What Is In A Name?

“Look, Patrick – I disagree with you. You know what? I also don’t think American names are great,” I said, as we dragged our luggage through the ribbon-barricaded passage near the ticket counter at the airport. 

Patrick narrowed his brows. “But, Karma, don’t you see Bhutanese names are so confusing? Names like Dorji Tshomo, Dorji Omo, Tshering Dorji, Dorji Tshering are all similar. I find it not only confusing, I find it hard to keep the name,” he said. We walked towards the McDonald kiosk in the distance. 

Meanwhile, we reached the kiosk. Taking a seat we ordered a mango juice each as Patric and I wanted to waste some time before the call for our flight departure was announced. 

Patric works as an Avionic Technician at Airbus Americas Inc. based in the USA. A week ago, we came here to Thailand to attend a technical training conducted by Thai AirAsia Corp. 

“Patrick, if you find Bhutanese names much confusing and much boring? What about American names then? American names such as Mike, Kate, Robert resonate to me the names of things like microphones, cats, berries and computers,” I clearly laid him my rebuttal. 

“How?” He looked at me inquiringly, sipping his juice.

“See, the name ‘Kate’ for example. Doesn’t it get confused with the animal ‘Cat’? Kate – Cat.” I tried to rhyme the words to make it appear silly. “The name ‘Robert’ for another example, isn’t it weird to call human beings by the name ‘Robert’?” I gave a wry smile. “Robot, Robert. Or, are Americans promoting the Robots takeover over humanities already? What are these names? Bhutanese names don’t have this,” I said with a boisterous laughter. Patrick too followed suit.

I first met Patrick three years ago when he had visited Bhutan to fix the sub system power problem that the Druk Air aircraft A320neo had been facing. He shared my apartment during his stay in Bhutan. After he had left, we maintained contact via mails and calls whenever time allowed us, and that was how we became bosom friends over the time. But – of all the fun we had together while he was in Bhutan, and of all the goodness I oversaw in him, there was one distinguishing problem with this tall, handsome and yellow haired Englishman. I tease him saying – it is his technical glitch – as he is a hi-tech guy. The problem with Patrick is that he has this weird interest to pass judgements, comment, or even mock on the various issues that he sees in our bhutanese society, be it about culture, tradition or our lifestyle.

For example, Patric would begin roasting me like these – 

‘You know Karma, the problem with you guys is that __’ 

‘You see, it is strange Bhutanese see things this way__’

blah,,, blah,,, blah.

All these types of bantering. Always. I say he knows well how to ruin our time together. I swear at times Patrick makes me feel that I have no existential purpose in life other than to act as an anvil on which he can forge all his Bhutanese frustrations. If you are his friend (luckily you are not) you would hear Patrick complaining, how Bhutanese can adjust to living in a room that is too small for a family, yet has a bigger room foolishly saved just to accommodate our altars (bhutanese choeshams).

“You could have used the space for family. How ridiculous!” He would bark. 

He also thinks that Bhutanese should never attempt playing basketball. Not at all. He thinks that it would only be a national embarrassment if we compete at international level. 

“That would be like – a match fixed between giants vs lilliputs from the Gulliver’s Travels.” He would say. And I think maybe he could be right given the average short stature we are. So, when all other foreigners who visit our country have everything to praise about us, Patrick was an exception. Such a man he is.

Several minutes passed when Patric and I played a name-shaming game on each other. He thinks Bhutanese names are poop. I, on the other hand, argue that American names are not as great a name as Bhutanese names. The rub is – we couldn’t come to a consensus. 

“Anyway, forgo our nationalistic view, it is a never ending tale with you,” I said, feeling bored arguing with Patrick. I looked around. There were other people like us at the airport, in a hustle, in a bustle, destined to go somewhere else. 

“Tell me if you are married now?” I initiated a new topic with a smile. Patrick took the Raben brand darkshade off his eyes. “Nope, but I’m marrying this Christmas,” he said gloomingly.

“Wow, big boy. Next time we meet, you’re a father then,” I teased him. Patric smiled at this. After all, whether Patric complains about bhutanese or not, he is my only foreign friend, a sweet guy to hang around with. 

“What about you, buddy?” He asked me.

“Not yet.” I shook my head. “Single life, the best life.” I showed him my thumbs-up for emphasis. “Marriage is too soon a decision for me.” And as I casually said this to Patrick, the speaker from the faraway ceiling boomed with the pre-boarding announcement:

“Good evening passengers….

This is the announcement for flight 12B to Bhutan. 

We are inviting you to board in at this time. 

Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. 

Thank You.” 

“Oh, it is time to go now, my friend. Your flight is only half an hour away after this, right?” I said as I drew myself from the seat. Patrick checked his time when he nodded. “Yes, at 2 p.m.”

“Okay, stay safe to the time we meet again, Patrick.” I said as he also rose to his height from the seat. The guy seemed taller than some of the small buildings in Bhutan.

“Keep in contact,  I’m looking to visit Bhutan one day again. Let’s have fun there,” he said as we shook hands.

