Nobel Peace Prize to His Holiness the Dalai Lama: New Year Post

Rather out of the blue for Ngodup’s knowledge Dorjee came to him after the writing class at noon. Ngodup had stopped attending master Jangchup’s class despite Dadul’s frustration and rebukes. Dorjee didn’t attend such class either. Lighting up his scabs and scars infested dark face with a smile followed by a friendly frown he at once began why he came to him. But Ngodup had thrown out his bedding in the sun and put his rocking bed on its side against the crudely distempered green-grey wall. Ngodup pre-empted Dorjee’s urge to break first.

‘See, those bugs, blood-sucking ones. During the past years I hadn’t felt that much disturbance at night. Now I can’t bear it. I haven’t been able to sleep well at night. I put that much kerosene on every part of the bed. See those bloated ones, those dark patches marked with white dots, their eggs.’

‘I have had problem too. You know as I stay at hostel where the case is worse like those in the next doors migrating into mine. There is no use of keeping them away so. As I have learned, it’s better to keep clean, especially under one’s bed. Not to keep anything under bed, but let it be free of any clutters and clean by sweeping every day. I am thinking to do so. Well, I come to tell you something. I think you haven’t heard about it, the upcoming big day,’ said Dorjee with a grin that suggested more than usual weekend holiday.

‘No, I don’t have any idea. What you have got to tell. I think you’re excited so far. I think you are thinking or want to celebrate your birthday that you don’t have any grounded proof to claim so like myself. Don’t think to mimic so. But it’s okay if you wish so. I want to join.’

‘No, Ngodup. Not my birthday. But His Holiness the Dalai Lama has been shortlisted to award Nobel Peace Prize soon, right after three days. I have learned it’s an internationally acclaimed coveted prize. So the big day. I went to the camp this morning. The representative office has set out for putting up the green strip of cloth banners with praise-stanzas in whites across the roads and an old Commander jeep combing through the camps and monasteries announcing about the day and the prize. But you haven’t heard anything. That’s strange,’ said Dorjee now with a smile suggesting his being ahead.

‘Oh, that’s great. No, I haven’t learned anything but have been preoccupied with fighting with these troublesome bugs. Then how many days? You know?’ Ngodup was elated more with the knowledge of such accidental luck for having holidays.

‘I think three days break like Losar or Gag-ye. I am thinking to cycle.’

Ngodup was sure about it now. The strong kerosene smell muffled air inside was unbearable.  Dadul had been busy so far with his Gelug Board examinations to pass Geshe degree. He had been preparing rather vigorously for the last examinations next year with his study-group somewhere. As per his mother’s wish he was planning to go to Tibet after the title being conferred by the monastic abbot and the graduation ceremony marked by offerings made to the monks during the congregations on the day. That cost much for a simple monk. But he had been able to manage mostly from home in Lhasa and some from Ngodup’s home. Ngodup found him mostly reading those fat books and one of his study-group, a lanky one younger than Dadul but with rather easy-going air as his angled eyes spoke and his being bright pampered himself, often came to Dadul. Dadul regarded him as someone far learned one. When he came, they would discuss for hours sometimes while Ngodup, if he happened to be at home, listened blindly but could make out vaguely that Dadul was slow in learning.

‘Well, I have got things to do now. I should arrange my bed and bedding. Yeah, for the day. Do come to me. We will go to the camp together and attend the function in the morning. There must be such lazy function to mark the day. We should attend as the day is special for us. The air isn’t good inside too,’ said Ngodup.

‘It’s okay. Then I will help you to arrange it.’

‘No, I don’t need your help. It’s just easy. But you can leave and do come to me on the day.’

