Bhutan to Blacktown: Losing everything and finding Australia

When I read ‘Bhutan to Blacktown’ authored jointly by Om Dhungel Daju and James Button, the first thing that struck my mind was the puzzling role of co-authorship. James Button’s involvement seems minimal at best. The subject matter, story, experiences and details, drawn directly from the author’s personal experiences, are a hundred percent his own. Button is so far removed from the subject matter that his inclusion as the co-author becomes a matter of suspicion and disbelief. I do not mean any disrespect to the co-author, but for my own expediency, ‘author’ in this review shall apply only to Om Dhungel Daju.

The situation reminds me of a story I read years ago while I was pursuing studies in anthropology. An American bull was boarded and flown in a chartered plane to a certain destination somewhere in South Asia. The bull’s role was to impregnate cows at a local event which was organized at a large ground, at the center of the village. On the said day, and time, the villagers walked their cows to the designated place and lined them up. A majestic bull stood among hundreds of cows and their excited owners. But the poor bull was neither excited nor responsive. It did not move or even look at the cows. Hours passed, and the confusion mounted. No one, not even the experts, could explain why the bull was behaving in such a way. This worried the villagers, after all, they had paid to attend the event. 

In the end, a local sorcerer intervened ‘if everybody agrees, I can consult the bull and get his answer’ he claimed. Tired of waiting and seeing nothing happen, the villagers agreed. Then, the sorcerer chanted mantras, shook some leaves, and burnt some incense. He went close to the bull, said something and listened. Then, he turned back, and proclaimed ‘I know the answer’.  ‘Then, let us know what prevented the bull from performing’, everyone shouted in one voice. The sorcerer said, ‘the bull did not want to perform because he came here as an expert, not as an apprentice. Therefore, he was not supposed to work’.  

In this analogy, the co-author here and the American bull fit the same role. However, this is not the first time. Dr. DNS Dhakal did the same when he shared authorship with Christopher Strawn, in his first book, Bhutan: ‘A Moment In Exile’ 1994. This could provoke an inquiry into the complex world of credit sharing in writing partnerships, especially in the Bhutanese context.

Certain authors, particularly those outside the West, often perceive the inclusion of foreign co-authors, particularly, white foreigners, as a means to bolster their book’s intellectual credibility. These authors believe that the involvement of western co-authors validates and enhances the quality and legitimacy of their work. Through such collaborations, they aim to impress and attract a wider audience, thereby increasing the appeal of their work. Additionally, such partnerships are negotiated and executed primarily to gain credibility and marketability.

Ownership of our narrative is our empowerment. It is essential that we set our own narratives, rather than allowing others to set them for us. When we possess an understanding of our own situations, circumstances, and stories, we can take charge of our own narratives and gain the power to shape our identity.             

There is nothing significant in the first three chapters of the book or the last seven. But all things break loose when you advance into Chapter Four ‘Darkness Falls on Bhutan’. Reading this chapter, one really wonders if darkness had fallen in Bhutan. This is where Om Daju, to my utter surprise, assumes his new Herculean incarnation. He targets the king and delivers his first long shot when he says, “I am not sure he knew all that was going on in the south, that atrocities that his home minister and zealous officials had set in train. But he knew enough; the rest he chose not to know. All power in Bhutan ultimately resided with him. If he had said, ‘these are my people, this stops with me’, he could have ended the violence at once. Instead, he presided over the expulsion of 100,000 citizens, a seventh of its population, one of the greatest acts of ethnic cleansing, per capita, that the world has seen”. (page 97).  

His second blow is even more poignant and incisive. He says …. ‘Bhutan had no independent parliament or judiciary, no freedom of thought or expression. The only mass media were the Bhutan Broadcasting Service and the weekly newspaper, Kuensel, both owned and tightly controlled by the government. Mail was censored, demonstrations were forbidden, and to say anything against the king was an offense that carried severe legal punishments. Rights as westerners know them did not exist, only privileges bestowed on citizens by the king and his coterie. (page 56)

Similarly, he is sharp and minces no words in his criticism of Driglam Namzha, the cultural etiquette…. ‘I had to undertake three months of cultural orientation in Driglam Namzha, the code of etiquette for Bhutanese citizens, especially government employees. The king’s Zimpon or chamberlain, taught the course himself, instructing 70 new civil servants in such matters as how to avoid looking into the eyes of high officials, how far we had to bow down when we met a minister, and how much further down we bowed before the king. I see the Driglam Namzha course as a lesson in servitude. (page 61).

