A Baby in a Backpack to Bhutan: An Australian Family in the Land of the Thunder Dragon

by Bunty Avieson

  Dzongkha is a complex language and many Bhutanese videos portray it badly, mixing it with modern idiom, and even though foreigners won’t notice, it is a matter of national pride that Travellers & Magicians gets it right. This audience of scholars, senior bureaucrats and ministers will be the harshest critics.

  After the screening there is much discussion about what aspects of Bhutan the film will present to the world at large, but on one thing the men seem to agree: the Dzongkha is concise and accurate. The big boys give it the nod.

  The final premiere, in the evening, is for the teachers and students of the Royal Institute of Management, as a thank you for providing the venue. They crowd into the hall, spilling out of seats and onto the floor, full of enthusiasm and curiosity.

  Thimphu has a video hall that shows Bhutanese videos, and an old-style cinema (the Lugor) that shows mainly Hindi movies or the occasional Hollywood blockbuster. This group are the most frequent patrons of both, and are familiar with the language of cinema. They represent the modern face of Bhutan.

  The students laugh loudly and lustily, completely captivated by the story and the characters. It is a huge hit and they leave on a high, discussing with relish the nuances and layers of meaning. Many say they want to see it again, immediately.

  In just two days, Travellers & Magicians has been seen, approved and appreciated by a cross-section of Bhutanese. It will now open in Thimphu’s two cinemas and by the end of its two-week run, most of the 47 000 residents should have seen it at least once.

  Monday morning is hectic again for Phuntsho Wangmo. Mal is chasing her to sit down and do accounts, and I want to get her alone for a private chat, but she has the rest of the week’s screenings to organise so neither of us has much luck. All of Thimphu want to be among the first to see the film and tickets are sold out. In such a close-knit community, everybody is connected and she’s feeling the pressure of people asking for favours.

  Kathryn and I head home in a taxi with Wesel Wangmo. She tells me she has to leave on the bus tomorrow, to get back to school. It was a lot of travelling for such a short visit but she says it was worth it to see Kathryn.

  Back at Taba, I finally get the chance to catch up with Karma Chokyi. I am dying to know how her exams went and, most importantly, how the love affair with Dr Thinley Norbu is progressing. We sprawl across Karma Yangki’s waterbed and settle in for a catch-up.

  The exams were okay, she says, and after they finished, she and her cousin Karma Yogini went back to the village for their much-anticipated holiday to visit their grandmother. They had a wonderful time and, best of all, she found a piece of paper that showed when each family member was born. She is twenty-six years old, born in the Year of the Snake, she tells me proudly. There is enough information for her sister Pema Bidha (the one studying astrology in India) to do her chart.

  After the holiday she took a short-term job with the government doing survey work, which took her all over the countryside interviewing people in their homes. One of the places she and the rest of her team stayed was near the clinic where Dr Thinley is now working.

  They spent a little time together but, she says with a grimace, the romance has petered out. She shrugs: ‘I don’t think he is the one.’

  Part of the problem seems to be his attitude to her working outside the home once they were married. He indicated that he would prefer she didn’t work, and that worried her. But also, most telling of all, he just didn’t make her heart beat faster.

  Karma Chokyi wonders where she will meet new prospects, living here with her sisters. But she’s not concerned enough to settle for something that isn’t quite right. Instead she is looking to her career and plans to take another job doing survey work.

  It takes just a day for the girls to feel comfortable with Kathryn, and she to get used to her new surroundings again. Her body clock is on Sydney time so she wakes before dawn, ready to play with Madonna and Renee. Unfortunately, like the rest of the house, they are asleep.

  The stairs are steep and we all worry that Kathryn will fall down them. But she is determined and if we lose sight of her for a minute, we always know exactly where to look. The stairs. Inevitably she will be sitting on the top one, looking down, thinking, thinking. When her confidence is up, she very carefully lowers her bottom over the edge of one, then the next one. Within a few days she has them conquered and spends most of her time upstairs trying to go downstairs to find the girls.

