Land of the Thunder Dragon: Part IV

If the government cannot create happiness for its people, there is no purpose for the government to exist. – Legal code of Bhutan, 1729  

A day after meeting the queen, we visited Tashichho Dzong, a grand Buddhist monastery and fortress. It has some thirty temples inside. When a guard noticed we were walking all by ourselves, without a Bhutanese guide accompanying us, he was agitated.

‘Where is your guide?” he asked us.

“We don’t need a guide. We’re happy to just stroll around and see everything.” I said. I prefer to go around museums and temples without guides. Some of them are walking Wikipedia entries.  

“No, that’s not possible. They shouldn’t have let you in.” By now, a small group had gathered around us. I think they understood that an Indian couple with a small daughter didn’t pose a threat to the kingdom. But rules were rules. A policeman was assigned as an escort. He simply walked with us.

On the way out, a very fair Bhutanese lady began talking to us. She was part of the cultural ministry. She had earlier seen the commotion surrounding our guideless stroll. She apologised for the incident. Tashichho Dzong was not only a monastery complex; this is where the Bhutanese government and the king’s office are located. That’s the reason foreigners shouldn’t be wandering here independently.

Later, our discussion turned to the ‘Gross National Happiness’ (GNH), a concept Bhutan prefers over ‘Gross Domestic Product’ (GDP). Raised on the books of Ayn Rand, I began arguing with her. Unless you bring your people out of poverty, what is the point of telling them about happiness? I honestly thought GNH was simply a semantic gimmick invented by a kingdom to pacify its poor people.

‘No, we take GNH very seriously.’ The lady said. She began explaining the science and structure around it. This was the first time I had encountered a serious discussion about GNH.

‘Progress doesn’t necessarily mean happiness.’ She said at the end.

*****

Progress doesn’t necessarily mean happiness.

I believe in empirical evidence. What I see with my own eyes, feel and experience with my own senses is, for me, the best evidence to check any hypothesis.

Most of my school friends and I lived in apartments of 40-50 sq mtrs (400-500 sq ft) in which three generations cohabited. All meals were had sitting cross-legged on the floor. We slept on mattresses laid out on the floor. We squatted on floor-level Indian toilets, a morning yoga ritual in itself. The apartment had no beds, no dining tables, and no commodes. We had not heard the word ‘pizza’, not for the first twenty years of our life. Fruits and vegetables were only organic, because chemicals to inject them were not yet invented. This is how we lived for the first 20-25 years.

Later we evolved, we made progress. We improved our finances, bought dining tables and beds. We installed western toilets, making the posture comfortable. As a result of all that, our children are not as flexible as we were at their age. As children, we never looked at sugar or salt as enemies. Nobody consulted a nutritionist for advice on diet – I even doubt if there were nutritionists then. Now with our great culinary progress, we must watch our weight, cholesterol and sugar.

Until 1980, I didn’t have any kind of phone at my house; neither did most of my friends and relatives. We could land at each other’s houses any time. People were happy with the unexpected arrivals. The next couple of hours were spent in delightful chatter.

Later, phones arrived. First the landlines, then mobiles. Now we don’t go to anybody’s house without calling first. Visiting someone without calling may shock them. (Why has he come without calling? Bad news? Does he wish to borrow money from me? Doesn’t he know I’m busy?) And if we can talk to the person over the phone, why bother visiting? And if we can send a text, why bother calling? As a matter of protocol, we may grudgingly find time to attend someone’s funeral (why did he have to die on a working day?), but visiting him while he is alive is superfluous. 

Until 1972, Bombay didn’t have television. More than fifty children from my apartment complex met in the courtyard each evening and played a variety of games. We had no choice.

Then Bombay became more civilised. Television arrived. Later, incomes improved, and cars became affordable. Now that courtyard is exclusively a parking lot for cars. Children spend the evenings at home on their gadgets, while their parents watch TV.

I studied in my native language. My friends and relatives spoke exclusively in Indian languages. On the streets, you asked for an address in Hindi or Marathi. We listened to Indian music. We sang Indian songs. Girls wore Punjabi dresses or skirts. Their mothers wore sarees. Boys my age wore Khadi tops, carried cotton Indian satchels, and wore sandals or slippers.

Then we made progress. We became more cosmopolitan, more international. We took the best from the West. Now, our children’s first language is English. They sing the same songs that children in Europe or America sing. Irrespective of the gender, they wear t-shirts, shorts, jeans and Nike shoes. Parents pay obscene amounts of money for the kids to attend a ColdPlay concert in Bombay.