About his resignation, he wrote….‘however, I no longer believe that justice will ever prevail under the present circumstances. I have decided, therefore, to tender my resignation and join the struggle for human rights and justice in Bhutan’. (page 107).

About Citizenship Cards…. In 1981, the government introduced national citizenship identity cards for all Bhutanese but forced only Lhotshampas to carry them’ (page 75). 

About Green Belt Policy….‘the government announced it would create a kilometer wide green belt of forested land along the southern border with India. The initiative would have displaced many thousands of families. My father-in-law got a letter saying his family had three weeks to leave their home, after which the government would level it’. (Page 76). 

About Bhutan’s Banking System ….. ‘If you put money in the banks during this time, the government would take it. If you hid the money inside the house, the army would come and take it’ (page 98). 

About his brother returning from jail ….. ‘he (brother) returned to Lamidara to find that the authorities had seized his home. The government was settling northern families on land it had stolen from the southern Bhutanese’ .(page 124).    About State Terrorism….. ‘Just above our house in Lamidara, security forces shot dead four people including our neighbor Deo Narayan Adhikari’ (page 85).

About Press and Communication….. ‘There was no independent press, no telephone service in Lamidara, and letters were not safe’  (page…87).

About Prisoners released from jail …… ‘The soldiers gave the inmates two options: leave the country immediately or face beatings and torture in prison for years’ (page 90).

US State Department Human Rights Report 1993 ….. the report found ‘abuses committed by police and soldiers in southern Bhutan were a consequence of government policies intended to reduce the presence of ethnic Nepalese. These policies created a climate in which intimidation of ethnic Nepalese was encouraged and physical abuse tacitly condoned’. (page 93).

About Democracy …. ‘Bhutanese democracy rests on the proclaimed benevolence of the king. I believe the abdication was a strategic move; even today, the old man remains the power behind the throne’. (page 256).

About Dago Tshering ……‘In December 1991 …. the king sent his home minister, Dago Tshering, to the south to investigate complaints of arbitrary arrest, torture and forced deportation. The problem was that Tshering was the architect of these policies’. (Page 89).

The author’s statements exhibit remarkable courage and boldness. From the king to his security personnels, the author knocks everybody down. That is the strength of the book and that is unprecedented. This book will be remembered more for the author’s strident attack on the Bhutanese regime, than his conciliatory tones, which become apparent in other chapters. I believe that young Bhutanese researchers and writers both inside the country and outside will pin their interest on this subject and explore more.   

Whenever the author picks up cultural or identity issues, he sinks into a quagmire and ends up creating large loopholes.  1) For instance, he exposes himself to self-ridicule when he says …. ‘Bhutanese society being Buddhist did not recognize Brahmins as having more right to school education than others’. ‘Children of so-called lower castes and dalits, the caste formerly and cruelly known as untouchables, could attend our school. (page 22).   This statement, notwithstanding the author’s intended meaning, is inherently open for subjective interpretation and debates, which could be highly contentious. It seems as if the author is taking a conservative stance, suggesting that education, rather than being a universal right, should be an exclusive privilege of high caste Brahmins. He appears to lament that Bhutan, as a Buddhist kingdom, does not recognize this right.  

He says, ….‘the caste system still produces so much misery. Even in Australia, a Dalit - once known as an untouchable before the offensive term was discarded, is not allowed to enter the house of other castes that are considered ‘higher’. If it happens, the family is supposed to call a priest to clean the home and clear it of demons. In Adelaide, an elderly mother wanted to do a puja to mark the passing of a relative, but the priest wouldn’t come because some low-caste families had visited the house (page 252). The author realizes how the caste system has been actually ‘sowing seeds of misery’ as ‘it continues to inflict immense sufferings’. He also mentions about marriage endogamy practiced among high caste Brahmins and employs meticulous examples and anecdotes from his own family to illustrate the point. A community priest refusing to set foot and perform religious rituals in the house of an elderly lady in Adelaide, Australia is a shameful act. The priest warned that

he would not render any service unless this house was first ‘cleansed’ free of ‘pollution’ and all ‘impurities’ caused by the earlier visitation of ‘low caste’ people. It is a distressing testimony to the enduring influence of caste dynamics whether in his village in Lamidara, Chirang, Bhutan or in the unexpected municipalities of far- flung Australia.

