Page 70 - FATE & DESTINY
P. 70

FATE & DESTINY

















                                                 7 THE TRAINING LIFE


            I joined the National Institute of Education at Paro in 2000. Though boarding life was tough, everything
            was free. We received a hefty stipend at the end of the month and the meals tasted heavenly. I was in a
            state of euphoria but Dad came to my mind every day.
               If ever there was a man with a golden heart, it was my dad! He acted like a kid when I was a kid. He
            acted like a friend when I needed a friend. And he acted like a father when I needed a father.
               I missed him. So, I phoned him from the Warden’s office.
               “Mongar Bank of Bhutan here?” said someone.
               “Ap Phugay’s son here,” I said. “Can you pass it to him, please?”
               “Sorry, Ap Phugay resigned from this office last month.”
               I gaped. “Oh, really? Where did he go?”
               “I have no idea. Maybe Chaskar.”
               I put down the phone and plodded back to the hostel, slumping my shoulder. I wondered why Dad had
            to resign. “Oops, now begins my financial difficulties.”
               “What’s the matter, Uncle?” said my roommate, Lambu. “You looked perturbed.”
               “My dad has resigned.” I leaned back on the chair and sighed. “Now I am gonna face financial
            problems.”
               “Don’t you worry, buddy,” he said, sitting on the opposite chair. “What are friends for? Our stipend
            should suffice our expenses.”
               “I am glad you said that.”
               Weeks later, I strolled out with a couple of friends. We took the road leading to Druk Hotel. Soon, we
            arrived at a small ground. We sat there and chatted. Two girls came out of the bush. The taller girl tucked a
            thick novel under her arms. She had a milky face and a curvaceous body. And her round glass on her nose
            complemented her long silky hair that had fallen over her back.
               “Wow,” I said to myself. “She is Scarlet Rose.” When the other dark girl huffed away, I muttered, “She
            is Lady Macbeth.”
               Bajim, the youngest and darkest among us, eve-teased them. “Hey baby, Uncle is calling you. Come
            back, please,”
               Sherab, who wore a thick glass for his squint eyes, giggled.


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