Pledge for Menstrual Hygiene

Menstruation is nothing more than a biological change in women’s body; nothing to be stereotyped, discriminated and looked down.

It’s everyone’s responsibility. 

My personal reasons why we tie the red ribbon on our right arm; support the right of women to be treated equally, no matter what. It also shows the right of every man to support this and pledge to be supportive irrespective of who and what you are. My perceptions may not be true to others but I would like to believe and support with my intuition and perspective.

Our strong cultural, traditional and religious belief treat it otherwise. While to some extent it is agreeable, especially on the religious ground (even though doesn’t give a strong basis), it’s time we break this silence and pledge to support Menstruation hygiene.

During my high school days, even it might have been the similar experiences that whenever a woman had a period, we would make sure that she is kept at a faraway place. Nobody would agree to sit together on the same bench, even the bench mate would deny to sit until it stops.

How would you have felt, if it was you, and I?

Unimaginable pain! It would have broken my heart beyond healing. And most of us, men, would have denied to come to school starting next day. But women, they are strong, even the strongest.

Besides excruciating pain already from the Menstrual period, she fights the discrimination, being looked down and being alienated. 

Were we not aware of supporting it? Yes! Were we not educated enough to understand the pain associated with it and not discriminate? Yes! Were there not enough awareness among the people? Yes.

But why is it still happening?

We don’t have anything that makes a strong basis. Everyone accepts that it has been the same those days that’s why it has to be the same because we are dealing with the same thing. No! I say no to this because things change, people change and our mindset must change. Change for the better and support women.

True that this discrimination to Menstruation isn’t just in Bhutan, it’s everywhere, infact the entire world, and everyone is fighting to break the silence. It’s an undeniable fact that a lot have been achieved and better changes are in the sleeves. When the rest of the world could do this, break the silence and support their women, why can’t we? Why can’t we support our own women? We can and we must, not because we pity them, and others are doing, but because Menstruation is just a biological change in their body and it doesn’t change anything.  It’s our mindset and mentality that have made all this differences and we must change our mindset.

Now how can we (especially men) pledge to support this?

It’s neither a big deal, nor a herculean task. Everyone, irrespective of age, profession, gender, ethnic group, nationality, religion, and diversity can do it. Lend and helping hand to your partner, sisters and friends, whoever is Menstruating. It can be shopping, cooking, household chores, feeding and preparing children to school, baby-sitting, laundry and many more.

And always ask, if you could do anything for her. As simple as that!

Everyone knows this but at times, we tend to forget things and give less or no consideration. No matter how intelligent and perfect a person is, constant reminder is always necessary.

I hope this simple writing will remind everyone.

P.S: I am not a health specialist, no leader, no commander, preacher and no one, but a common man, who support Menstrual Hygiene. You should too.

Khegpa, the Head Hunter

A tale of a time long gone, not even to the nearest of men's remembrance, a mother left her only daughter at home, Tshering Zangmo by the name while she went to fetch firewood in the nearest forest. As was the usual practice for a single mother to keep her daughter away from the exhaustion and weariness of climbing the mountains and valleys, she left her all by herself at their makeshift home.

And unexpectedly, she took quite a long time to return home that day. And the fact was obvious that the firewood at a nearby place was not enough for her load.

As usual, she reached home, tired and fatigued with a bunch of firewood enough for another week or so. The first thing the mother did was a motherly instinct, look for her daughter. She wanted to make sure that she had looked after herself well, while she was away.

'Tshering, Tshering,' she called out loud to her daughter. Silence prevailed at every corner of the place. She panicked and ran here and there, looking for her, but all in vain. Nobody in the village had the slightest clue about Tshering's whereabouts.

No, she never did go with any of the girls in the village anywhere because she would not return with any of the people that the mother knew in the village.