2) ‘Those Brahmins who follow the caste system do not eat rice and certain other foods cooked by other ‘lower’ castes, and never anything touched by a Dalit’ (page 252); and ….. ‘In my world, Brahmins married brahmins, marrying someone from a lower caste - how I hate the term - was not done. (page 53). These statements reflect his acknowledgement of caste discrimination and untouchability in his village, Lamidara, which seems to be rampant. Such an awareness and understanding was seen in the beginning as a sign of hope. It meant that he is not oblivious to its ill effects. But awareness alone is not enough. The juxtaposition of this awareness and his conspicuous inaction provokes a dilemma. He is living at the crossroads, unwilling and unable to instigate any change. Probably, he fears potential repercussions, including ostracism, like the one faced by one elderly community member in Adelaide, Australia, which he has mentioned in the book. This probably is an experience everyone in his generation is going through.

3) He says ….  ‘I used to be quite aggressive about these issues, but now I walk a line. If I am too vocal, my Mum will feel so distressed I might have to take her to hospital. And my parents’ generation will never change. So, some of us have a saying: accept but don’t promote. In other words, we invite everyone to all gatherings; we let our parents sit at a distance from some other people and don’t force them to mix, especially while they are eating (page 253). It is clear from the book that the caste system is an integral part of the author’s upbringing and acculturation, and he continues to live it even today. His current experience in Australia validates that deep rooted societal norms are here to stay long. So, his generation has found its own creed, accept but do not promote’. This encapsulates both empathy and harmony; both ‘inclusivity’ and ‘exclusivity’ at the same time. It means respecting individual boundaries and values (self-exclusion) in the case of parents and embracing diversity in social circles (inclusive) in the case of the young generation, especially during meals. 

While private family matters must remain outside the realm of public discourse, the need for broader societal reforms in our society is pressing. The author’s acknowledgement of one of the stinkiest issues of our society, the conservative caste system, hinted at a step towards reformation. And he correctly held his grip on this issue. He disapproved of the caste system, appearing as a resolute reformer, a protagonist, in the beginning. But it appears that he was only complaining, not going after the ills of the caste system.  He made everybody ascend the ladder, but then descended halfway through, leaving others stranded. His confidence became shaky, and his thoughts oscillated between ‘acceptance’ and ‘rejection’. He looked too ambiguous and even contradictory. At times he looked too Brahmanical, and at other times he looked far too opposite. His soaring declaration at the end ‘accept but do not promote’ is a statement of compromise. It makes him look like a loser; that he has already murdered the protagonist inside him. Worse, his concluding recommendation for the younger generation ‘accept but do not promote’ is at best very regressive.  

The author’s views suggest that pushing for change aggressively could lead to a head-on collision, potentially jeopardizing family well-being, especially when it involves a generation gap. Therefore, as he takes new strides and moves on, he appears to straddle a line between tradition and change. His perspectives are still evolving. He seems to be comfortable living in a realm of dualism where this duality often becomes his personality. This leaves his readers pondering: what are the author’s real views on the caste system?    

It is clear that the author had his heart and soul devoted to the king. His story really emerges as a compelling tale of love, loyalty and devotion to his king and country. On page 43, he eloquently expresses ‘I felt full of energy and devotion to him (the king). In page 74, he passionately asserts, “I was a ‘Bhutanese’ before anything, even more so than the ethnic Bhutanese themselves’. He found ‘no discrimination and no differences’ between the southerners and Bhutanese from other backgrounds. He was so blind sighted in his love and loyalty to ‘the

king and his country’ that he used to wear the ‘national dress at official occasions overseas’ even in the face of dissent from his ‘northern Bhutanese colleagues’ (page 74).   

That the author would be very soft and gentle towards the king was expected; that he would be so harsh and ruthless was not. But the emotions erupted and transformed him into a brutal opponent. A man who held the king in awe, adoration and hope suddenly became one of his fiercest critics. The following quote from this book illustrates the point … ‘He (king) saw himself as a nationalist, a patriot. But once the leader takes on a particular identity on behalf of one group, protecting that identity becomes paramount. Even atrocities, inhuman sufferings, can be justified to achieve that goal. King Jigme Singye Wangchuk, who is still alive today, although not on the throne, chose to identify himself as ruler of the Northern and Eastern Bhutanese, not of all Bhutanese. That is his place in history. (page 97).