Dorjee left. Ngodup arranged his bed marked with dark patches and candle drops. His sun-burnt bedding smelt of strong rancid odor of bed-bugs discharges. He didn’t like his bedding with the quilt mattress that got infested with bugs. But today he was more animated in setting them back. He hadn’t intended to put them back that soon but he needed more time for thinking about the day. And towards the evening he learned more about it, especially from Dadul’s small black radio. Ngodup thought Dadul had learned about it much earlier but he hadn’t told him. Dadul had been aloof in terms of personal relation. They had never had an intimate conversation but complete taciturnity like he had been training Ngodup to be on his own. But now he was more preoccupied with his upcoming examinations that he took like the last barrier to pass through.

But when the day came marked by the morning function outside the representative office with the usual chore of raising the national flag up the iron post while singing national anthem followed by boring speeches and a few performances, the significance lay not in the usual chores or programs of such but in those faces celebrating the historic event just by sitting on the unpaved open yard in front of the simple clay tiles roofed representative office. In those brightened faces despite the beating sun darkening them secondly, especially those aged men and women who had waited and lived with the cadence of both lingering chronic hope and nascent ones marked by His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s gaining popularity across the world. But the lingering hope was virtually like waiting for a miracle as per their lassitude of being aged.

Ngodup and Dorjee took the place at one end of the yard next by a small mango tree. An aged man like in his late sixties with grey hair was seated a pace off them with many other aged ones from Old People Home. But he was the most active one, mostly talking alone. He was lanky and frail. His wizened face with bleary yet actively speaking eyes and the moving grey whiskers growing from a dark protruding mole on one end of his chin marked the height of his elation within. His bright half-sleeved shirt looked glaring over dark cotton trousers. His swiveling head above the rest around him and the broad straight shoulders confirmed his height. He was busy. Ngodup looked raptly at him while Dorjee listened to the speech being delivered by an Indian dignitary said as the president of Indo Tibetan Friendship Society.

‘Gyalwa Kheno, only you see! Good luck, good luck. That’s what I have been waiting for. I know I can go back to Tibet before I turn 95. I am 69 now, 26 years ahead. I have calculated beforehand. I know I am going to have at least 10 years to live in Tibet and die in my own land, my native place, Kham Jupa. I was 26, so young, when I first came into exile through Nathula. I am so happy today. You see! Do express yourselves like how I do. I can’t hide it inside. Tibet will gain freedom soon!’ He then became more animated like preparing to stand up and speak so loudly.

The aged woman, who looked older than him, seemed to be his wife. She was hunched back and small but actively mouthing something all the time punctuated by saying something vaguely. When she saw him preparing to do something embarrassing, she stopped him with a short shrilly note. He was subdued forthwith but his open hands moved up and down like silencing her. A few behind them smiled. But he was yet agitated like he wanted to say something aloud towards the dignitaries on the verandah. By looking at him Ngodup felt a pang of eye-opening jolt inside, such spontaneous hope he hadn’t seen in his own parents. But he remembered once his mother had pointed at the silhouettes of a far off range from their estate and said their home lay beyond them. Ngodup hadn’t had any idea then what she was talking about. So the day could be the turning point for him to get the basic idea of what he was, his generic status in the larger picture.

The remaining days and the celebrations were marked by screening Tibet related documentaries in the front yard of Loseling library building by the smiling monk like in his forties. The smiling monk, who Ngodup had seen actively walking around with camera and VCR recording camera, manned the color TV set on a low small table on the frontal concrete step and the connected black VCR device. He began each short documentary with an introductory speech. The spacious unpaved front yard was full. There were some men, women and small children present from the nearby camp. The West-made documentaries with the familiar footages depicting Chinese brutal atrocities like pale-green clad and cudgels wielded police attacking on the fleeing monks at Jokhang temple in Lhasa. The repeating harsh views of how those robotic cops slid down from ropes from the temple terrace on to the top floor verandah, how they chased those fleeing in thick maroon robes, how they hit them down with showy martial art skills and bound their hands with white ropes with such wild vigor, how they dragged them like logs… It was unbearable to see those cowering ones even with their hands bound behind, to see how their dark-red faces contorted in pains when those mindless cops hit their joints with black cudgels.