In my childhood, there were no water filters. No mineral water bottles. No plastic. Babies were kept clean by the wrapping of a triangular cotton cloth around their waist. Once it was dirtied, the cloth was changed and washed. Then we became civilised. Diapers appeared. Convenient for parents. The thick diapers, made thicker by the kids, are now added to the city’s garbage mountain.

I walked home from school on unpaved roads. Both sides of the roads were lined with trees. Saturday being a half day, school started earlier than usual. The mornings were cold - we always wore jackets or sweaters. And the north of Bombay was a jungle.

Then we began introducing civic amenities. Jungles were replaced by residential towers. As I write this, dozens of trees in my neighbourhood, trees planted in my great-grandfather’s time, are cut down to build a metro for the Bombay citizens. So they can travel to work speedily and comfortably. A tree is cut, and a billboard placed there. It says: “For Bombay’s bright future.”

Now the cars are air-conditioned. Homes and offices are air-conditioned. I avoid looking at the pollution index websites. Sweaters are no longer saleable in Bombay.

Affluence doesn’t necessarily mean happiness. 

When I lived in Russia, my happiness was inversely proportional to the size of the apartments I lived in. My last Moscow apartment had very high ceilings and the maximum cubic feet I have ever lived in. My first marriage came to an end in that flat. It may be a coincidence, but maybe not. The bigger the house, the more isolated each of its occupants becomes.

As we travel in cars instead of walking, we stop meeting people. That is another way affluence makes us isolated.  

During my corporate career, I woke up with an alarm every morning. It didn’t matter what time I went to bed. My alarm was set to make sure I reach the office at a certain time. For the last fifteen years, since leaving my career, there is no alarm in my life. I sleep until I wake up. My income is lost and my standard of living fallen dramatically. But I sleep well, and feel fresh and healthy through the day.

High standard of living doesn’t necessarily mean happiness. 

In my childhood, the base human emotions – selfishness, anger, jealousy, hatred, greed, lust- did not have public platforms.

Now the human race has made miraculous technological progress.

The Selfie has became a phenomenon. Teenagers with selfie sticks, endless poses and facial gestures, take much space on social media. The more social among them take group selfies.

Porno websites are continuously developed; porno channels are available in family hotels. Social media provides platforms to vent anger and hatred. Consumerism is the platform to check the jealousy index. Greed makes an illiterate play on the stock markets.

Negative emotions and self-love definitely existed fifty years ago, but were not so nakedly visible. Thanks to the technological progress; selfishness, anger, jealousy, hatred, greed, lust are out in the open.

Technological progress doesn’t necessarily result in greater happiness.

*****

Since my talk to the Bhutanese lady from the cultural ministry, I have read some literature on “Gross National Happiness.” Certainly since the time the fourth king pronounced this phrase way back in 1972, the concept has been systematically structured and developed.

GDP growth suggests an improved standard of living. Guns sold in America are part of their GDP. Other than the gun-makers and the congressmen they sponsor, I don’t think the expanding gun market brings happiness to anyone. If the Americans were to focus on national happiness, their public policy, politics and work ethic would take quite another shape. As the Bhutanese legal code said in 1729, if the government cannot create happiness for its people, why should it exist at all?

Bhutan’s GNH index has four pillars, 9 domains and 33 clustered indicators. It allows Bhutan to classify each of its citizens into deeply happy/extensively happy/narrowly happy and unhappy. I meant to describe that this week. But I began analyzing the relationship between progress and happiness and got carried away. Next week, I will explain the GNH concept in detail. You may then be able to check the level of your own happiness.

(To be continued)

Ravi  

Land of the Thunder Dragon: Part III

A day before meeting Ashi Kesang Choden, the queen grandmother, we decided to spend a few hours in the Thimpu shops. My 2009 diary tells me I bought a 30 $ yellow shirt for the occasion. We were meeting a queen of any sorts for the first time, and wished to look presentable.

Next day, on 1 May, the land cruiser punctually arrived at our hotel at 3.30. Bhutan has no traffic lights and no traffic jams, so it’s not difficult to be on time. We reached the palace at 3.45 and were met by a ‘welcome team’.