I wish the author had written a book about Bhutan’s politics rather than recounting his personal anecdotes. Generally, people are not interested in personal stories unless your stories connect with their life and struggle. Considering that only public endeavors are etched into the annals of history, this endeavor too will likely go down in history as a missed opportunity. Usually, a chapter is contained inside a book but here I see a book in Chapter Four. With knowledge, experience, grasp of issues and the ability to articulate people’s concerns, the author could have easily expanded Chapter Four and transformed it into a regular book. I personally feel that this opportunity has been squandered. 

I also found the author bragging about his personal connections with the king, ministers, and the high-ranking officials in the government; In one instance he claimed ‘there was nobody in the capital who I did not know or

interact with, including the king’. Further, he says ….  ‘She had (Kamala Gurung, his wife’s mother) grown up in a palatial home with 52 doors, 52 windows and 11 servants in Samchi district in the south of Bhutan. The house belonged to her grandfather, Grajaman Gurung, an almost mystic figure in our culture. (page 52). Elsewhere, he mentions, one of Saroja’s cousins had married the king’s younger sister’. (Page 76). He also talks very highly of Garjaman Gurung, his wife’s great grandfather, who was a prominent settlement contractor in Samchi district. He writes, ‘in 1887 the then ruler of western Bhutan issued a decree authorizing Dalchan Gurung, and his son Garjaman to settle and govern Nepalis in the vast southern foothills that eventually became Samchi district’. One wonders if he was doing this on purpose, to give the impression that power and nobility runs deep in his family.

Unfortunately, all his connections became useless when he needed it most, a ‘No Objection Certificate’ (NOC), for his ‘16 year old brother’ to stay in school. He describes …“I was unable to get him a ‘No Objection Certificate’ (NOC), a police pass designed predominantly to monitor the movements of southerners”; which is why ‘he had to halt his studies’. (page 89).….‘At that moment I realized that my connections in the government counted for nothing’ .(Page 90).         Some of the author's thoughts really look out of place. For example, in his opinion, the king of Bhutan should have ‘sought advice from the six high ranking civil servants who had absconded and were living in exile’ (page 97). This is preposterous because not too long ago, these bureaucrats were employed in the service of the king. The king was their boss, their guardian and their benefactor. The relationship was one of loyalty, service and allegiance to be maintained by these officers, not the other way round. All those officers held high positions in the government before they absconded and left the country, largely because of the trust the king  reposed on them. That relationship changed due to their decision to leave service, go into exile and form a political party opposing the king himself. How can the king stoop low to seek counsel from his own subjects? 

The author’s strong suggestion that the five high-level bureaucrats who left Bhutan should “provide leadership to the movement” (page 108) should be viewed with skepticism. These civil servants, while in Bhutan, were distant from the public and dedicated their time to serve the king. They lacked political exposure and grassroot touch with the public. The author’s recommendation could be biased as it seems to have been influenced by personal respect and relationships, particularly with Mr. RB Basnet and Bhim Subba, who were his relatives by marriage. As a junior bureaucrat and relative, the author likely harbored a desire for his seniors to hold positions of authority and leadership in the movement.   

In another breath, the author, says R.B Basnet, President of BNDP (Bhutan National Democratic Party) will not sit across the same table as equals with Mr. R.K Budathoki, President of BPP (Bhutan People’s Party) because when they were in Bhutan, Budhathoki served way down the hierarchy in the Bhutanese bureaucracy. (page 109). It shows that R.B. Basnet refused to engage with R.K. Budathoki as equals, due to their past positions in the Bhutanese bureaucracy, where Budathoki held a lower rank. The author’s observation highlights that personal pride, and ego prevented a collaboration or working unity between the two political parties.     

Other suggestions: 

A. Rizal’s Extradited to Bhutan …..(page 83).  I think this line should be presented in a different wording or language. I think it is technically inappropriate to call it ‘extradition’. ‘Extradition’ is a formal term that involves a tedious process between two governments. Nothing of that sort happened in Rizal’s case. Nepal and Bhutan did not have an extradition treaty. In the absence of a proper term, using the word ‘abduction’ or ‘deportation’ might be useful to explain the context, but even in this case, a proper testing of the words through legal scrutiny should not be ruled out. In America, some of us are talking about ‘common language’. It is an idea to stimulate better discourse about our issues and history based on shared

awareness, perceptions, understanding, interpretation, and communication. The end goal is to arrive at a ‘commonly acceptable narrative of our history’. In the absence of a ‘common language’ distorted narratives, misinterpretation and misinformation of our history run rampant, leaving a trail of confusion behind. At least, this suggestion comes from that experience. The recent controversial statement made by Dilli Adhikari regarding our historical narrative serves as a poignant example of this predicament.

