The Luxury of Imagination (and dreams)

One day, while driving down to our home in Debsi, Babesa, I asked my elder son, then eight years old, how he liked our neighbour's paddy fields. We stopped our descent downhill and gazed at the fields. It was nearly harvest season and the stalks were rippling gold.

"Looks like a giraffe's neck", he said nonchalantly.

I could'nt for my life, fathom a giraffe, let alone its neck, any which way I looked. But I remained quiet and rejoiced in his imagination, for I had lost that world somewhere along the way.

The world of Achu Daka, of fairies and trolls, a place where a tiny seed could grow overnight and rise all the way above the clouds, a magical tree that leads to far away places and where everone lives happily ever after.

Come back to the real world, people say. A world wrought with poverty, sadness, misery, disasters...Yes, we need to tackle real problems in the real world, but I am sure a bit of imagination, a sprinkle of fairy dust or the power of three heart felt wishes, would not hurt.

Childhood, in all its innocence and sense of belief is a marvelous thing. Children and their sense of adventure is truly amazing -  my son wants to be a magician first, maybe a musician and if that does not happen, a chef. I told him impatiently that he would be "second rate cook who know how to strum a tune or two on the guitar with a few sleazy magic tricks up his sleeve". But he is undaunted, lately he wants to be a "secret agent".

Maybe, we parents can learn a few things like optimism and creativity from them.

Customer Service and Queues

I took the morning off today to renew my car’s blue book (now a little white card). It wasn’t a particularly hot day but I was already a bit flustered knowing I would be late for work – but the counters remain open only from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. sharp – so it had to be office hours.

There was already a queue up to the designated counter. Neat. I don’t mind standing in queues however long,  but the moment I encounter, what I call, “line butters” (since they ignore "lines" and “butt” right ahead) I see red - my throat clears automatically, my lips move and I start “Excuse me..blah blah ..can’t you see the line..@#$%!!!!@#$!!!” . In my younger days I would not mind entering into a physical combat over my pet peeve, but over the years, I have sobered down to muttering loudly …

Anyway, no line butters in sight yet, so I stand in queue patiently. At last, its my turn at the counter, but the guy behind the glass pane looks at the card and says impatiently, “You need to first do your fitness in the parking outside.”

Okay. I am outside and I can see many others waiting, trying to spot the inspector. “Is he wearing a uniform?” “Is he tall/short or thin/round?” “Where is he?”. We spot him after a good 10-15 minutes and no, he hasn’t been playing truant, as the lone inspector today he had to go down to front of the bus ticket booking parking to inspect a truck.

Inspection done and I am back in queue. This time its a short one. But before I reach my turn I realize I had forgotten to bring along the renewal fees (all of Nu. 2,000!!!). Embarrassed, I smile at my fellow queuees and rush out to find the nearest ATM.

I am back in line after enduring the snail-paced Norzin Lam traffic and a dash to the BOB ATM. Finally, when it is nearly my turn (one last person in front of me), a line butter appears. He seems to be in a hurry (as they always are), rushes straight for the counter (as they always do) and starts placing his documents right under the guy-behind-the-glass- pane’s nose (always, always).

But today, I have no energy to even mutter. But I still muster enough to loudly clear my throat. No reaction. So I concentrate on the view I can see through the small window above the guy-behind-glass-pane. The biggest-sitting-Buddha statue looks awesome and serene. I feel myself calming down and then before I know it is my turn to be served.