Not losing hope, the mother waits at the door of her makeshift for her daughter’s return singing the hymn of

ཤོག་ཤོག་ ཚེ་རིང་བཟང་མོ་ཤོག

ཨ་མའི་བུ་མོ་ཚེ་རིང་བཟང་མོ་ཁྱོད་ཤོག

But a heart-ripping rumor was the mother heard that Tshering was believed to be abducted by Khegpa, the Head Hunter. And the legend has it that Tshering Zangmo on the other hand could hear her mother sing from the dark cell under the bridge. Perhaps the waves of the river had flown her mother's sorrow. Imprisoned and let to be infested by the spirit and the dark force of the bridge, Tshering Zangmo is believed to be dead, whining inside the dark cell.

It’s still believed that a person abducted is kept inside the dark cell under the bridge to please the spirit and the deity of the place so that the bridge will be protected by the dark force.

My grandparents used to say that Khegpas were just like us, but wore masks featuring different faces in order to hide their identity. I still wonder if they had seen one. And every time Khegpa, the Head Hunter becomes the talk of the town, it sends the people early inside their homes. Hunters would return home early. A hunt unsuccessful won’t be a problem amidst the fear of Khegpa, herders would bring their herd early, before dusk and nobody would travel far enough. But every night, village men, strong and bravest of all would guard the village at every entry and exit of the village with poison arrows and bows, even the sword.

We would feel safer in our homes.

But it is still a matter of wonder about why would they hunt heads and what makes the human head so significant that it is being hunted down every time there's new dam construction. But we don't have any significant documentation evidence to prove that whatever people say is true. And fact if it be, there would be countless head hunts because Bhutan's geographical landscape and hydroelectric projects have immense provisions of bridge, tunnel, and dam constructions, but the fear of Khegpa or the Head Hunter is very occasional.

But the fear associated with Head Hunter and the disappearance of people mightbe related to the stories we all heard as childrens.

Some stories still make us remember the tricks played by village men to capture the Head Hunters during the olden times.  By letting the children play outside to lure the head Hunters, it is said that the Head Hunters were shot with poisoned arrows from the hideout, capturing and killing them on the spot.

Or is it on the basis of another oral story, Khegpa or the Head Hunter comes into the limelight when a few people, who ran out of provisions at home spread the fear in people so that they get enough time and place to steal. Usually, during those fearful times, people tend to assemble and be in groups at large and spacious homes. This gives Khegpas or the head Hunters the best chance to steal.

Even though the stories of child abduction by so-called Khegpa is a fear in everybody's mind, how the human head becomes necessary at the dam and bridge construction is still a mystery.

The Award

A usual evening it was, on the 3rd of May. I was attending to the needful of my little hero; an evening bath.

“Chayku, you have a call,” shouted my wife from outside. I ignored it and just carried on having some fun with my son in the bathtub.

Just as I finished with my boy, I checked my phone and there it was.  A surprise indeed.

“Congratulations. You won an award!” the message read. It was from a colleague who went to attend the Fourth Annual Journalism Award at Namgay Heritage Conference Hall.

I was speechless and said nothing. Just smiled at my boy.

‘EXCELLENCE IN JOURNALISM’ for the ‘TALK SHOW of the YEAR.’ 

Such an honour! 

For a person like me who isn’t so familiar with awards and trophies, it was such an overwhelming moment. For every heart and soul I put in my work for the last three years, it really honoured me that somebody out there thought that my work deserves an award like this.

It’s my dream to be a journalist; explore the world telling stories and letting people know, it was something I thought was so brave to do. Ever since I joined BBS in 2015, all my dreams appeared infront of me, just like that. But the world I was going to work for was completely a bizarre one. New people, new technologies, different platform and the most competitive environment, I felt too small. And I let the waves carry me through any course it took.

The journey so far was tough, challenging, enriching and full of memories. Felt the jerks most of the times, encountered disgruntled faces, but those faces I met which kept smiling, encouraging and inspiring were the most wonderful times and it’s those faces that kept me going and working until this respite. And the break is finally a gorgeous one.

People today, especially young into the professions like me encounter so many situations. More than the good world that encourage, most of us are encircled in the vicious self-centered world, but it feels worth it, to cross every odd and achieve the goal, despite disgruntles and bars.