“I’ll take you to her majesty.” Said the head of the welcome team. I couldn’t help glancing at his face curiously as we began walking towards the palace. He looked so much like Chukie-om’s father whom we had met only two days ago. Bhutan is a small kingdom, and to a foreigner all locals may look similar, I thought. But at times like this, my curiosity overtakes my sense of protocol and propriety. As we entered the palace, I whispered to the man.

‘I’m sorry.... are you in any way related to the Dorjis... you know the one who was Bhutan’s ambassador to India, and whose father...’

‘Yes, I am Togbe’s brother. Togbe did foreign assignments; I have always served in the palace.’

Just as I realised that our escort was also the queen’s nephew, the queen herself walked in. Her dress was elegant enough to distinguish her from the Bhutanese woman working in the fields, but still fairly simple for a woman living in a palace. She wore a bluish jacket over her top, and a white pearl necklace that had no royal glitter. She shook hands and guided us to a sofa. She was soon joined by her daughter.

On the table was a book ‘the Devil’s Wind’ by Manohar Malgonkar, my wife’s uncle. The queen asked after his health. They had never met in person, but she had read most of his books, and had corresponded with him for years.

The Devil’s Wind is a historical novel about Nana Saheb Peshwa (Peshwa is translated as prime minister), an aristocrat and warrior in the Maratha empire. Ninety years before India gained independence, 1857 witnessed an Indian rebellion, its first war of independence to oust the British. Nana Saheb was one of its belligerent leaders. Merely 32 years old, he disappeared in the same year. He was rumoured to have fled to Nepal, but nothing was ever found out. ‘The Devil’s Wind’ is written as Nana Saheb’s autobiography. Though a novel, the in-depth research by Manohar Malgonkar has made the narration as historically authentic as possible.

The queen Ashi Kesang Choden asked us several questions about Nana Saheb Peshwa. She said the book and Nana Saheb’s life were fascinating. She wondered about the course history would have taken had Indians succeeded in that mutiny. (Had we known this is how our meeting would begin, I would have made the effort of reading the Devil’s wind before coming to Bhutan).

The queen was soft spoken, with a twinkle in her eye. Her memory, her ability to articulate her thoughts, her dignified composure belied her age. (She was 79 when we met her). The intellectual discussion reminded me of the readers’ club I attend every month. I gathered from the conversation that a queen may read the same book very differently than you or me. Historical novels such as the Devil’s wind may be entertaining for common readers. For a queen who reads; novels with revolts, political intrigue, assassinations and royal affairs are not merely entertaining. They offer utility and practical textbook lessons.

Meanwhile, we were served muffins, scones, English tea and Bhutanese snacks. The queen spoke to my daughter as a grandmother would. She became a hostess when enquiring if we liked what was served. She then became a tourist guide, and started telling us the places in Bhutan we should visit and why. She herself had founded many Dzongs (Buddhist religious social complexes). We were then given specially packed souvenirs that included Bhutanese honey and organic jams. The queen and her daughter came out to see us off. The escort team was waiting outside. We were treated as royal guests. In my mind, I thanked Mena’s uncle for writing all these great books.  

*****

In 2009, when we met the soft spoken Ashi Kesang Choden, I knew almost nothing about her. The history books I had read talked about the kings and the prime ministers, leaving the queen in the background. She had since become the queen mother, and with her son taking premature retirement, a queen grandmother. Years later, when I wished to write a short story set in Bhutan, I came across several pieces that talked about queen Ashi Kesang Choden’s role in Bhutan’s history.

At 21, she married Jigme Dorji Wangchuk, who became Bhutan’s third king the following year. Over the next decade, the couple had five children. In a parallel plot, the king had a Tibetan mistress, Yangki. From her he had four children, two sons and two daughters. Tibet was already taken over by China. So the affair was not only romantic but political. Probably because Yangki was a Tibetan, the king never solemnised his relations with her, nor offered legitimacy to her children. At best, she was understood as a Royal concubine and her children were royal bastards. Though without legitimacy, Yangki was a powerful woman. As mentioned previously, she and her Tibetan relatives were above the law.

The official queen, Ashi Kesang Choden, looked at the state of affairs helplessly and focused on raising her five children. In 1964, her older brother, the Prime Minister of Bhutan, was killed. The queen’s misfortune didn’t end here. A power struggle began, the hereditary prime ministership was abandoned. All surviving relatives of the murdered Prime Minister, the Dorjis, were sent into exile in 1965. Ashi Kesang Choden managed to escape exile only because she was the official queen. For the next nine years, her parents, siblings and their families lived in exile.

