newspaper. And who takes newspapers seriously in Bhutan anyways? People I know buy it for Crosswords and Sudoku, all delightful toilet engagements.
My grievances are worded about in numerous seminars and conferences with added emphasis on proceedings and prudence. If holding these brain storming sessions produced solutions, we wouldn’t have problems and well, I wouldn’t be here penning my part!
But I’d rather have hindsight and do things better than plan puzzling panoramas from which we stand isolated. Foresight is for the sages, me and my lot; we want our honest daily wages.
You see, my dear landlord picks up the rent right on cue; the new month’s every second day. I’ve stopped making requests about the water shortage and the pathetic plumbing.
These are minor glitches compared to the upkeep of his expensive watches. Then I’ve a run in with the police. It’s getting embarrassing; I don’t know how to handle them anymore. Be nice and they swagger. Be firm and they take you for a dumb bum. From the jailhouse (on one busy night, 38 bed equalled 115 detainees, leaving one fresh fish to re-ponder the inhumane predicament of the inmates in Memeylhakha.
He now believes the canines have it better!) The next onestop shop is the courtroom. Shakespeare, along with the Grim Reaper, awaits you there. A virtual drama unfolds with righteous tones and some fine dialogues.
The brouhaha carries on to the workplace too. They count the late minutes minus the extra-hours. It’s like what my friend Harry says, “Those who have must get more; for those who don’t have anyways wouldn’t know.” Neat indeed!
I’ve had it with red-tape. If I come across one more ‘bureaucratic late-ape’ I’m going to a cave and meditate. When you write, there’s supposed to be an economy of words and generosity of expression.
The reverse is what you get at most ceremonial gates; an abundance of wealthy excuses and poverty of action. I’ve been feeling sick lately. The diagnosis was road-rage, brought about by dangerous doses of chauffeured pride, agitated cabbies and wanton women driving normal commuters to the edge. I’m not a male chauvinistic pig but ladies, driving demands a turn-around of your beautiful svelte necks.
Label me cynical but here are some more of the accumulated cumulus that block and cloud my sky. Is the RGoB the sole provider of jobs, security, prestige and paychecks? Is the Royal Bhutan Police consecrated with powers we don’t know about other than to serve and to protect?
Do judges mounted on high pedestals ever come down to earth when sitting on cases? Is the judiciary married? Is GNH a harp or a flute? Have politicians forgotten the chewed up grassroots? Is corruption honest and hardworking? Is the ACC a news network like CNN and the BBC? Is the private sector open and publicized? Is ‘fronting’ the same as an LBW? Does the TCC require a celebration to keep and maintain the city clean and green? And just what the heck is a ‘meeting’?
The simpler things are, the better they tend to work and the better they work, the happier you feel.
In the end, we are all goods and consumers, perishable ones at that. You sell me services and we barter, bargain or negotiate. We don’t do shoddy deals. If we used our heads we’d find that you don’t necessarily have to run a company to learn the simple art of being nice, helpful and make a profitable name for yourself and the organization you represent.
The RGoB is the kingdom’s biggest conglomerate, there is so much potential in it. The business they have is in running and managing the country and its resources, with people being the most valuable assest.
So should you hear a fellow citizen yelp; at offices, in lawhouses or seeking help with some procedure that’s under process, remember, he’s paying for the help.