Good ole fashioned cut-and-paste therapy

Much better than the vapid Wyeth models they put on the pregnancy notebooks

that doctors hand out to patients.

I want to read this: Muslim Superhero Comics

"The 99" is a comics series about a group of Islamic superheroes that embody the 99 attributes of Allah. Author Naif Al-Matuwa created the series as a symbol of toleration. The series' biggest critics are not Islamic clerics, but conservative Americans. The more they protest it's appearance on the American comics market, the more I want to read it! Anybody have a copy?

Fish Tail

A fish tail addresses my favorite Tito, who loves to cook:

“I see you have fine knives here. Quite a kitchen you’ve got, sir, quite a kitchen. And those scissors – so strong! If I were you, I’d use them to cut off that ponytail. Doesn’t it bother you, the way it swings around while you move from pot to pot, seasoning, stirring, and tasting? A ponytail is not like a fish tail, sir. A man or a woman is perfectly fine without one but a fish without a tail is a dead fish and I don’t say that just because I wound up here with a dead fish – my dead fish, that is to say. Sniff.

“Imagine a fish swimming in the sea without its tail. It wouldn’t even be swimming. It would be flapping about gracelessly, towards a slow and painful death. Can’t imagine what that’s like? Well I can tell you sir, it’s a far uglier sight than a splintered sailboat in rough waters. And to fish, a sailboat is an ugly thing to begin with, but not as ugly as boats with engines. Not only are boats with engines monstrous, they are loud and noxious, and they spell death across the reefs.

“As I was saying sir, I am indispensable to a fish, even when the fish is going into a pot and I won’t fit with it. Don’t you have a bigger pot, sir? I mean, this is truly an impressive kitchen. Surely you have a pot into which you could have cooked my fish whole, with me still attached to it? No?

“But I have to give you this, sir: you did not cut off my fish’s head. We have heard this is done in other kitchens, because people cannot look their food in the eye. So I suppose I forgive you for cutting me off and dispensing with me. I forgive you and your ponytail, sir, for the ocean teaches us to be gracious when faced with indignity.”

A Brief, Writerly Rant Wrought from Years of Accumulated Indignation

One of the perils of freelance writing is that by the time the editors (well-meaning, I'm sure) are done bending your words to their needs, you may no longer recognize what you wrote; you may not even wish to have your name attached to the transmogrified piece of crap (which, admittedly, may not have been so great in the first place), and to make things worse, you get paid peanuts for it.

Sigh. Although I try, cultivating a stance of gratitude -- for getting published, for bylines, for getting paid at all -- sometimes feels disgustingly close to martyrdom, which was never my cup of tea. Let them do what they want with my body and soul? No effing way. And yet, more often than not, I relent. I don't even know whether I can choose otherwise.

This hack is now accepting suggestions for a nom de guerre. This could be fun. And yes, this is war.

Bread of Life

Home-baked bread fresh out of the oven never fails to arouse my maternal instincts. It takes all my self-control to keep from snatching up a warm loaf of bread, cradling it like a baby in my arms, resting my cheek against its delicious-smelling skin, and inhaling deeply. This never fails to disgust people who want to eat the bread. I want to first love the bread and then eat it. So I'm weird that way, but these moments of consummated food-love are a little bit of heaven on earth.

November Light in May

"9.8.2031/12:30 pm/66℉ read the signboard at Chunzom.

Beep!!! The alarm on the gate rang as the bus passed by the laser lights."

So begins the short story Yellow Behind the Numbers, which is quite possibly the first ever piece of Bhutanese science fiction by Sippy Das. The story appears in the book November Light, an anthology of creative writing "produced by the 2010 cohort of students on the course English 202 module ('Creative Writing: Fiction and Non-Fiction') at the Royal Thimph College, Bhutan."

 

What is remarkable about this collection is that "English 202" is the first, and so far the only, university-level creative writing course in Bhutan. And so to read November Light is to look into the psyche of young Bhutanese minds that are discovering “the joys of creative expression – reading, writing, being read – as a way of making meaning,” as put by their young professor, Dr. Nitasha Kaul, a Kashmiri woman who has done extensive research on the history and politics of Bhutan. Her novel Residue was shortlisted for the 2009 Man Asian Literary Prize.