*****

The ailing king died in 1972. Yangki, the Tibetan concubine, wished to see her own son as the new king. Reportedly, she had moral and political support from Tibet.

The queen Ashi Kesang Choden took charge of the situation. She made her son the fourth king, though he was only 17. Reportedly, plots were hatched by Yangki’s family to blow away the new king and his family during the coronation. Anticipating this, the queen took great security precautions at the coronation.

Through her teenaged son’s formal powers, she began to exert authority over the administration and military. Yangki’s influence dwindled, and finally in 1974, she left for India saying her life was in danger. A few days after her leaving, the lofty Thimpu building across the Dechecholing palace in which Yangki lived her luxurious life mysteriously caught fire and was completely burnt to the ground. Till today, Yangki lives in exile in India, and her children live in the USA. The Tibetan threat hanging over Bhutan through the King’s concubinage died.

I don’t know the historical accuracy of those details. I am happy if the soft spoken woman we met had achieved her revenge through plotting and aggression. It’s possible she formulated strategies inspired by the historical novels she had so passionately read.

For the next ten years, the queen was the official host in Bhutan. During the 1970s and 1980s, she looked after foreign dignitaries and hosted banquets for guests of the fourth king.

*****

Ashi Kesang Choden’s role in the history of Bhutan doesn’t stop there. Here is one of the stories of her contribution to the kingdom.

Human Papilloma Virus (HPV) vaccines were developed in Australia, patented and approved by 2007. They protect women from two types of viruses that cause the greatest risk of cervical cancer. By 2009, it was approved in several European countries.

The reading queen, the Royal Grandmother, read about it in an Australian magazine. Cervical cancer was very common among Bhutanese women. The vaccine could save the lives of women across the kingdom.

The Royal Grandmother sent a special invitation to Mike and Lenore Wille, an Australian couple who were propagating the vaccine worldwide. She fished out an old copy of Australian women’s weekly that contained a recipe for Anzac biscuits, popular in Australia. She asked her cooking staff to bake the biscuits.

When the Australian couple landed at Paro, they were greeted by cars with flags, chauffeurs and guards. Soon they were at a palace sitting across the queen grandmother with the Anzac biscuits on the table. Bhutanese women were diagnosed with cervical cancer too late and were dying, she told them. The queen wanted each woman in the kingdom to be vaccinated.

The Australian couple were charmed. The Royal Grandmother’s gentle voice and determination impressed them. She wanted to be fair. Not only the capital, but all of Bhutan must be covered. As a result of her persuasion, and perseverance, Bhutan was selected as the first country where the vaccination program would be launched nationally. The executives of Merck & Co., the USA maker of the vaccines, didn’t know such a country existed. Finally, in 2010, the program was launched. The vaccines were carried on the backs of the donkeys to the more remote parts of Bhutan. In the first year, 99% of 12-year old girls, and 89% of 13-18 year old girls were covered.

Since 2008, Bhutan is a constitutional monarchy. It has a democratically elected government, responsible for issues such as vaccination. Despite that, the queen Ashi Kesang Choden, in her eighties, proved a catalyst for the national vaccination program.

(To be continued)

Ravi

Land of the Thunder Dragon: Part II

When you go to Bhutan, you travel in time as well as distance.

The kingdom does not have a single traffic light; you can still see uniformed traffic cops directing traffic with their hands, standing in specially built booths. Cigarette sales are banned. Bhutan has no advertisements and no billboards - not even from the government. The font size for the names of shops is prescribed and uniform. Bhutan was the last country on earth to get television (in 1999). Traditional dress is mandatory in government offices and some public places. Men wear a gho, a long single-piece robe belted and hitched up at the waist. Looking like a dressing gown, it is worn with knee-length socks. Women wear the kira, a floor-length straight dress with a blouse and short jacket. 

Bhutan has not an inch of railway, road transport is the only option. Being a mountainous region, no road is straight. Some roads are a roller coaster of zigzags and ups and downs. The view is generally one of mountains on one side and steep valleys on the other. The narrowness of the roads makes your heart pray to the Buddhist Gods you have just visited. Non-Bhutanese should never ever attempt to drive in Bhutan. When you return from Bhutan to your own country, you marvel at the straightness of the roads.

The kingdom propagates and monitors Gross National Happiness (GNH) rather than the Gross Domestic product (GDP), but I will write about that in another part.   

Live like a King

Foreigners, even Indians, can live like kings in Bhutan. Services are cheap and good.