But it was a great day. Screening such footages was both like reminding to many and revealing to many as well. It was both to open eyes and enjoy the latter show, the one clip dedicated for the day by TIPA, a group of bright complexioned Tibetan women in dark Chuba and colorful Pangdhen before standing mikes signing the famous song Gawa La Dang Gawa La, Kyipa La Dang Kyipa La (Delighted and Happy). But the proper footage of brightly smiling His Holiness the Dalai Lama accepting the prize and delivering his milestone-speech with the serene expression was yet to come. So the day ended.

As Ngodup and Dorjee were walking back after the show at night on the last day, Ngodup was curious to learn about something.

‘Did you cycle?’

‘No, I couldn’t this time. I would do later like during next Losar.’ 

Real Game: Khyabtha

After the recitation test that had taken three days with more than 500 monks now (there were only not more than 300 monks when Ngodup first joined the monastery) the debate test was on its fourth day. The senior classes had done their tests (debate test was still carried out inside the prayer-hall but as per the influx of new comers it was to be arranged in two parts to save time and more parts later on). Now Takrig class had just begun. Ngodup, Tashi and Dorjee were seated on the same row just at the end of the front row, as the pending ones had to be gathered forward. They were all nervous. Dadul had prepared something for Ngodup but he found it too simple. He hadn't been able to prepare better one. Tashi was more nervous, as his shiny sweated protruding forehead suggested the struggle within. Dorjee seemed normal. Gelek was seated on the back row. It was him who was more animated. Those beside him egged on him to be more frenzied.

‘Gelek, just think you are a boxer readying for the ring. It’s your turn next. Well, I will massage your back,’ said one beside and began doing so.

Gelek was more animated. He raised his hands up like a fighter readying for the ring when the other pretended to massage his back. His mimicking so was through watching Rocky during a past Gag-ye, recess days after Summer Retreat. Ngodup watched him and found him like out of his mind. But when his named was read out after the ring, Gelek stood up shakily. His bare feet looked tacky as they touched the dark slab floor. The wide mid aisle with rows of faces on either side and the abbot and ex-abbots at the head, he was bewitched dumb but he could begin something. He went straight by plunging his head towards the sitting one at mike rather than saying in the standing mike that now and then gave off shrill sharp sounds. The disciplinarian interrupted by asking him to stand up and say in the mike. He did so when his voices shook. The later 15 minutes duration was like he had gone all stiff and his voice frozen. But after sitting down and getting hold on to a familiar phrase in five minutes he came to real fighter life. His voice raised, animated almost like he had been before he stood up. He began to repeat the same phrase again and again like he had found the secret of debating. It happened just after the one standing, an older one from Tibet with heavy accent of Amdo dialect, repeated the same phrase twice.

‘Dhoe, Dhoe every possibility is reason. You know how clear it’s,’ said Gelek by pressing his mouth near the mike. He was taking the full advantage by not letting the phrase slip away from his mouth as to prove that he had got something to say, that he had learned. He was like in a trance amid rising roar of laughter. But he didn't care; he was lost so. He just kept repeating the same phrase to the complete wonder of the one standing, who was like lost himself, as he wasn’t given time to carry on but to stand and smile. So Gelek could carry on till the bell rang when he got up proudly and walked back in a measured slow gait.

‘Oh, such shame. But he couldn’t feel it. Look at him,’ said Dorjee who was embarrassed instead. 

Then Tashi’s name was called. The one sitting was still lost like he couldn't believe it yet. He was still smiling like being hypnotized. So it saved Tashi who could carry on his memorized piece of debate in low voice. Then it was Ngodup’s turn. He was pleased. He had talked with Tashi to answer slowly if he happened to stand to debate with him. After the initial nervousness marked by not feeling what he was doing that lasted for less than a minute Ngodup debated economically to pass the time. Tashi did as per Ngodup’s wish, but Ngodup found him not knowing certain points. It was like bonus gift for him to recite himself in deliberate slowness. So when the bell rang, what he had been waiting for, it was like completing the test, as what he feared was to stand. They would say answering was easy as one could choose between Dhoe, Chechir and Takmadup, but no such options for questioning when one has to manage everything as per the trend of answering and that by standing among that many.

