Corporal punishment

I've never given the controversial corporal punishment as much thought as I did when parliamentarians discussed it passionately while deliberating on the Child Care and Protection Bill recently. It made me remember that one semester in my entire schooling life, which was the most torturous of all.

I was twelve years old and, from what I gather, the teacher picked on me and it wasn't on disciplinary grounds. Coming from the capital and a better-rated school was the reason or so it seemed.

“Why did you transfer to a primary school in the south, from a junior high school in the capital,” he would ask.

Did I answer it? I honestly don't remember. But I remember the thin bamboo sticks that would splinter away on my palm. The cold pinching slap on my palm, which instantly became pale and, a few seconds later, turned red and hot. I'd never cry. The students would watch in fear.

Every morning I'd watch out for him. But he never missed a class. The mental torture was what got me the most. Maybe that's why I failed in almost all subjects, including English, that semester.

My parents transferred me to a different school but it wasn't because of the teacher, which is the most ironic part. The devil in disguise was the best math teacher, at least according to parents. Not once did any parent in the small community complain against him. Rather they'd side with him.

Now when I reflect on it, I still feel I was a victim. There was no way I would become a math whiz that way.

There were times when other teachers flogged me for forgetting my homework and I felt I deserved it. But in the maths teacher’s case I did not. But I never complained. Who'd listen? I accepted it as it is, especially because we'd hear stories from adults about how worse it was during their times.

Things are changing. Children know their rights now. The education ministry's code of conduct for teachers prohibits corporal punishment. But, like the discussion during the national assembly session, there is no consensus among the different laws related to child care and protection.

The penal code provides that loophole, which gives teachers, (who fit under person responsible for general care and supervision category), the right to use force and on disciplinary grounds.

Some parliamentarians have qualms over spelling out corporal punishment in the childcare act.

The pro-corporal punishment parliamentarians feel abolishing corporal punishment is a western concept and does not fit in a society where it was a tradition to use force to discipline children. The furious manifestations of the deities were evoked at the parliament. For the good of the people, the gods take up force and fury, said a parliamentarian.

Yes, I still do fear my math teacher and the dzongkha teacher, but it is the one lesson that my father taught me which had a greater impact in making me a better person than all the floggings that I received. I was only nine years old then.

The kitchen and toilet of our home were located outside the main structure. At the break of dawn, I was up with a terrible stomach-ache. Everybody was sound asleep. I was scared to go out in the dark. So I simply stepped out and emptied my tummy outside near the door, and went back to sleep.

When my father got up and went outside, he saw it and shouted who was responsible for that. I thought I was up for a beating. But I went up to him and explained why I did it outside. He simply grinned, patted me and said, “Good. Honest is what I expect you to be.”

Missing Beauty

Like thrill

from thunder

and streaks of lightening 

beauty of dried roses

and twisted thorny twigs

splendour of  

fire lit mountains 

against the cold night sky 

wish beauty visited 

me 

Not like in 

the pleasing

coo of a baby

colourful splatter

on an artist’s canvas 

exquisiteness

of a fine lady’s china 

or a well painted face 

but in decayed trees 

covered with mosses

small white flowers 

growing on a tomb

and candle melting into 

perfect beauty 

unconsciously 

where it stood

spring again ...

Roses are red

                                                                            www.bakati.net

Roses are red 

red hearts that bleed 

lie limp in lights that fade

faded eyes speak 

of heartaches, hurt and hate

hate blinding lights, dead ends, 

narrow lanes suggestive of cruel intentions

intentions and intuitions played dead

and let blind hearts hit thorns

thorns red roses grow 

are aimless lovers' bed 

where they shed torment and pain

pain which every heart knows

pain which swallows mirth 

pain which roses permit 

pain red as roses 

pain are thorns 

thorns and roses 

bled the hearts 

Civic sense? What sense? No(n)sense?

I have nothing against smokers except when they light up and puff away near a kid or an infant and when they fling the stubs away, anywhere they please.

This is a photograph of a drain outside my office. I loved how the raindrops were creating ripples but look at the number of cigarette butts in there. Spoils everything. The funny thing is that a waste bin is placed very close to the drain, but smoker's would rather drop it in the drain.

Just the other day I was coming out and I got a whiff of an unpleasant smell. Thought it was a wet dog but found out it was the drain.

Once someone stubbed cigarette butts in my mug. I was infuriated. Nobody owned up, but that was the first and last.  The most ironic part is that the drain is outside the newsroom and my mug inside the newsroom. So where do we start lessons in civic sense? 

PS: Neither am I not pointing fingers nor claiming to be someone who abhors smokers or the smoke. Just wondering why some can't look beyond their own selfish means.

Beautiful Gloomy Day

Every one is cooped up inside in the comfort of heated rooms and cubicles. It's cold but I can't simply let this moment go. Such a beautiful day. Have to capture it. The damp, cold, fresh day that is today.