  In the evening, Mal and I are served dinner in the upstairs dining area. One by one, everyone wanders up until it becomes

  an impromptu family dinner party. Karma Yangki and Phuntsho Wangmo sit with us at the table while their two little girls play chasey with Kathryn. Karma Chokyi brings out a bottle of French red wine, which only she and I drink. Karma Loday drops by and eats standing against a wall. Wesel Wangmo doesn’t eat but positions herself on the floor at the top of the stairs to stop Kathryn in case she falls down.

  Mal and I brought presents for the girls and this seems the perfect time to give them. A new outfit for their Barbie dolls, a little purse with kiddie make-up and a top each, which we hope four- and five-year-old girls will think is pretty groovy. The make-up purses – each with a little mobile phone on a keyring containing a rainbow of eye shadows – are a big hit and the girls spend the rest of the evening inspecting each item, then putting them back in the purses, only to take them out again a few minutes later.

  After dinner I corner Phuntsho Wangmo and make her sit down in the lounge room with a cup of tea and a printout of my book so far. It is the beginning of a very scary few hours. When this family opened their doors to Kathryn and I, they had no idea that I was a writer or that I intended to write about their lives. And, at the time, I had no such intentions.

  When I did start writing this book, it was always with the idea that I would show the family first. If they didn’t like it, it was going in the bin. It’s one thing to live with a family, sharing all their intimacies, quite another to write it up for all the world to read.

  What if they were offended by my view of their lives? Insulted even? What if I had got some of it horribly wrong? How would I feel if the situation were reversed and someone I had given hospitality to repaid the favour by exposing my daily life and what I kept in my fridge? Not that putting myself in their shoes is necessarily much help. Their customs are so complicated and different from mine that the potential for blunder is enormous.

  Phuntsho Wangmo is senior enough in the family to speak for everybody and is the most fluent in English. I figure she is the best starting point.

  She sits down on a couch and, with Renee on her lap and Kathryn climbing on top of them both, starts to read. The rest of the family has retired downstairs for the night and Mal is working away on his laptop on a couch opposite.

  Phuntsho Wangmo is slow and meticulous, reading every word with a slight frown. Barely five minutes into it, she stops and points out an ambiguity. In describing the Taba household I have mentioned three sisters and one husband. It makes it sound like all three sisters are married to Mani Dorji, she says. That hadn’t occurred to me. But in this country, where multiple marriages are common, it leaps off the page at her. I give her a red pen and she makes a correction. Without another word, she resumes reading.

  My heart sinks. I feel nauseous. Mal looks up every now and then and gives me a sympathetic look. He understands how nerve-racking this is.

  The two girls are playing with Renee’s make-up purse and the room is quiet, except for Mal’s typing and Phuntsho Wangmo turning a page every minute or so.

  I pretend to write emails but, over the top of the screen, I’m watching her reading my take on life with her family.

  She gets to the pages describing the first week where Kathryn cried so much and I was nearly demented with no sleep. She makes a clucking sound with her tongue. ‘We didn’t realise Kathryn cried so much at night,’ she says, shaking her head with sympathy.

  She turns the pages, carefully placing e
ach one face down, after it is read. Renee falls asleep on her lap and Kathryn climbs onto mine.

  Phuntsho Wangmo reads my account of the conversation with Karma Yangki and her about childbirth and our mutual misconceptions. The noisy maid and her twelve-hour labour, Karma Yangki’s two-hour labours and my drug-filled labour.

  ‘Is that right?’ I ask anxiously.

  She nods wordlessly and keeps reading.

  She gets to the part about Karma Chokyi being courted by Dr Thinley and her body language changes. She gently shifts Renee off one leg.

  ‘I don’t know about this,’ she says. ‘It might be embarrassing for Karma Chokyi . . .’

  ‘I’ll show it to her,’ I promise.

  ‘Mmm.’ Phuntsho Wangmo puts the papers down. She still has a few chapters to go but it is after 10 pm and she is exhausted. She has been working day and night on the premieres, and her job isn’t over yet.

  She asks if she can take the rest of the chapters home to read in the morning. Mal and I will be going into the office tomorrow and she will let me know then what she thinks.