When Ngodup returned back to his place, he found Gelek was still excited as backed by those beside him. Dorjee had stood up and begun debating. Dorjee had such guts to be able to speak up and stand up among many. He wasn't of the rest type but his poorness was of being more open and thereby being sort of over-confident that overlooked learning in depth but only with something to say with a scintillating touch. But in the risky game of debating one’s weak spots could be revealed so soon and, especially, a grandiloquent narration has to be honed to the ground. Even if he was confident and could debate loudly like he didn't need mike, he had to bear every embarrassment when he missed or said something funny. So Dorjee was the type who had extra shield, that he wasn't the type weakened by embarrassment. He could fight it back rather brazenly and with humor as well. All he cared was to debate loudly and ‘with his head raised.’ Dorjee did so to the wonder of the rest gaping at him. He did so despite some laughter.

When Dorjee returned back, Gelek was calm like he had been subdued. Ngodup was baffled.

‘Oh, Dorjee, you did so well. Only you can do so. I can’t gather such courage,’ said Ngodup.

‘Ngodup, you can do it. It’s up to you. I don’t have any such feeling of embarrassment. If others can do it, why I can’t? I think so. You know one has to work for it to gain advantage,’ said Dorjee while he was still getting settled after the heat of his feat.

Gelek was casting low glances at Dorjee. Dorjee was sated as he fanned himself with the end of his Zhen, the maroon strip of cloth. They were all so pleased as they had made through the most troubling obstacle of the year. 

Thanks Facebook!

I have rated as my share for my 'facebook experience' as for the pop up that appeared suddenly on my mobile device with only five grey stars to be tap-filled. I could give 6 but there were only five. It's partly pleasing to dwell in this ultra-fake virtual world known as social networking. I remember one of my fb pals wrote once: 'I see all of you are fake here.' It was before he went hibernated here not long after. I happened to take his remarks rather scornfully as rather subjective. But I have happened to see his points clearer now. But I have found a thrill, a learning aspect there as well. I have found it is like one of staple diets for a few to move on through ranting at, rapping out, lamenting squarely or with minimum artistic touch and, when circumstances permit, crooning gaily with rather infantile touch at once simple but at once complex as the nature of the entity. But it's a social cushion after all for millions or billions. I wanted to comment so if there was a space for comment but there wasn't. Thanks facebook!

Creative Debating: Khyabtha

It was after memorizing a few pages of the text of ‘One’s holds’ (Rangluk), namely the writer’s holds of his unique way of holding his grounds as per Gomang Textual Interpretations. The whole text falls into the three categories: Countering the Others’ Grounds, Presenting One’s Holds and Proving them through Debates. It was after memorizing a few pages of One’s Holds on The Collected Basic Works on Pranama by Thukse Ngawang Tashi that the master named Jangchup had begun to teach, the basic means of answering and questioning in his creative way. Ngodup had learned no other teachers taught so. Jangchup, as per his sharpness and creativity, had thought to teach the basic means of answering and questioning by bringing common terms like Mug, Flask, Bowl, etc. rather than using the textual terms (Pillar, Urn, the four basic colors (Blue, Yellow, White and Red), Rabbit Horn as an example of impossibility, etc. are textual terms.). So he began by using the three basic subjects of questioning (The Topic (Choechen), Its Attribute (Selwa) and The Reason (Tak)) by asking as ‘Is Mug Flask?’ There is means of answering positively and negatively. The next is like ‘It’s Flask because it’s Pillar.’ So through such both the basic means of questioning and answering are introduced. There are five means of answering: Yes (Dhoe), No (Chicher) for answering if the topic is attribute or not; Reason Rejected (Takmadup) as the topic doesn’t conform to the reason; Reason non-containing (Makhyab) as the reason doesn’t wholly contain Attribute like A sentient being is adept because he or she is human (every human can’t be adept as there are humans who aren’t adept); Reason invalid (Galkhyab) as the reason stands in stark opposite to the attribute like A sentient being is enlightened because he or she is human (a human isn't enlightened at all).  So master Jangchup used basic common terms with an expression of jest and solemnity to engage the students in funny yet learning way of debating. It was really easy too. Ngodup found it funny so far.