Journalists don’t have weekends, public holidays, special occasions and Losars and we can't make the most out of very little off days we get, but nobody talks about it, nobody complains and nobody cries foul because work is more important than foul cries and complains. Journalists get lots of pressure at home. Having to work during weekends, holidays and Losars is obviously a pain in the ***, but can’t cry either. During Losar celebrations, a family member is missing at the lunch table. That can either be a journalist, police, army, health workers, or few (which I can’t remember exactly). A painful scene indeed. But this is how we work and how we are happy.

The endnote, an award like this just proves that every hard work invested is worth it. Even though my colleagues are equally impressive and more talented, I guess luck favoured me this time and I am all grateful for the honour.

I would like to share this award with my wife Dawa Choden and my little boy Khamsum Padma Dradroel for not complaining while coming to work on during off-days and letting me be ‘Who I am,’ and all my colleagues at the BBS.

I thank everyone who BELIEVED in Me!

TEACHER

It was in the year 2001 when I first heard the word, ‘Teacher’s Day.’ I was in fifth standard then. When the head master of the school announced that the 2^nd May will be celebrated as teacher’s day, pupil went on whispering on each other’s ears, except the ones at the front of the line. They would not stir, let alone talk and whisper as they had the attention of every teacher in the assembly.

“Besides the usual celebration of the Birth Anniversary of the Third Druk Gyalpo, Jigme Dorji Wangchuck, it’s the day to pay tribute and gratitude to your teachers,” the headmaster continued. And silence prevailed everywhere.

None of us in the school had a bit of clue about what was the day all about. And nobody had any idea of what should have been done. So it passed like the headmaster had never announced during the assembly. And exactly the same thing happened the following year; just nothing, but a day off from the study.

It was when I reached the seventh standard that I had the slightest clue about the day. 
A little contribution from each student for a small tea party and a simple gift as a token of gratitude to the teachers. We liked the idea of decorating the classrooms with chart papers with different wordings on it. 2^nd May started to have more sense since then. And I just realized how so dumb we had been during our primary school years.

So, Teacher’s Day, slowly it began to form the shape, colour and taste in our mind and the essence of the day was slowly getting into our bone marrow. And now I believe that each and every student understands what it is all about, that the simplest of the students’ efforts to show how grateful they are can move any teacher and bring tears in their eyes.

TEACHER, for Tenderness, Empowering, Able, Changer, Hardworking, Enriching and Resourceful, this is what I look up to for a teacher. A man I know closely once told me that every person who teaches something new or who shows the right path is a teacher. He need not necessarily has to come to school and sit with bunch of kids to be qualified enough for a teacher, but teacher, they are everywhere around us.

A teacher is poor yet rich. 

Poor because teacher doesn’t earn a good money out of the heavy work they do, but rich in knowledge. Knowledge to brighten the clouded minds of others. I know this because I had been a teacher once, in a far flung land of smiles, Thailand. Even though every bit of hard work a teacher puts deserves equal incentives, they are modest enough not to ask and fight for it, because the joy and pleasure they reap in educating the dumbest of minds is enough of reward.  If a teacher is paid for every extra work, then the teachers would become the richest in the entire world. But teachers, they are kind enough to let go and be kindest human ever. 

I have realized in those two years that the moment you decides to be a teacher, you decide to be a parent, a guardian, a master, a preacher, and lot more. Name what professions you may, being a teacher is being everyone, being the Universe.
  

In Bhutan teaching profession is considered cheap. Even in the job market, if there’s nothing left, we tend to opt for teaching profession, not by passion but under serious compulsion of being jobless.  But I say this, by taking the risk of becoming a teacher, we go one step further in life and we begin to rise. That’s it, the very first step in learning and imparting what we already know. Because by becoming a teacher, willingly or unwillingly, we begin to learn the road to perfection begins just by deciding to be a teacher.

I have heard people say this over and over again that ‘Teachers live poor life but they die Rich’ and this is the truest words of the wise ever.

"May the ignorance be cleared by a wise word of a teacher. May we all rise, together with our teacher."