Paro’s Gangtey Palace offers a hot stone bath. Riverside rocks are heated till red hot and slowly dropped into a wooden tub filled with water and scattered with Artemisia leaves and rose petals. The burning rocks heat the water and release minerals at the same time. Three tubs were prepared for my wife, daughter and me. The air temperature was around 10C. I briefly debated whether to let my five year old daughter see me completely naked. Convincing myself that nudeness is part of nature, I dropped all my clothes. You run to the tub shivering slightly, enter it and then lie in it for an hour or so. The soothing scent and the soaking in the hot mineral water have a meditative effect.

In Thimpu’s Namgay hotel, I treated myself to a manicure and pedicure with four young Bhutanese girls, two working on my hands and two on feet at the same time.  I felt much like the former king of Bhutan who had married four sisters. This was followed with a massage with aromatic oils. My wife and I took it on adjacent beds. Here the hotel took care to provide a young masseuse for my wife, and an old lady for me.

Each of these pampering services cost between 600/700 Rupees (12-14 USD then) per person.

So many queens’ palaces

One of our tasks on reaching Thimpu was to find the queen-grandmother. Surprisingly, there was no address anywhere, not on the letter from Mena’s uncle, not in the internet.

Bhutan’s fourth king, Jigme Singye Wangchuk, is an interesting person. Educated in India and England, he was a reformist king. He introduced the concept of Gross National Happiness. He had always maintained he would abdicate the throne on reaching 50, and he did it voluntarily by making his son the new king at 26. (Some monarchs won’t give up their crown even in their nineties).

If I remember correctly, the king went to ask for the hand of a girl he fell in love with. (They presumably met in India). Her elder sister was divorced, and she had two younger sisters. The girl’s father said if his daughter were to marry the king, who will marry the other three, particularly the divorced sister? By one girl marrying into royalty, the sisters can no longer marry commoners. To resolve the problem, the king offered to marry all four sisters. He married them in 1979 in a private ceremony, and was persuaded to hold a royal wedding nine years later.

Each queen was given a separate palace. As a result, Thimpu has so many queens’ palaces, we were at a loss to find the queen we were looking for.

Fax me what you are saying

While we were mulling our predicament, we bumped into an American lady at the only coffee shop in Thimpu, called Swiss Bakery. Kim is from New York. Going to Bhutan may be pricey for American and European tourists, but they can come to Bhutan to work or volunteer and none of the visa restrictions apply. Kim is an education adviser, working closely with the Bhutan foundation and the ministry of education. She had been living in Bhutan for some time. (She would later take us to see a couple of schools, an experience in itself). In Bhutan in general, and in Swiss bakery in particular, anyone can start talking with anybody without reason. We chatted with Kim, and during our talk mentioned the queen we were looking for.

“I can give you her secretary’s number” Kim wrote it down for me.

I called the number and the queen’s secretary picked it up on the second ring itself. I explained who we were, and how the queen we were looking for was a fan of my wife’s uncle. We were in Thimpu, and would love to meet her.

“Please write to me what you told me.” Queen’s secretary said.

“There is nothing more.” I said. I had explained everything there was to explain.

“You may write exactly what you told me, and send it by fax. Here is the fax number.”

Fortunately, our Thimpu hotel had a fax. I wrote our request and faxed it. I mentioned how long we would be in Thimpu. The same evening, the secretary called me. Two days later, on 1 May, the queen would see us in her palace at 4 pm, for an afternoon tea. Please ask your driver to call me, I will give him directions, he said.

Meeting with Chukie-om  

I spoke to Chukie-om the same evening. She said she would be happy to have us for afternoon tea the following day. Please give us your address, we will come on our own, I said.

Please don’t worry, I will meet you in the centre and take you to my home.

We agreed to meet outside the textile museum. I assumed Chukie-om’s house was at a walking distance from there. It wasn’t.

*****

Outside the textile museum the next day, waiting for Chukie-om, the three of us had no idea how to spot her. When you wait for a person you have never met, you observe each person walking towards you and wonder if that’s the one. I knew she spoke excellent English, but that told me nothing about how she looked or dressed.

A Prado Land cruiser Toyota suddenly stopped in front of us. In Bhutan, such cars attract more attention than elsewhere. A girl who looked like a Japanese princess came out and shook our hands. This was Chukie-om - the same person I had addressed as Mr Chukie-om not so long ago.

