“April 2002 was a turbulent month for the people of Bhutan. One of the remotest nations in the world, perched high in the snowlines of the Himalayas, suffered a crime wave. The 700,000 inhabitants of a kingdom that calls itself the Land of the Thunder Dragon had never experienced serious law-breaking before. Yet now there were reports from many towns and villages of fraud, violence and even murder.
The Bhutanese had always been proud of their incorruptible officials - until Parop Tshering, the 42-year-old chief accountant of the State Trading Corporation, was charged on April 5 with embezzling 4.5m ngultrums (£70,000). Every aspect of Bhutanese life is steeped in Himalayan Buddhism, and yet on April 13 the Royal Bhutan police began searching the provincial town of Mongar for thieves who had vandalised and robbed three of the country's most ancient stupas. Three days later in Thimphu, Bhutan's sedate capital, where overindulgence in rice wine had been the only social vice, Dorje, a 37-year-old truck driver, bludgeoned his wife to death after she discovered he was addicted to heroin. In Bhutan, family welfare has always come first; then, on April 28, Sonam, a 42-year-old farmer, drove his terrified in-laws off a cliff in a drunken rage, killing his niece and injuring his sister.
Why was this kingdom with its head in the clouds falling victim to the kind of crime associated with urban life in America and Europe?”
Bhutan.
Makes you wonder where we are heading :-(
Yesterday, 6:45 PM.
The old school bus, doubling up as the AT&T shuttle bus in these difficult days, pulled into the parking lot of the usually deserted train station. The sole occupant of the bus, on his way out, exchanges a few pleasantries with the bored driver. He slowly makes his way to the Track no 2 to catch the New York bound train. It will be atleast 45 minutes before the train arrives.
In his hand, the young guy ( the sole occupant will be now onwards referred to as the young guy ) carried a plastic bag with a few sheets of paper in it. Extended waiting times at the train station had taught him to come prepared. It is his habit to print out a short story or two from the
gutenburg site to read while waiting. However having exhausted most of the titles from the short story section, he had printed out a translation of the
Bhagavad Gita on that particular day.
Having spend most of the day conducting training sessions for new developers taking over his project, the young guy was not in a mood to read. The wooden bench on the platform beckoned him to lay down his tired body in its lap and enjoy a few minutes of rest. Without a moment's hesitation, he streched his long lean body on the bench, using his bag as the pillow and closed his eyes for a small nap.
Unknown to him, on the opposite platform, a middle aged american picked a cellphone and made a call.
A couple of minutes later, a police car pulled into the train station. The young guy was woken up ( he was not really asleep in any case ) by the flashing lights of the car. He watched as a young clean shaved policeman came out of the car and looked around. The moment the policeman's eyes met that of the young guy, he started walking towards his direction. Not thinking much of it, the young guy continued in his horizontal position. When the policeman came and stopped in front of his bench, it dawned upon the young guy that the police man had indeed come to meet him.
This is what followed.
Policeman : “whats going on ?”.
Youngguy ( with a shrug ) : “Well, I am waiting for the train”.
Policeman : “I figured that”, with a cold stare.
Youngguy : “Well, why the question then ?”, with an attempt at a smile :).
The Policeman showed with an expression on his face that he was not in the least bit amused.
Policeman then asks, “whats your name ?”.
Youngguy : “anand”.
The Policeman's eyes drift towards the young guy's AT&T badge, pinned on his shirt, and find a different ( and in no way related ) name there.
Policeman : “Well, your badge here says something else”.
I ( now onwards the young guy will be referred to as I since as you would have guessed by now, he is me ) : “Well, Thats my real name. But since it is so long and difficult to pronounce, I use my nickname which is anand”.
The Policeman is not satisfied but still buys my argument.
Policeman ( now pulling out his notebook ) : “What is your home address ?”.
( I had recently moved from one apartment to a basement sharing arrangement with a friend. I only knew how to walk to my new place from my station and had no idea of the *actual* home address. )
I try to explain my above predicament.
Policeman ( getting annoyed now ) : “What is your home phone number ?”.
I did not have a phone for my personal use and had no idea about the owner's number.
Policeman : “Show me another id, Please”.
I did not have any other.
Policeman ( getting a bit frustrated here ) : “What is your Social Security Number ?”.
Me : “I dont remember :(”.
Policeman ( now getting really irritated ) takes a look at my plastic cover : “What is in there ?”.
I say,“Just a few printouts” and hand it over to him.
Policeman opens it casually to find the title on the first page saying Bhagavad Gita. Now getting increasingly interested in me, he says “Do you always carry the Gita with you?”
I say defensively, “I just printed it out to read while waiting for the train.”
Policeman asks me many more questions during the course of which I blurt out ( quite honestly, I must add ) that I am flying from JFK next week.
The three letters, JFK, had an electric effect on the Policeman.
He walked a few steps away, pulled out his walkie talkie and called ( presumably ) his superiors.
I ( watching this scene from a distance ) was getting a wee bit worried. My position definetely looked bad.
A couple of minutes later, a bigger police car made its way into the now slightly crowded parking lot. A big fat guy and an old wise ( the reason for him being called a wise guy will become clear in a few lines from now ) guy got out.
A few more questions later, We still dont reach anywhere. There is nothing on me to prove who I am and nobody nearby to tell them I really am what I claim I am.
The three men start an internal discussion at a small distance from me.
The young policeman says “We must detain him until we can verify his id.”.
The old
wise guy takes a look at me and says, “He doesnt look suspicious”.
All three look at my direction. I put on my best smile and try to bring an expression onto my face which says that I am the nicest guy on planet earth :-) The three men realising that I have overheard their conversation walk away a bit further with a sheepish grin on their faces.
An even longer discussion ensues with a lot of shaking heads and gestaculating hands. I watch in rapt attention while three men discuss about who I really am.
Finally, the three men walk towards me with the old guy leading the way.
He asks me a strange question. “Where you sleeping on the bench ?”.
I reply in the positive.
He replies with a weak attempt at humour. “People dont do that in these places.”
I raise an eyebrow and say nothing.
It seems a gentleman ( the middle aged american on the other platform ? ) had called in to report a suspicious character. With a friendly warning to carry an id with me whenever I go out, he wished me good night and walked away with the other two.
and I turn back and walk, in the land of free, unable to sleep on a bench.
