Every time I take out the small silver Dorji pendant studded
with tiny turquoise stones, I smile, thinking of the person who gifted it to
me.
When we had to go to Paro in Bhutan for a sojourn of two years, people who had been there before told me that I was heading for an extremely lonely life. I was told that I would not be able to find work there and would have to spend my days inboredom.
Solitude was nothing new for me. I am very comfortable in silent and peaceful abodes. Moreover, the rebel in me always wakes up when I am told that something cannot be or should not be done. For those who tried to dishearten me, I reassured them that if I could not find any other occupation, I would resort to writing poetry.
Certain instances in life have led me to accept that the best way to make a wish come true is to believe that it is going to happen. I put that theory of mine to task there too. I did find a job in Bhutan and worked for a year. I also made some good friends; most of whom I could stay connected with, thanks to social networking sites. Among them, Tashang Mo stands out as a smooth and shiny blue turquoise.
The market in Paro consists of shops on either side of a road about a hundred metres long. On some days, when I used to be low on my spirits, I used to call for the vehicle and go to the Paro market. I would walk by the side of the road that was mostly occupied by street dogs, playing children and the elderly who sat and chewed their doma (pan) to idle away the time. They would smile with their doma stained teeth as if they were born only to sit and smile. It was a laidback scene; soothing and revitalizing.
Occasionally, I would peep into a shop or two and buy something insignificant just to strike a conversation with the shop owner. Indians, known for their persuasive haggling skills, are not well entertained by most of the shopkeepers.
One day while I stood outside gazing at the different colourful masks hung on the wall of a handicraft shop, a very pleasing lady from inside called me in. The wares of the shop ranged from wooden painted artifacts, paintings and wall hangings, statues in Yak bone and jewelry in silver and semi precious stones from Nepal and Tibet. She was as interested to talk to me as I was to know about her. I did not buy anything from her that day but after that, every time I went to the market, I would go to her shop to say hello to her and pick up something from there that stirred my curiosity that day. It pleased her that I remembered her name, Tashang Mo, for she felt that it was not an easy name for a foreigner to remember.
Tales of woe could be read behind Tashang Mo’s smiling face, which she occasionally let me comprehend. Many women whom I have come across in different stages of my life have taught me to stop ranting over small issues and accept things as they are which would help us to stay peaceful and composed. It is not easy and can be learnt only by enduring difficult situations in life. Tashang Mo shines to this day in my heart like the soft glow of moonlight; gentle and chaste.
Before leaving Paro, I visited her again with a small gift. In return, she pressed a pouch on to my hand with a silver pendant inside, one which I used to admire in her shop. It was an expensive one and I would not have accepted it had I not seen her tearful eyes. She disarmed me with her love and innocence. I could not get in touch with her after that. When my husband visited the place a year ago I asked him to find her but he could not locate her shop. I do not know where she is or how she is now but I keep sending my love and good wishes to her.
I treasure that pendant which she gave me, as the memoir of a friendship that has left a tender mark of noble love in my mind.
When we had to go to Paro in Bhutan for a sojourn of two years, people who had been there before told me that I was heading for an extremely lonely life. I was told that I would not be able to find work there and would have to spend my days inboredom.
Solitude was nothing new for me. I am very comfortable in silent and peaceful abodes. Moreover, the rebel in me always wakes up when I am told that something cannot be or should not be done. For those who tried to dishearten me, I reassured them that if I could not find any other occupation, I would resort to writing poetry.
Certain instances in life have led me to accept that the best way to make a wish come true is to believe that it is going to happen. I put that theory of mine to task there too. I did find a job in Bhutan and worked for a year. I also made some good friends; most of whom I could stay connected with, thanks to social networking sites. Among them, Tashang Mo stands out as a smooth and shiny blue turquoise.
The market in Paro consists of shops on either side of a road about a hundred metres long. On some days, when I used to be low on my spirits, I used to call for the vehicle and go to the Paro market. I would walk by the side of the road that was mostly occupied by street dogs, playing children and the elderly who sat and chewed their doma (pan) to idle away the time. They would smile with their doma stained teeth as if they were born only to sit and smile. It was a laidback scene; soothing and revitalizing.
Occasionally, I would peep into a shop or two and buy something insignificant just to strike a conversation with the shop owner. Indians, known for their persuasive haggling skills, are not well entertained by most of the shopkeepers.
One day while I stood outside gazing at the different colourful masks hung on the wall of a handicraft shop, a very pleasing lady from inside called me in. The wares of the shop ranged from wooden painted artifacts, paintings and wall hangings, statues in Yak bone and jewelry in silver and semi precious stones from Nepal and Tibet. She was as interested to talk to me as I was to know about her. I did not buy anything from her that day but after that, every time I went to the market, I would go to her shop to say hello to her and pick up something from there that stirred my curiosity that day. It pleased her that I remembered her name, Tashang Mo, for she felt that it was not an easy name for a foreigner to remember.
Tales of woe could be read behind Tashang Mo’s smiling face, which she occasionally let me comprehend. Many women whom I have come across in different stages of my life have taught me to stop ranting over small issues and accept things as they are which would help us to stay peaceful and composed. It is not easy and can be learnt only by enduring difficult situations in life. Tashang Mo shines to this day in my heart like the soft glow of moonlight; gentle and chaste.
Before leaving Paro, I visited her again with a small gift. In return, she pressed a pouch on to my hand with a silver pendant inside, one which I used to admire in her shop. It was an expensive one and I would not have accepted it had I not seen her tearful eyes. She disarmed me with her love and innocence. I could not get in touch with her after that. When my husband visited the place a year ago I asked him to find her but he could not locate her shop. I do not know where she is or how she is now but I keep sending my love and good wishes to her.
I treasure that pendant which she gave me, as the memoir of a friendship that has left a tender mark of noble love in my mind.
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