Visit to the Bhutanese house  

The land cruiser kept going up and up until we reached Chukie-om’s house, at the top of Thimpu. Its entrance reminded me of the Kew gardens in London. The vast garden welcomed you before you reached the house. Chukie-om’s father greeted us.

Some wise men, some geniuses have no small talk. Chukie-om’s father, Togbe Dorji, was one such man. As soon as we sat at the tea table, Togbe began telling us stories from Vajrayana Buddhism, Bhutan’s religion. He explained how the mantra “om mani padme hum” carved on prayer wheels across Bhutan comes from Sanskrit. In simple language, he elaborated how chanting of the mantra helps the purification of body, speech and mind.

Togbe Dorji did not talk like a preacher, his speech was practical and rational. His wife and Chukie-Om’s sister soon joined us. We were served tea. In some context, Togbe mentioned something about Delhi. It was evident he knew Delhi well.

“You seem to know India well.”

“I lived in Delhi for eight years.”

“Eight years? What did you work as?” I was struggling to imagine an Indian company hiring a Bhutanese for work, even a wise person like Togbe.

“I was Bhutan’s ambassador there.” Togbe said.

“Oh!” I said. “And before that?”

“Before that I was Bhutan’s ambassador to the USA – for seventeen years.”

“How does one become an ambassador here?” I asked. India has the Indian civil service established by the British. I didn’t think Bhutan would have anything similar.

“You see, my father was Bhutan’s Prime minister...”

“... until he was assassinated.” I completed the sentence reflexively. Suddenly the penny had dropped. Chukie-om Dorji and her father Togbe Dorji belonged to the Dorji lineage. If Togbe’s father was not assassinated Togbe and then probably Chukie-om could have been Bhutan’s prime ministers.

I narrated the 1964 assassination and its background to Togbe. I paid compliments to his murdered father for the reforms he had boldly carried out in Bhutan. My Bhutan reading had happened just before leaving; I could reproduce many details from my short-term memory.

Now Togbe and Chukie-0m were looking at me speechless.

“How do you know so much about the 1964 event?” Togbe asked me.

“This was explained in detail by Nari Rustomji in his book ‘the Dragon Kingdom in crisis.” I said.

“Oh, that explains it. That book is banned in Bhutan. We may have a copy lying somewhere in this house. But except our family few people in Bhutan would know these details.”

Chukie-om Dorji, who I initially assumed was a male clerk employed by Gangtey palace turned out to be the owner of Gangtey palace.

In our talk, we mentioned our visit to the queen-grandmother’s palace the following day. I also mentioned the difficulties we had until an American lady had helped us.

“Oh, she is my aunt.” Togbe said. “My father’s sister. I’ll call her now. I’ll tell her you two are with us now.” Togbe briefly left, made the call and came back. “I believe Chukie-om is arranging a car for you, to take you to Punakha and Bumthang. Good. Tshering is the driver’s name. He’ll pick you up from your hotel tomorrow and take you to my aunt’s palace. No need to get directions, he has been there many times.”

We thanked Togbe, Chukie-om and the rest of the family. The land cruiser dropped us back. We had managed to visit a Bhutanese house as I had wanted. But neither the house nor its occupants represented the average Bhutanese population.

(Continued next week)

Ravi

Land of the Thunder Dragon: Part I

India and China, the world’s two most populous countries, share nearly 3500 km of their border. Borders, by their nature, are prone to dispute. China calls one of the Indian states, Arunachal Pradesh, part of South Tibet. Not only foreigners, but Indians also require a permit to visit Arunachal. Over the last two months, a street-fight without casualties took place at a point called Doklam. China planned to build a road there. As the Chinese advanced with vehicles and construction materials, Indian soldiers confronted them with weapons and bulldozers. The standoff continued for two months. Finally better sense prevailed, and two weeks ago both sides withdrew. Some people who read the news were confused, because India openly admitted Doklam didn’t belong to India. India was fighting on behalf of Bhutan.

Many Indians are not certain if Bhutan is in or out of India. Non-Indians may not know where Bhutan is on the map. My family and I have fond memories of Bhutan - my wife, daughter and I had visited it for more than a month in 2009.

The Paro Airport

The kingdom of Bhutan has only one airport – Paro. We landed early in the morning. The quaint green airport rooftop made the building look like a Buddhist monastery. Outside, the magnificent Himalayas seemed close enough to touch. The air was so pure, we wanted to keep breathing it to fill our lungs. We drove straight to our hotel - Gangtey Palace, a former palace converted. We saw very few people, and they were differently dressed. Some men wore skirts.

