How I hate official dinners...mainly because, I can never take it as natural. I can never bring out my true self in the gathering of officials I cannot take to be showing natural selves too.
As the guests part, a host says to me, 'I think you didn't enjoy.' I told her that I did enjoy and I couldn't eat much because just before the dinner, I had noodles in town. That is true. I did.
As the people blabber, I quietly smile to myself and wonder what truth there is in so much chatter that people utter just so that they could be marked wise. In truth, I know, they would rather prefer to talk of wine and women, of pleasure and sex, or rather, of accumulated wealth and success. But, I do enjoy listening to all these talks. They simmer inside me only to come out without much effect.
Some people mark me talkative -- but they are people who know me, who I have come to trust as good friends, to whom I can open my heart and not worry it will melt only to be hurt. And these are people with whom I can talk the whole night or laugh my lungs out. But official dinners! Man, I really hate it when I have to sit in attention, look here and there in wide eyes, or in fake smiles, just because, there is nothing else I feel good about, or natural about.
I know this is a good chance to build relationship, to make acquaintance -- for this helps us get our work done. Everyone says, 'ngo shey drin shey' and it does work wonders, but when you have to fake, man, my heart cry out too loud and there is nothing else I know better but to smile.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I’ve been running to and fro hospital for the past two days. The day my sister was admitted in the orthopedic ward in JDWNR Hospital, I noticed that very noticeable face of an elderly woman (we call such people ‘wangchan’ – roughly to mean person exuding power, influence, force and control). Then I found that I know her attendant. She, I found later is her daughter. We studied together in Monggar but she didn’t seem to remember me well.
For the past two days and nights my sister and I have been at the hospital, we became quite a good friend with her and many others. She can talk so deliciously that you can’t help but listen. She seems like a ‘Dasho Ama,’ if you know what I mean. Later I was to find that her husband was a DEO. He retired and now they live in their village in Tashiyangtse.
My sister whispered to me last night that she could finally remember that she had met this ‘wangchan woman’ in Tashigang hospital many years back. I was in class six then. My sister was finally hospitalized, upon finding that no ‘rimdro’ could cure her. She almost died. That time, this woman was at the hospital attending her sick mother. My sister remembers her as a beautiful, talkative young woman.
And today their beds are next to each other. I thought, ‘this must be tendrel.’ They met many years back because they had something called ‘tendrel.’ Simply, they were destined to. And today they meet again, because of the same reasons: their causes and conditions for meeting have been ripened and so they meet. I was like, ‘wow’. I thought, such intricately, truly wonderful phenomenon. We can never really run away from the truth. I thought, yes, even such small things show that we are all interconnected somehow. So then, how can we even think that we can live for our own and not worry about others?
I must admit that before the day could break, my sister and this woman had so much to share. I think my sleep was disturbed. In my half conscious mind, I could hear each word they uttered. They shared their family history to the cause and effect to a few small gossips. I found that this woman has three siblings including herself. She has six children. Then it suddenly clicked. I heard from here and there, from small talks that her family comes from a very rich, kind of aristocratic family line.
And what is there to say? I was surprised beyond shock when I knew that she was somehow related to me. Meaning, I found that her sister is the present wife of my husband’s father. So? I know, I would ask that same question. But somehow, I felt this phenomenon of interdependence rose there in front of me to show me something. I know this concept so well intellectually, but have I lived with it well? I thought I have tried well. But in stark truth, it lay there.
I thought, my husband’s father’s wife must be some forceful, powerful looking woman too. And if so, there is no wonder that this coward physically man-appearing had no guts to look his son in the eye. Neither the courage to hold his hand when he grew up. But I have no grudge whatsoever to this wonderful, sweet-talking woman. We have started sharing what small things we have for meals and snacks.
But I can’t help wonder, why on earth do I have to face the other side of the mirror when my husband has grown up to be more man than his father? When I have come to see him as a man having more courage than his father seemed to possess? But, I think, this has a reason. Maybe before my sister is discharged, she might tell this woman that my husband is his brother-in-law’s son. So what? I would rather love to see her reaction.