It was after learning such basic means of answering and questioning, when master Jangchup would ask himself first and then let the students, not more than 10 in his small room with a bed and bookcase, engage themselves by asking one to carry on so with the other beside. He would listen and smile. He would be more animated when he found the process funny and progressing. The Australian monk came later after such class. Ngodup always found he had already arrived when they arrived. It was that master Jangchup had been learning English from him in the form of conversing with him in English.

There was a Ladhaki novice named Gelek who was two years older than Ngodup. He was his classmate at master Jangchup. He was sort of active practical, who worked hard but poor in studies as of his lagging intuition. He had poor memory and learning sense in funny way. It was his protruding upper lip that marked his speaking first and asking funny questions. It was his active movements and gait that marked his arriving first and going back ahead as well.

One day someone, a senior Ladhaki monk, happened to know that Gelek had been attending class at master Jangchup. The senior was sort of thrilled, as he must have thought that Gelek wasn’t the type for such learning for his tendency towards being more extrovert, namely distracted, through his haste and boisterousness.

‘Gelek I was pleased to learn so. Then how is the class. What you have been learning so far?’

‘Oh, it’s okay. We haven’t gone that far. We are still at the stage of Mug and Flask,’ said Gelek innocently or sincerely.

The senior monk was sort of both taken aback and regaled by such joke. Gelek was transfixed to find such comic touch in his remarks. The senior one later told a few others who passed it on to many others. It became a local joke at which Gelek could laugh after years. 

Thanks: For 2013

Now the process whizzes, the fold rather shallow, the alternating suspense-fizz fleeting like I see the game in depth as shown by my age and soberness. The paining tethered soberness just perceives the play yet sprightly but fleeting now. The impact heavier as per the cost of this blind illusion that has been haunting like a shadowy spell whose bewitching  cast ghostly creepy and sneaky. The voice I can hear for my inadequacy that rumbles before a second such cast so beguiling, so soothing, so painful. And I heard the same voice when I went through your writing today. It is enshrined there. Thanks, I could see it at least, the cost of this illusion—the demanding note pummeled it all black and blue but still there, the eternal obstinacy, the root of ruination. By just clutching the organ of this huge folly I mimic a sort of discovery but mere farce, mere sham. It is just, as I found now, speedier to reach the abyssal paroxysm marked by fiery fury to debilitation. But I saw what really flows from this gullible obstinacy, just like a closer glimpse this time that’s a gift for me. Thanks.  

Blurry

I have stenciled a blurry image of yours, just blurry as I don't have such high expectation now. It's to present on in some way, to wait and see, to give time. It's to see if any fate-wrought could be there despite the haste with which I have constructed the blurry image of yours as blurry my status is, as blurry the play of fate, as blurry the whole game is... To take for granted is what I can't do now like to deceive myself with the desperate sham of not seeing myself. 

A Personal Obituary

The passing away of a great personage both sends a wave of chill down my useless spine and, as I panic, presages a darker prospect ahead that I can't masquerade as not feeling so... But the lights, which had been cast upon, were cast, are cast and to be cast upon remain through eternity, even through doomsday because the refined truth shines ever and ever. It is more than losing my own parents. He is the father of all peace-equality-humanity-loving at large. But to pick up or follow, at least serendipitously stumbling on, the refined footsteps of truths (including justices) matters for the universal sense deep down there latent or awakened.