In the hotel room, which was truly palatial, I unpacked the bags. I wished to take the passports and cash and deposit them in the hotel safe. I couldn’t find our passports.

‘Mena, where are the passports, I can’t find them.’ I said loudly.

Devyani, our daughter, five year old then, immediately said, “Dad, it’s great if you have lost the passports. We won’t need to go back.”

A five-year old had understood the spirituality of the place on arrival.

No backpackers please  

I am writing in the wrong chronological sequence. My preparation for the Bhutan trip had started more than six months before that. As I learnt in the process, we could go to Bhutan thanks to that long-term planning.

Only the Bhutanese airlines-Druk Air-is allowed to fly to Bhutan. And it wasn’t selling tickets online. I called their authorised agent in Calcutta.

‘You better hurry up,’ he said, ‘on the day you want to fly; only three seats are left.’

‘Sorry, maybe you misunderstood. We plan to fly six months from now, in April next year.’

“I understand,’ he said ‘that’s the flight where three seats are left.’

‘If the demand is so high, why doesn’t Druk air fly more often?’ I asked.

‘Bhutan doesn’t want tourists. The tourists will spoil it.’

I bought the tickets. We didn’t plan to spoil Bhutan.

‘All of you have Indian passports, right?”

“Yes. What difference does that make?”

“If you are not Indian, you will need to pay lots of money in advance.” He said, kindly.

As I learnt, all foreigners needed to deposit 250 US Dollars per day per person (now 300 USD) when applying for a visa. A family of four Americans visiting Bhutan for two weeks need to cough out nearly 17,000 dollars for a visa. That expense covers hotels and other expenses. But there is no way you can live cheaply. Foreigners must take a flight, meaning Druk Air, they can’t enter Bhutan by road.

Not surprisingly, throughout our travel across Bhutan, we never saw a single white (or black) backpacker. The only foreigners we met were mostly elderly, or if young, highly successful.

Indians, fortunately for my family, are not classified as foreigners. The visa rules don’t apply to Indians. When we went, Indians could enter Bhutan even with a driving licence or a voter card, allowed to enter by road.  

Why this special treatment? Because under a friendship treaty, India takes care of Bhutan’s defence. That is why when China tries to make inroads into Bhutan, Indian soldiers rush to help the Bhutanese.

The hereditary prime minister

India, Russia, United States of America celebrate their respective independence days. Bhutan doesn’t. Because it has always been independent.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the British assessed the mountainous terrain and decided it was better to let Bhutan have their own king. Before 1905, the rulers were under the authority of the Tibetan Lamas – the spiritual masters. Bhutan was essentially made of warring tribes. The British stepped in and identified a wise man, Ugyen Dorji, as a king.

I don’t want to be the king, he said, but I would be happy to be the king-maker. He recommended the name of Ugyen Wangchuk, a great warrior who had won many battles and was the de facto ruler of Bhutan.

It was agreed Ugyen Wangchuk would become Bhutan’s first monarch. Ugyen Dorji would become the first prime minister. And both the royal lineage and the prime minister’s lineage would be hereditary. Not only that, the two families would inter-marry so as to preserve the power within the Wangchuk and Dorji dynasties. This arrangement continued well until 1964.

Jigme Palden Dorji was Bhutan’s PM from 1952 to 1964. Though a Dorji, he had some royal Wangchuk blood as well. He was a reformist, and an able administrator. The military and the monks didn’t like his modernization attempts. Jigme Dorji was assassinated in April 1964. Among those executed following his killing was the king’s uncle who had ordered the assassination.

Lhendup Dorji alias Lenny, brother of the assassinated PM was a playboy. He was showing Shirley MacLaine, the American actress, around Bhutan at the time when his brother was killed. Unfit to be a prime minister, Lhendup Dorji and the remaining family were sent into exile. The hereditary PM-ship ended with the assassination.

Bombay’s 200-year old Asiatic library had only six books on Bhutan. One of them was the ‘Dragon kingdom in crisis’ by Nari Rustomji, India’s political attaché to Bhutan at that time. He gave an excellent firsthand account of the events surrounding the assassination. Yangki, the king’s concubine, enjoyed unlimited informal powers through the king. Her relatives lived above the law. The mistress accompanied the king more often than the queen to government functions. She had two sons and two daughters from the king, but the children were without titles.  Yangki used the state’s resources as she wished. She once ordered the military vehicles to carry her luggage. The hyper-efficient prime minister, on hearing that, said military vehicles can’t be used by civilians and had the luggage unloaded. The king was ill in a hospital in Switzerland. The Army saw this as an insult to the honour of the king. According to Rustomji, this event may have sparked the assassination plot.

