• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 672 0

One abrupt move and it could all come crashing down. Nothing was organized in any particular way; it was as if each item, as it arrived in the store, was shoved into whatever sliver of free space was available. A few of the packages looked familiar, like Lay’s Potato Chips (although I had never seen the Spicy Indian Masala flavor in Los Angeles) and, not surprisingly, Coca-Cola. (An attempt to bottle Pepsi in Bhutan had recently gone bust—because of a management issue, the newspaper reported, not a shortage of fans of carbonated beverages.) “Those are from India,” said Ngawang, seemingly unaware that the origin of these big brands was, in fact, the United States. Giant next-door neighbor India was the closest and most important source of all things shiny and refined.

At least a handful of items in here were unfamiliar to me, and several dry goods like lentils were unlabeled. No matter who was buying, I preferred to consume food that hadn’t traveled from so far away.

It was my second full day in the Kingdom of Bhutan. I was so hepped up on caffeine and adrenaline, I hadn’t had the chance to succumb to jet lag. At every turn, one of the Kuzoo staff was offering, “Tea … coffee, madam?” “Tea … coffee, madam?” (By coffee, they meant Nescafé, which appeared to be the only kind to be had here, and the presumption was that most Westerners preferred that as their hot beverage of choice.) Even after I reached my limit, I kept saying yes—the prospect of a warm mug was so inviting.

The message behind the repeated gesture was clear: I was a lady; I was senior to them; I had come from quite a distance to help; and this was the simplest form of welcome. And I did feel welcomed, despite how nervous most people seemed to be about striking up conversation with this curious visitor who’d dropped into their orbit.

I hadn’t been alone for a minute since I’d arrived, except when I slept. The first day had been a blur, a whirl of introductions, new faces, a busy lunch with Sir Tenzin at Plums Café right across from the traffic circle in town. He knew practically everyone in the restaurant, and they all heartily welcomed his foreign consultant.

Kesang and Ngawang had shown up at my door again early this morning, just as I was getting dressed, to squire me to the studio. I hoped to persuade them that, really, making it the half mile down the hill and around the corner to the station would be a pleasure, not a hardship. As long as I could fend off the stray dogs, I’d love that walk each day.

They seemed to be enjoying the responsibility of taking care of me. On our drive to the store in the late afternoon, Ngawang appeared a bit exasperated, though, by my stream of questions.

“What is it Mr. Phub Dorji does, since he doesn’t run Kuzoo?”

“He works in His Majesty’s secretariat.”

“But what does he do there?”

“I’m not sure, really.” I didn’t want my curiosity to be mistaken for rudeness, so I dropped the topic. I was starting to detect that short, vague answers were typical here.

“Is that marijuana growing over there?” From the window of the van, I’d spotted blankets of pot erupting on either side of the street, an occasional flower peeking through.

“It grows wild all over,” Ngawang said, in the same “visitors are so predictable” tone in which she’d decoded the phalluses. “We feed that to the pigs to make them fat.”

I hadn’t caught sight of any pigs yet, but I sure hoped there were chickens. I could live without meat, but I couldn’t live without eggs. As I searched for them in the tiny store, I wondered aloud what was bothering Kesang.

“Is everything okay?” I asked. A nervous look had come over him after he’d whisked a half-pound bag of rice out of my hands and into the basket. I hoped I hadn’t done something to offend. I wasn’t accustomed to food shopping with an entourage. Back home, my neighbor Bernie and I would embark on weekly grocery expeditions together, but we typically maintained our own carts.

“Kesang’s worried about what you’re buying, Lady Jane,” Ngawang said.

“Why?”

“You don’t have enough rice.”

“This is plenty of rice