  Her face and tone give nothing away. She just looks very tired.

  It’s a long twelve hours till I see her again, and when I do she is at her desk surrounded by chaos. The film is due to open in a few hours at the Lugor Cinema for two weeks of screenings but the sound check wasn’t good.

  The telephone rings constantly with people pestering her for free tickets. One cast member who asked for two free tickets suddenly says he needs ten, but all the seats have been allocated. This is no time to be bothering her with anything that isn’t about the film.

  Just before lunch, Kathryn is ready for a nap so Wesel Wangmo and I take her upstairs to sleep on Phuntsho Wangmo’s bed.

  I’m in luck. Phuntsho Wangmo appears at the door wanting to take a shower. It has been such a hectic morning that this is the first chance she has had. While she dresses in a fresh kira, deftly wrapping herself up like a mummy, she tells me she read the rest of the chapters over breakfast.

  She says it was strange to see things that she thought were so ordinary and commonplace presented to her in a different light. She speaks slowly and, I suspect, is choosing her words carefully. It brought so much back to her about a very happy

  time, she says.

  I ask if anything offended her.

  ‘No,’ she says mildly.

  What about the rest of the family, would any of them be offended?

  ‘Maybe Karma Chokyi.’

  I promise again that I’ll show her.

  Wesel Wangmo, who is playing on the floor with Kathryn, is listening to every word but saying nothing. Phuntsho Wangmo pokes her with her foot. ‘She says very nice things about you,’ she teases.

  And that’s it. She is gone – back down the rickety stairs looking fresh and glamorous, to solve a few more problems.

  I think that means it’s okay, but I’m not really sure.

  Today is turning out to be the hottest day of the year in Thimphu – a sweltering 29.5 degrees Celsius. Wesel Wangmo is still here. We keep saying goodbye to her but each day, just as she is about to leave, she cashes in her ticket and buys one for the following day.

  Even in this heat the four sisters wear the full traditional ensemble: tightly belted kira over a wonju, with a toego over the top. They look elegant and stylish but underneath they must be roasting. I’m hot in a sleeveless shirt.

  While the two elder sisters work in the office, Wesel Wangmo, Karma Chokyi and I take the children outside to play. We sit outside the hardware shop, along a low wall beside the footpath on the main street, as Phuntsho Wangmo’s new ‘maid’, a young man, brings us tea. He is a family friend Phuntsho Wangmo brought back to Thimphu after a visit to the family’s home village in the east. He is a wonderful cook and very keen. It’s like a merry-go-round of maids – the maid Phuntso Wangmo used to have has moved up to Taba.

  I ask Karma Chokyi if she would like to read what I have written about her. She nods and I hand over the chapters.

  Kathryn is getting grumpy in the heat. She won’t let me wipe her face clean and keeps tearing at her clothes, wanting to go nude. It doesn’t help that her new sandals are chafing, causing blisters. We strip her down to just the bib and brace shorts. Delighted, she takes off, running and stumbling along the footpath, which fortunately comes to an abrupt halt at a wall. She stops and turns around again. Barefoot and with the remains of lunch on her face, she looks like a street urchin. Wesel Wangmo and I take it in turns to keep an eye on her. While the footpath is safe, the road is too close for comfort. This vigilance is exhausting and frustrating.

  Both Wesel Wangmo and I are painfully aware of Karma Chokyi and the pages on her lap. Soon, Wesel is reading over Karma Chokyi’s shoulder while I am trying to gauge her reactions from her facial expressions.

  The new young maid from the Taba house cheerfully steps in and chases the giggling toddler for us. Kathryn discovers her shorts have pockets and spends a lot of time standing with her hands in them, grinning at the world. It’s very cute and causes a pedestrian traffic jam as people stop to laugh at her.

  Wesel Wangmo sits beside Karma Chokyi and takes the pages from her as she reads them. Two young men, whom I have not been introduced to, sit beside her, and it becomes a production line. As Karma Chokyi finishes a page she hands it to Wesel Wangmo who reads it and passes it on.

