Few years back, early in the morning my dad had received a call that a man had died in a nearby village when a falling stone hit him during the construction of a new lhakhang in that village. Such news were hot for we lived in a small community and such news were rare. I knew none of my friends at school would have heard it and that morning I had something hot to tell to my friends.
During the interval I went to a group of friends who were basking in the sun and started narrating the incident but to my dismay they weren’t even interested in it. “It happened in your village” I said to Sonam, but he wasn’t interested either. “why the hell should I care when people die in my village. When time comes everyone has to go!” he declared.
It was strange. Of course you also need to go someday, but when somebody dies in your village you got to wonder who that person might be. Someone you knew? Or your neighbor perhaps. Even if you cannot do anything you could say a little prayer instead. But he had an attitude. Who-the-hell-cares type. But I tell you, that attitude isn’t good. Common, we are Bhutanese and by default we are not suppose to have that attitude. And even if one is not a Bhutanese, one is human, be human.
But later that afternoon Sonam had sent a leave letter to the class and left for his village, which read “…..have to go home due my father’s death…….”