B. ‘In 1996, the Appeal Movement Coordination Council (AMCC) resolved to carry an appeal to the king by marching to Bhutan’ (page 125). The Appeal Movement commenced on September 7,1995 in Jhapa, Nepal with a petition sent to King Jigme Singye Wangchuk.  Phase 2 of this movement commenced on January 14, 1996, when the Peace March to Bhutan began. It was a remarkable journey which tested the marchers endlessly, through dark uncertainties. Seven months later, on August 15, 1996, the peace marchers crossed into Phuntsholing, Bhutan. The AMCC movement was a hallmark of our resistance, resilience and determination. It drew to a close by the end of 1997. 

C. ‘The children of so-called lower castes and Dalits - the caste … cruelly known as untouchables’ (page 22). Unlike in Nepal or India the so-called ‘lower caste’ people are not considered ‘Dalits’ in Bhutan. The term ‘Dalit’ holds a specific meaning in the context of their struggle for liberation from deep seated economic, socio-cultural, and historical subjugation. Therefore, we should be careful about bringing such terms to our usage. Indeed, within the broad spectrum of a Buddhist society that Bhutan is, the concept of caste and untouchability does not exist. While there are people who face social and economic marginalization, their experiences do not capture the social dynamics of class resistance and its narrative that are usually prominent in other south Asian countries. This explains why the so-called ‘lower caste’ people do not have a representative class struggle or a ‘Dalit’ movement in Bhutan, unlike India or Nepal. 

D. I think the word which is underlined in bold here (below)needs clarity from the author ....  ‘When he went to Paro to hand over the taxes he had collected, the ruler of the south had him poisoned and killed (page 53).

E. The author’s understanding of ethnic group definitions is severely limited or fundamentally flawed. The statement ‘even more so than the ethnic Bhutanese themselves’ (page 74) is nonsensical, as all southern Bhutanese of Nepali-speaking origin are also Bhutanese citizens, regardless of their ethnic or cultural backgrounds. The term “Bhutanese’ signifies political citizenship, not an ethnic identity. Similarly, “Nepalese” (page 74) is not an ethnic designation. So, there are no ‘ethnic Bhutanese’ or ‘ethnic non- Bhutanese’.    Additionally, another corrupted term that is widely in use in our community is ‘ethnic Lhotshampas’.  The term ‘Lhotshampa’, meaning ‘southern dwellers’, was coined by the Bhutanese state in the 1970s. It is a geographical identity, unrelated to the cultural identity of the people living there. It is crucial to grasp this distinction because a ‘Ngalong’ can become a ‘Lhotshampa’ by settling permanently in the south, while a ‘Lhotshampa’ cannot become a Ngalong by moving north. This is because the term ‘Ngalong’ denotes an ‘ethnic’ identity, while the term ‘Lhotshampa’ merely denotes a geographical identity, which can change with a change in location. Something appears fishy here, because the Ngalongs have no interest in adopting a geographic identity, while insisting others to cling to their regional identities. 

F. Some southern Bhutanese have accepted the regime’s designation, believing that ‘Lhotshampa’ legitimizes their identity as ‘Bhutanese’ because it was bestowed by the king. However, it is important to recognize that derogatory terms like ‘illegal immigrants’, ‘anti-nationals’, ‘terrorists’, and ‘descendants of slaves and prostitutes’ also came from the same source. 

G. ‘ …. he presided over the expulsion of 100,000 citizens, a seventh of its population, one of the greatest acts of ethnic cleansing, per capita, that the world has seen”. (page 97). Again, this springs from the author’s misunderstanding of what an ‘ethnic’ group is. He says ‘ethnic cleansing’ because he thinks that we

(‘southern Bhutanese’) are an ‘ethnic group’ which is not. I certainly think that we should use proper terminologies as far as we know. Random use of terms portrays a different reality, and they could also be counterproductive. I do not agree that ours is a case of ‘ethnic cleansing’ for the simple reason that we ‘southern Bhutanese’ are not an ethnic group. We are a heterogenous group that consists of different ethnic and caste groups. ‘Cultural cleansing’ if you may, could be a better term and a less controversial one.

