Skip to main content

Easily Fueled Egos

I have never been much of a violence fan. But I must admit I like watching people fight. Somehow fights are irresistible and surprisingly I find myself enjoying. I like watching people’s raw egos clash head-on, creating high intensity sounds. It is always exciting to watch the scenes. And most people may try to stop the fights and get between, but I have promised myself that I will not be involved in fights whatsoever, not even to mediate. The fact is I am not much of a mediator in the first place. That way, I fear fueling people’s egos and ultimately two parties’ egos combine and striking me.

One time, I remember I was trying to calm down my two friends who were holding each other’s necks. If it was possible, they were in a position to even suck out blood from their enemies’ neck. Friends can sometimes become deadlier than foes. So, I tried stopping the fight, but they won’t listen. Instead they continued quarreling even when so many of us were holding them tight . Holding them away was tougher than trying to hold two angry bulls.

Trying to convince them did not bring in much success. As we were holding them away from holding each other, they tried to move closer than ever. They would stretch far more than the stretched bows. And I found out that they were doing this because we were stopping them. Human egos are like that – the more you try to put down, the more it burns. So many students were gathered. I thought they enjoyed being noticed. For their egos!

And suddenly, one of them lifted a plank and flung at his opponent. But it landed with a loud thud on my right shoulder. A terrible pain ran down my hands. I let go off the fighting bulls and now charge them instead. I asked to mend my hand now. Immediately, they stopped fighting and came to console me. Now it was my turn to get the attention. My friends, who were even ready to devour each other just a moment ago, were now reconciled. I faked pain so much more than I actually had.

Two weeks ago, I happened to see two drivers fighting in one of the busy streets of Phuentsholing. Hundreds of curious spectators were gathered. The drivers were about to punch each other, but resisting the temptations fearing the recursions. We were all watching. I wanted them to move and shake, but as always, many other drivers rushed to the scene, all trying to mediate. The two angry men continued calling names and cursed. Indian shopkeepers and laborers must have enjoyed those swear words, I thought.

Now they were separated. The taxi driver was about to leave when his enemy punched his cab. The angry man got out and pounced on the other man. They pushed and pulled, but again in the end they were stopped by the crowd. The other man drove away swearing. The taxi driver would not stop before his cab was mended. The impact of a heavy blow can be seen clearly. He called the police.

I walked away. The situation is no more pleasant once the constables are on the scene.

Egos are like fire once fueled difficult to put out.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Utpal Academy - Bhutan's first All-girls High School

Welcome to Bhutan’s first all-girls school. Isn’t that wonderful news to all our parents? Certainly, as a parent of a one-year old daughter I am excited about the coming of a school exclusively dedicated to the needs of girls. Our girls need special treatment, which we can for sure entrust the responsibility to Utal Academy, Paro.
I really like the name – Utpal – in Buddhist world, Utpal is another name for lotus flower, which is believed to grow from mud and yet blossoms into a beautiful and majestic flower. It stands for purity and many deities are depicted holding flower Utpal, more prominently Jestusn Dolma, the Goddess Tara. Symbolically, it also stands for the transformation of our girls. What an apt name for the school!
The Principal’s message posted on the academy’s website promises providing our young women an “opportunity to participate fully in a wide range of extracurricular activities to develop skills and qualities that will lead to successful and fulfilling life.” That’s…

Our throw-it-away culture

Like all grandparents, my late grandma would call food 'tsampa rimpoche' and any fuss made about it would invite everyone's sneer and scoldings. Food is always treated with respect and is never wasted. "If you waste food in any manner," she would admonish us. "One day food will discard you and you will go hungry." 
What remained from the previous meal would be turned either into porridge or sometimes leftover rice would be dried in the sun. The dried rice would then be fried into puffed rice and consumed with cups of suja. When there was so much food left, especially during big events, leftover rice or kharang would be mixed with a small amount of yeast and brewed into ara.  
The only thing that I can vividly recollect from my primary school days is how we would be hungry most of the time. Food we were served was hardly enough to tickle our throats. We would be sent home only once a week on Saturdays and that was our opportunity to replenish our popcorn s…

Bloggers are not journalists

To say bloggers are not journalists is to say oranges are not carrots. Bloggers are not journalists. That’s true. But can bloggers become journalists? Maybe. Can journalists be bloggers? Yes. In fact, it would be only proper and appropriate for journalists to blog their opinions as opposed to being 'politically' correct all the time. So why call oranges carrots when they are what they are?
Well, it is true – bloggers have no training in journalism. That’s why they are bloggers. And for the same reason they are  not journalists. No bloggers have ever claimed what they blog can qualify as ‘journalism’.  We all do what we love the most and give our best in whatever we are doing either reporting news or blogging. 

Journalists do it as careers. Bloggers do it (mostly) for hobby and out of passion. Most journalists also do it with great passion - that's true. The journalists get paid for doing their jobs while bloggers derive pleasure doing it. Journalists cover (report) stories eve…