Reading November Light is also like tilting the camera at an odd angle and looking at a snapshot of Bhutan taken sideways. Typically, written pieces on Bhutan tend to gush about Gross National Happiness (with good reason), her natural beauty (also with good reason), and Buddhist spirituality (thus the GNH). Nitasha writes in her introduction about how these young authors have grown up in these so-called ‘exotic’ surroundings and instead turned their attention to themes that matter to them and that are part of their everyday lives: new media, love of country, romantic love, the first day of menstruation, archery, friendship, families, betrayal and personal memories.

Ugyen, one of the editors spoke about the creative writing class in Mountain Echoes. He joked that when the class began, they all wrote about love. Later on, they experimented in free form writing and they still wrote about love. Much later in the course, they learned “that there are many things in this world that we can write about.”

Sippy said with confidence, “Now I will never stop writing. Only if I die will I stop writing. And I will die if I can’t write anymore.”

Palden, another editor declared cheekily, “I am immortal. When I die, people will read my work… I hope!”

Ubbog, the young Cordillera writers group was very much on my mind throughout the session. I couldn’t help but draw the parallels between the late nights and hard work that they put into the first, handmade issue of the Ubbog literary journal, and what these Bhutanese students did to bring their work into November Light. I could very easily imagine any of the members of Ubbog playing the pivotal role of creative writing teacher for young people across the Cordilleras, much the same way Nitasha has done with English 202 in the Royal Thimphu College. I got carried away and began to imagine a flurry of emails and exchanges in creative letter writing between Ubbog, Nitasha, and the editors of November Light. It’s not entirely impossible. Who knows what might come of an encounter between the spring of youthful writing in the Philippine Cordilleras, and the Himalayan light of a young Bhutanese November?

A Taste of Home

After lunch, three authors who have written extensively about food sat down together onstage to talk about food and their books on food.

The moderator was Mita Kapur who launched her book The F-Word in Lit Out Loud, the first Manila International Literary Festival held last year. Her literary agency Siyahi is the principal organizer of Mountain Echoes.


Kunzang Choden spoke of the food of Bumthang, Central Bhutan. In her book, Chili and Cheese: Food and Society in Bhutan, she combines the history and culture of Bhutan with traditional recipes and her own experience of growing up in Bumthang. She told of how, when she was a child, she would go into the blue pine forests with her family and friends where they would cut off the bark of the trees and eat the white, jelly-like sap just underneath the bark. She said it was sweet, like sugar.

Nowadays the government has prohibited collecting the sap because stripping the bark kills the trees so this "taste of home" remains simply a memory for Kunzang and a story for younger Bhutanese. Aside from memories, Kunzang also spoke of how different food used to come with seasons and with stories of the places they came from. She said that "as an old woman" (many in the room disagreed with her on her being "old"), she couldn't help but feel nostalgia for the days when you waited for summer to eat apples, or when eating a strip of dried meat in the winter "you could almost taste the sun."

Pushpesh Pant's position was that, "A taste of home is more than just cuisine. A taste of home is about a whole milieu," which, he said, includes memories of failed dishes because mother and father quarreled while mother was cooking, or memories of special dishes prepared with ingredients brought by cousins visiting from other regions in India. For him, however, when talking about food and a taste of home, "home" was not just one place and "taste" was not just about food. He spoke of an upbringing and a life that brought him to live and eat in many parts of India and the world and how all those places that certain ingredients came from became part of home when put together into one dish. He also said that for him taste is like a DNA we inherit from our families, but also it is about proscriptions, prescriptions, social class, sex, and rebellion.

Buddhist Peace Recipes and Hindu Soul Recipes, two cookbooks by Pushpesh Pant. Coming soon to Mt Cloud Bookshop.

Listening to these authors talk about food with such passion, I thought how lucky I am to come from a family and to be with a man for whom eating together is a simple yet important act of love. It makes the food we share taste better, no matter how ordinary it might be.

A Room in Your Heart

When we were in Paro I picked up a book in the hotel lobby to read in our room.

In the introduction, Kunzang Choden wrote:

"In the Bhutanese tradition, stories, fables, and legends are not told but are unraveled (shigai in Bumthangka) and released (tangshi in Dzongkha)... It means that storytelling is a continuous process (unraveling) and to be released stories must be alive and vibrant."