The queen is my fan

A few weeks before our trip to Bhutan, we were in Jagalbet, visiting Mena’s uncle Manohar Malgonkar, in his village house. Manohar Malgonkar, 96 then, was a well known novelist having written more than fifty books. (The Princes, A bend in the Ganges, Men who killed Gandhi, the Devil’s wind and others). We told him about our forthcoming trip to Bhutan.

“Oh,” he said. “You must meet the Queen. Only this week I have received a letter from her. Mena, you’ll find it on that table. She’s my fan. She has read many of my books. Every time she reads my book, I get a letter from her. You must go and meet her.”

We promptly found the letter in a gold-lettered royal envelope. Ashi Kesang Choden was her name. She was a queen when she started reading uncle’s books, but by 2009, she had already become a grandmother-queen, the world’s only grandmother-queen. We asked uncle’s permission to take the letter with us. Showing it may open the door of a palace.

The small cash

I was preparing for Bhutan on many fronts. Library books gave me a good background of Bhutan’s history. Internet research advised me on the practical aspects. Bhutan had its own currency, Ngultrum, but it also accepted Indian rupees. No credit cards, no debit cards, no traveller’s cheques, ATMs unlikely to work. You must carry cash for your entire journey. India’s two big denominations, Rs 500 and Rs 1000 were illegal in Bhutan. (The prescient Bhutan had demonetised them decades before Narendra Modi did).

Since the Indian ATMs usually give higher denominations, I called my bank manager and asked him to arrange cash in Rs 50/100 notes. That was the only time I had made such an unusual request. When I went to collect the money, the bank manager invited me to his cabin.

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

“Yes, of course. Why?” I said.

“Normally, people ask for cash in small denominations when someone is kidnapped. I was a bit worried.”

“Oh no, nobody is kidnapped. I am going with my family to Bhutan for a month.”

Gangtey Palace hotel

At the same time, I was sending emails to various hotels I had found through my internet research.

Gangtey Palace in Paro, where we would land, seemed like a great ‘value for money’ option. I didn’t know how good Bhutanese were with English. But some Chukie-om Dorji from the hotel wrote emails in excellent English. Not knowing the protocols in the kingdom, I initially addressed him as Mr Chukie-om but after a few emails simply as Chukie-om. He gave us what I thought was a fabulous deal – a suite like room, all three meals included for the price of a small room in a Bombay hotel with no food. We later learnt that in Bhutan all hotels include three meals for every guest. Only in Bumthang, much later during our trip, we would understand the reason for that custom.

No safes

Coming back to our room in Gangtey Palace, I finally managed to find the passports. Looking for a safe everywhere in our spacious suite, I didn’t find one. I decided to visit the reception with our passports and a bag full of Indian small currency notes.

‘I would like to deposit this in the hotel safe, please.’ I said to the person at the counter, speaking slowly and stressing on each syllable.

‘You...keep in the room.’ She said.

‘Sorry, there is no safe in the room. I looked everywhere. That’s why I came down.’

‘We have no safe in the hotel.’ The Bhutanese girl said. ‘Your room is very safe. Nothing will happen to your money or documents.’ None of the hotels we stayed at in Bhutan had a safe. And nothing ever happened to our money or documents. We could have probably left our suitcases on the road.

Chukie-om

‘Who is Chukie-om here?’ I asked the men at the reception. I had corresponded with him for weeks and found him to be quite helpful. I thought I should thank him in person.

‘Chukie-om Dorji? She lives in Thimpu, not here.’ The reception girl said.

‘She? I am talking of the person who emailed me.’

“Yes. Chukie-om. A girl. Lives in Thimpu. Would you like to speak to her?’

I said yes. The voice coming from Thimpu, the capital of Bhutan, was sweet and polished. I thanked her. After Paro, we would move to Thimpu, I said.

‘When you are in Thimpu, please give me a call. You can join my family for a cup of tea.’ She said.

I was delighted. I wanted to see a Bhutanese house anyway. To see how an average Bhutanese person lived. An opportunity had walked my way without any effort. I immediately said yes.

(To be continued)

Ravi