’ rest than for mere want of a companion. I was hungry and it was late too. I do not know what came over me after that I was saying, ‘Mo ni de lay…late dee wa la.’ (Let’s go then, it’s late too) My statement was more of an excuse than an invitation. I was overwhelmed either by carnal yearning or by the pitiful circumstance of Dechen. I felt a crude confidence broiling in me as we walked towards my residential building hand in hand.
Am I dreaming? I questioned humourously. Why did I lie I was ‘alone’? How will I convince her later? Should I tell her that my wife is at home and ask her to go back. It was a cruel way to treat a woman after a romantic acquaintance.
As we entered the Pekhil House gate Ram Bahadur, the night guard stared at us with a sly frown on his bearded face. I nodded at him as we climbed the stairs. My heart began to rattle with an ominous fear. Dechen Dolkar followed me like a puppy after its mother. As I fumbled to open the door Dechen’s warm breath breezed down the nape of my neck. ‘O’ ya, jee ghee fayk pay.’ (Please, let me open for you) She took the keys and opened the door as if that was her house. I realized I was trembling then. No sooner we were inside the room I bolted the door and she disappeared into the toilet. She seemed to know the rooms very well. I sat on the couch and put the television on. There was some disturbance on the cable. I took quarter of brandy in one gulp to compose my mind. I asked her if she would like to have tea or Fanta. ‘Hang rang ma zhhu la.’(Thank you, I don’t want to have anything) She sat on my left side like an old friend. I looked at her calm face. ‘What am I doing with a bartender in my house?’ I closed my eyes as I took a deep breath in and leaned back on the sofa. I could hear my heart beat as I tried to still my ravaging thoughts.
‘Tring…tring…tring…’ Startled from catnap I took out my phone from the jacket. It was not the phone. Dechen was not on the sofa. I assumed she must have gone to latrine again. ‘Dechen….Phone…’ I called. ‘Tring…g…g…g…’ The door brought me to my feet. On the screen Blackburn was playing live against Aston Villa. The game was into its 88th minute. ‘Where is Dechen gone? Who could be ringing the bell at this hour of the night?’ I thought, somewhat shaken from the moment. I opened the door slightly and peeked outside suspiciously, anticipating policemen standing at the door.
‘Aaaahhh….jo ba gho phyee may! Na lab now may sa…’ (aaaah…open the door quickly. My hands are paining) There stood my wife beaming with annoyance. She was carrying a bag. My heart froze as I pulled the door wide. My daughter was standing there on the doormat looking like an angel. I lifted her off her feet and cajoled, ‘Aaii naughty dhu mo baby…’
‘Ga dem chi gho gi bell dung ru go ni mindhu-nga dhe chhoe shi sop dre say noyi.’ (I rang the bell so long and you don’t hear it. I thought you were dead.) She joked at me. Momentarily, I was relieved to see them return from Thimphu, though very late. I reasoned why I did not hear the bell ‘Gha tee. Nga na Dechen chi kha trowa toen pay gang een may sa…’ (Ooh! I was enjoying with Dechen all this time)
‘Ngelam nang lu ya?’ (In your dream perhaps) She retorted enviously
‘Nge lam nang lu ra mam..?’ (Of course in my dream, where else) I giggled feeling nostalgic. I had had an enchanting slumber for the night. I had slept for nearly four hours. Feeling little guilty at my fickle reverie I went to the bathroom for an awakening shower. I knew I had an unfinished dream, but the presence of my daughter Tsendhen back at home after a fortnight was an enchanting moment for me. Am awake now?
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