The folktales of Bhutan, like folktales from anywhere in the world, are full of mischief, foolishness, wisdom, kindness, magic, spirits, animals, and village folk. I enjoyed reading the stories in Kunzang Choden's collection and was excited to see that she would be launching two children's books at the Mountain Echoes Literary Festival. I fervently hoped that I would be able to meet her and bring back some of her books for Mt Cloud Bookshop.

On the first day of the festival, we entered the venue which was almost packed and looked around for seats. A Bhutanese woman offered Nanay a seat next to hers and she introduced herself with a warm smile, "I'm Kunzang."

None other than the author of Folktales of Bhutan! When we told her about how we found her book and our wish to meet her she laughed and said, "This is the way it was meant to be." Not "It was meant to be," but "This is the way it was meant to be." For some reason I can't quite put my finger on, much less explain, the two phrases are very different.

So anyway, she was the first friend we made at the lit fest. When she read her new story books to the audience of young and old, I got goosebumps of happiness. Being read to is such a pleasure.

 In this book, Kunzang weaves a heartwarming story around the Bhutanese saying,

"There will always be room in your home, as long as there is room in your heart."

 Aunty Mouse showers kindness on a village orphan and a rich girl decides she should get her dues too. And she does.

The fact that Kunzang was reading stories from the world of Bhutan, a world not known to many people, was no barrier to enjoying and understanding the stories.

Anita Roy, editor for Young Zubaan books and publisher of Kunzang's new books, pointed out that:

"The books that really travel are the ones that have a sense of place; books that invite you in and make you feel, 'Yes I can step into that world'."

Tiger Tales

I have never heard someone speak about any living creature with as much passion as Valmik Thapar when he speaks about tigers. You can see for yourself below. Listening to him at the Mountain Echoes Literary Festival I got the feeling that he could be speaking about something as mundane as plastic forks and he still would have held his audience in rapt attention.



The full show can be seen here. The host, Sunil Sethi, was also present at the literary festival. His literary tv show, Just Books, is a great success in India. He recently launched a book on the tv interviews he has had with well known authors.

Valmik Thapar first saw a tiger in the wild in Ranthambore, "where tigers live in the ruins of ancient palaces." Since then he has dedicated his life to the conservation of the tiger in India. He stated earnestly (and angrily) that while Bhutan has Gross National Happiness India is experiencing the effects of Gross National Horrors, especially in terms of the decline of forests and the slaughter of wildlife, thanks to the work of "the buffoons in power." Sounds familiar.

He praised Bhutan for still having 70% of its forest cover. The Constitution of Bhutan states that at least 60% of the land should remain under forest cover. The Philippines has, what? 10%? Maybe less?

When a young Bhutanese man in the audience asked him what Bhutan should do to protect the tigers that live in their forests, Valmik said, "Keep your wildlife invisible."

As the discussion became more and more impassioned, Valmik had to qualify his stance:

"Human rights activists hate me. They think I hate people. I love people! I originally graduated from sociology!"

Well. I graduated from anthropology and I love tigers. In my childhood I used to fantasize about befriending tigers and walking with them through the jungle. Once I touched a tiger in a park in Thailand. It was stunningly beautiful in a very intimidating way, even if it was in chains. I would love to see a healthy tiger in the wild some day.

Myth and Memory

In the second panel of the Mountain Echoes Literary Festival here in Thimphu, Devdutt Pattanaik and Tshering Tashi discussed how myth and belief continue to be an important part of our so-called modern (post-modern or postmodern, if you prefer) lives.

Devdutt Pattanaik is the Chief Belief Officer of the Future Group. Yes, believe me, that's his title. He has written several books on Indian mythology, including an illustrated retelling of the Mahabharata. spoke of the differences between believing you have only one life to live, and believing that this is just one of many lives you have lived and will live. "When you believe in rebirth, you don't have a sense of urgency. Things will happen... eventually."

Tshering Tashi writes for the Bhutanese, government-owned, English newspaper, Kuensel and is the co-author of Bold Bhutan Beckons. He spoke of how myths and magic are not only part of Bhutan's history, but also of everyday life.