The authors serendipitous encounter with Dawa Tshering and Paljor Dorji while attending the World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna in June 1993 (page 115-16) nearly replicates my own experience in New Delhi in 1994. Hari Adhikari, SB Subba, the late Kishore Rai, RK Budathoki and I were in Delhi to attend a high-level conference, in which the representatives of the government of Bhutan were participating. There were six or seven of them, men and women, but I only remember Sonam T Rabgay, then Deputy Chief of Mission at the Royal Bhutanese Embassy in New Delhi, India. As I was seated in the front, I made every effort to turn and look back at them as many times as I could. I was probably too curious to see how they would react. During recess, I distributed a political brochure to all the participants. The brochure which I had written the night before was titled ‘The Phoney Tales of a Diplomat’. It unveiled how the Bhutanese government and its diplomats were using propaganda to defame the Bhutanese struggle for democracy. The Bhutanese delegation was baffled when I reached the back rows where they were seated. I even handed over some of the brochures to them. Most did not accept but a few reluctantly did. Probably, they were eager to find out what we had to say against the government of Bhutan. Suddenly, they became very uncomfortable, silent and unresponsive. It appeared as if they wanted to leave the meeting hall as soon as possible, and I think they did before the event concluded.         

Another sympathizer was Tim Fisher.......’as a friend of Bhutanese king, he played a dirty role, repeating the lie that the refugees had left on their own free will, or had been tricked by activists wanting a greater Nepal……. he accused the refugees of coming to the camps from parts of Nepal and India, attracted by the free food. We had to work very hard to undo the damage Tim Fisher did. (page 116). Tim Fisher, Deputy Prime Minister of Australia (1996 - 1999) wanted to write an obituary of the Bhutanese movement for democracy and human rights. It is shameful that a minister of a free country would support a regime that evicted twenty percent of its population. Tim’s central argument was that illegal immigrants were swamping indigenous Drukpas and eroding their culture. His position not only raises ethical questions but also highlights the contradictions within Australia’s own approach to its treatment of aboriginal population, the ‘Stolen Generation’.

The Australian government authorities and agencies believed that indigenous culture was inferior. To make them ‘civilized’ indigenous children of various aboriginal communities and the Torres Strait Islander groups were forcefully taken away from their families and communities and assimilated into the more dominant European Australian society and culture. This lasted from the late 1800s to the 1970s, a period almost stretching over 170 years. These people, often referred to as the ‘Stolen Generations’ faced devastating physical, psychological and emotional disturbances in institutions, churches, missions, foster care homes and in the homes of non-indigenous families. They lost their connections to their culture, language and indigenous heritage. Back in their lands, aborigines endured extreme hardships including confiscation of their traditional lands, suppression of cultural practices, forced removal of children, and systemic discrimination which limited their native rights and autonomy. 

Prime Minister Kevin Rudd issued a formal apology in 2008 on behalf of the Australian government acknowledging the pain and sufferings caused by historic injustices. The apology was seen as a significant step towards reconciliation. The legacy of the ‘Stolen Generation’ continues in the Australian discourse even today.  

I found the author very candid and unreservedly outspoken while sharing his family stories. It appears that he is a very kindhearted man who deeply cherishes family bonding, likes to live close to his siblings; and actively desires to be there for them in every possible way. As a son, his love and reverence for his parents shine through his words and actions. His act of prostrating in an Australian airport while reuniting with his parents, after a long separation, speaks volumes about his respect for them. This book also mirrors a different side of the author; that he is such a loving and caring husband to Saroja Didi, and a very caring but sometimes quite overprotective dad to Smriti; which probably arises from his own sense of priority for their safety and wellbeing over other things of mundane calling. He knew that as ex-refugees in a different land, they were still vulnerable. Overall, this book is a heartwarming example of love, humility and care in a relationship, which is necessary to create a loving home, out of a lonely house.

Lastly, I am thoroughly impressed by the author’s exceptional ability to retain or recall important dates and events even if they were seemingly of less significance at the time of occurrence. The retrieval of such data has not only added depth and accuracy to his storytelling ability, but it has also kept his readers firmly immersed in the book. When I say ‘book’, I mainly think of Chapter Four. I have quoted several of them in my review, and I congratulate the author for his effort. It is a well written book. The language is very good as well as the author’s picture on the cover page.

In the end, I am glad to know that the author has metamorphosed into an award-winning community worker in Blacktown, Sydney, Australia. His dedication in helping the Bhutanese community members in Sydney become better Australians every day, is truly commendable and inspiring.