Ngawang Phuntsho

Some memories refuse to fade.  Three of us had been assigned a task. While the teacher was giving instructions to other students, we began walking towards the place where we had been told to go. He suddenly called us back. We had no idea what we had done wrong. My friend went first. The teacher took a bamboo stick and struck his open palm three times. Hard. Then came my turn. I stretched out my hand, expecting the same punishment. Instead, the teacher struck me on the head, again and again, until the bamboo stick broke. By then, blood was dripping from my head. I remember forcing myself not to cry because younger students were watching, and at that age I somehow believed crying in front of them would make the humiliation worse. The physical pain eventually disappeared, but the memory lived on. Decades have passed, yet when I think about the incident, I still remember the shock, anger and helplessness. What troubles me now is perhaps greater than what I understood then. An adult ent...

Photo copyrigh t:  Shejun There was a time when almost every village had a water mill, known locally as a Chuti , and the place was called Chuti-Gang . If you stood nearby, you would hear rushing water, the steady rumble of stone grinding grain, and the voices of people waiting for their turn. Today, those sounds are rarely heard. When I was growing up, villagers carried sacks of maize or buckwheat to the village chuti . The mill ran entirely on water. A short distance above the mill house, water was collected in a small dam. From there, it flowed through a long wooden trough that sloped towards the mill. As the water gathered speed, it struck a wooden wheel below and set the whole mechanism in motion. Inside the mill, two large circular stones ground the grain into flour. One stone rested on the other. The upper stone had a hole in the centre where grain was poured. A wooden shaft connected the water wheel to the upper stone, causing it to rotate while the lower stone remained...

Growing up in rural Bhutan, the richest people in the village often had very little cash. They were known as chukpo , 'the ones with cattle'. And no one asked how much money a person had in the bank. No one or only a countable few had bank accounts, anyway. Wealth was measured in fields, cattle, grains, and the ability to carry a family through the seasons. Cash existed, but it played only a small role. Most exchanges happened through barter. Rice for chillies, soya beans for Sichuan peppers, cheese for eggs. I still remember that a ball of homemade cheese was worth two fresh eggs. Nobody needed a calculator because people simply knew. The most remarkable part of the system was the exchange of labour. During sowing and planting seasons, families needed extra hands, yet labour was rarely paid in cash. If I spent three days helping on your farm, you spent three days helping on mine in return. No contract was needed to be signed. No money changed hands. Wealthier households so...

Living away from Bhutan reveals who we are in unexpected ways. Here in Perth, we often notice this in ordinary conversations. When someone learns that we are Bhutanese, her face brightens.  Almost every time, they mention a Bhutanese they know. “They are kind, respectful, hardworking people.”  Those few words always stay with us. Even far from home, Bhutanese continue to live the values we grew up with. Helping others without being asked. Working sincerely. Treating people with respect. Without realising it, we become representatives of our country through the way we live each day. At a time when Bhutan is opening itself to the world through the visionary Gelephu Mindfulness City , this matters even more. The world is beginning to look toward Bhutan with curiosity and admiration. When they meet Bhutanese abroad whose actions reflect compassion, humility, and integrity, the image of Bhutan becomes something real and human. At the same time, living abroad also tests how much of ...

Bhutan's ongoing textbook delays have exposed something larger than a temporary printing problem. They have revealed a growing mismatch between a modern curriculum and an old delivery system.   This year, Classes IX and XI began learning under the new Cambridge-aligned curriculum. Yet many students started the academic year without printed textbooks. Schools relied on soft copies, handwritten notes, and borrowed materials while waiting for books to arrive. According to reports by BBS Bhutan and The Bhutanese, delays emerged at multiple stages: design, printing, and distribution. The Ministry of Education and Skills Development explained that textbooks had to be developed under a new model while also supporting local printing firms. Schools adapted because they had no choice. That adaptation is worth examining carefully.  Bhutan's classrooms have already begun moving toward digital learning, not by design but by necessity. Teachers are sharing PDFs. Students are reading ...

On quiet mornings, over coffee, certain thoughts return with unusual clarity. One of them is relationships. Among Bhutanese who move to Australia for study, work, and a better future, I have often noticed two very different stories unfolding inside relationships. Both begin with hope. Both begin with sacrifice. But they do not always end in the same place. Migration changes many things. We speak often about jobs, permanent residency, children’s education, and financial security. What we discuss less is what migration does inside the home, between two people, in the quiet space behind closed doors. I have seen couples who arrive here and grow stronger. Australia (any other foreign country for that matter) quickly teaches people that survival is shared work. Rent is high. Bills do not wait. Both partners often work long hours, sometimes in jobs far removed from what they once imagined for themselves. A husband who never entered the kitchen back home learns to cook after a late shift....