  Karma Chokyi blushes and giggles as she reads of their first date – Dr Thinley arriving to take her for a drive, his hair combed and neat. She passes the page to Wesel Wangmo, who grins and elbows her.

  ‘That is just what he was like,’ she teases, and Karma Chokyi blushes some more.

  It is an agonising hour or so. Finally Karma Chokyi is finished.

  ‘Is it okay?’ I ask.

  She nods.

  ‘I don’t want to embarrass you . . .’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she says.

  Like Phuntsho Wangmo’s her reaction is maddeningly understated. I persevere: ‘I’ll take it out if you would rather it didn’t appear.’

  ‘No, no. Leave it in,’ she says. A group of her friends from school appear and she is caught up in the gossip of the day.

  It isn’t until that night that I know for sure that I haven’t overstepped the mark and caused offence. Phuntsho Wangmo says she thinks it’s fine. As long as Karma Chokyi is happy and I don’t marry off all the sisters to Mani Dorji, then I have their blessing.

  She says it with a big smile and finally I know it’s all right.

  16

  Farewell

  The film continues to be the talk of Thimphu and many people go to see it a second and third time.

  The apple man (who, I’m sure, said he had no family), appears unannounced at a screening with his grand-niece proudly in tow. She is blind. At the end of the movie she said she was disappointed there wasn’t more singing. The Bhutanese videos have been heavily influenced by Bollywood and always feature hours of singing and dancing. Travellers & Magicians is more European in style. It has Bhutanese music in the background but it is the dialogue and actors’ expressions that drive the story. Being unable to read the English subtitles, and not understanding Dzongkha, she had no idea what was going on. Nevertheless, the young woman appeared pleased that her great-uncle Ap was in such an important movie.

  One Thimphu businessman loved it so much he bought ten tickets for people who couldn’t afford it and quietly handed them out.

  They have a hit on their hands, and Phuntsho Wangmo makes plans to extend the season.

  In the office over lunch is a rare moment to catch Mani Dorji, and I ask him how publication of the Dzongkha dictionary is progressing. He disappears into the labyrinth of rooms and reappears carrying a book the size – and weight – of several housebricks. It is a gift, he says.

  I’m so excited. I was there at the birth of this historic tome and here it is, hefty and tangible in my hand. Mal sits beside me as we admire the cover. It says ‘Advanced Dzongkha Diction
ary’ in Dzongkha script and English. With Mani Dorji watching us, we carefully open it. Except for that line on the cover, it is all in Dzongkha. All 1600 pages containing 32 000 words.

  It seems obvious, now that I am looking at it, that it would be in Dzongkha. It’s not an English translation of Dzongkha, it’s a dictionary. I mean the Collins, Oxford and Webster dictionaries don’t exactly feature any languages other than English. For some idiotic reason I was expecting to be able to read it, and of course I can’t. Nevertheless it looks beautiful with all that elegant script and we turn the pages admiring it.

  New words, I’m told, have been created for modern concepts. Logrig means ‘computer’, gyanthong is ‘television’, and yongdrel is ‘internet’. Coming up with these words was a major challenge for the committe of experts. For example, in English, the word ‘computer’ refers to a machine that computes. But that was considered too vague as it also could refer to a TV. The committee decided that as computers work through programmed intelligence and are operated by electricity, the new word should incorporate both those meanings. Literally translated, logrig means ‘an intelligent machine run by electricity’.

  The dictionary probably weighs more than the rest of our luggage but we don’t care. It will take pride of place on our bookshelf at home. And you just never know when it might come in handy.

  On our last night, the family invites us for a lavish farewell dinner at the Royal Thimphu Golf Club, on the edge of the city. It is a very elegant club, well known to Phuntsho Wangmo, who took a job there briefly on her return from working in the grand hotels of Austria.

  The nine-hole course is quite spectacular, with its neat greens and weeping willow trees. It is situated above Trashi Chhoe Dzong, the magnificent gold-spired dzong that dominates the Thimphu Valley. It is surely one of the most beautiful places in the world to play golf – and enjoy a special dinner.

  We have a huge private room to ourselves overlooking the green, with couches and a long low table where the buffet is served.