“Make your honeymoon there” was what I wanted to say, but a chance to tease him would be rare after our departure. So, I ventured out saying, “don’t visit Bhutan, you already have enough to complain about us.” Patrick grinned at this, displaying his sets of white teeth. 

So, I walked away waving hands to him. I would be missing Patrick now, I told you he is a nice guy. However, as I moved away, I teasingly wanted Patrick to know that his friend (me) was leaving without losing the debate on the confusing nature of Bhutanese names we left over ear a moment ago. I wanted to tell him that I keep the topic open for future discussion. So, I turned back. “Anyway, Patrick,,,as Shakespeare said, ‘what is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. So, I don’t think your concern over the confusing nature of Bhutanese names is valid anymore.” I said this with a full face smile.

Patrick might have clearly got my intention. He knows that somehow I always win over him in any of our arguments, because I always play this last-minute flick to turn things on my side so that other people don’t have time to answer me back. This flick he might have gotten as his laughter reverberated through the walls of Suvarnabhumi airport. 

Twenty minutes later, I landed back at Paro airport. I unfastened the seat belt and walked through the aisle inside the airbus when my phone beeped inside the pocket. 

“Hello” I received the call.

“Hi,” a familiar voice from another end of the line greeted me.

“Oh, Choden?” I said, recognizing the voice. 

I met Choden in one of the night clubs several months ago. I swear by the moon and the stars that there is nothing serious going on between us. She is not my girlfriend. It is just that whenever I call her, she is always there for me. The only seriousness I have for her is with her eyes. Her dark eyes dazzled me. 

“Karma, what happened? It had been sometime I did not hear from you? Where are you?” She said. Heard? I told you that she is more than a friend, less than a girl friend. I didn’t even inform her that I would be out in Thailand attending a meeting. Maybe I can safely say that she is my  half-girlfriend (if there is such thing as this) for now.

“Umm,” I pondered for a while, “Yeah, I’m in the office,” I finally managed to say. I knew it was a lie, but whose ears cared. 

“Anything?” I asked her as I gave way for other passengers to disembark from the plane. 

She cleared her throat on the phone before she said, “Uhh,, I called you to… ask for some bucks. Need to meet some emergency.” What emergency she didn’t confide in. “Have you any, honey?” She asked. The word ‘honey’ melted me.

“How much do I send?” 

“Um, five thousand?,” she said in a modest voice. “ONLY five thousand?’was what I wanted to scream, but when I could not refuse her, “okay, send me the account number…dear,” was all I said in the desperation of her sweetness. Tips – I added ‘dear’ in the end. Did you hear? When it comes to girls, it is always wise to add ‘dear’ in the end of the sentence whenever you fulfill her wishes. In my case – I am giving her the money, but as I give, why not make myself appear merrily giving it. 

“Thanks for helping me, I will return it back soon,” Choden said. She was probably calling from the town as I could hear the honks of the cars.

“Okay, SMS me the account number, dear,” I said, taking off the black shade I had worn.

“All right, see you tomorrow. I’ll call you again, okay? I am a little busy right now. See you baby,,,” Choden trailed off. By the way, Choden is gorgeous, extra-beautiful in her legs. It is these irresistible long legs she carries which teases my lips every time I slither like a snake, up to her lips, down from these sexy legs, in our rendezvous.  

I mBoBed her the amount as I stood atop the steel staircase that the aircraft is attached to that enables passengers to step out. I shoved in the phone back looking around to grasp the panoramic view of the airport. It was exhilarating to be back home. The fresh air, the mountains, and the Paro Airport, a place where I work was all I have been missing. I drew in a large amount of air into my lungs from the atmosphere before I exhaled back in relief. Feeling relaxed, I put on the black shade, and dismantled myself down the stairs.

Several weeks into the office work.

One day, Choden had called me to say that she would be in Phuntsholing for some work. And without her, as I had no one to meet, I tried to kill time doing laundry, mopping floors, and cleaning the kitchen only to feel bored towards the evening. So, on that evening I decided to check out at a night-club, all alone, on my own. 

‘Black label. Two pegs,’ I ordered at the counter, holding a glass. The Vintage night-club located at the heart of the Paro town brimmed with colorful disco lights and music. Catching up with some familiar faces, tapping to the beat of some music, I shook my butt for sometime. After an hour, I longed for an outdoor space to smoke a cigarette. The smoke room was full, and the air inside was getting warmer and warmer. So, I broke through the webs of people who were dancing as if the last day on earth had come. Coming outside the party hall, I walked up to a dark corner next to the last canopy in the area, and was about to strike a matchstick on the cigarette. Suddenly, my dull eyes caught the sight of a girl and a guy devouring each other into an eternal kiss in the distance.

“Here?!” I thought to myself, aware that there were many people around them in the premises. 

I lit the cigarette anyway, looking at them often. But, the more I gazed at them, the more it seemed that the girl in the service of kiss looked similar to Choden. I narrowed my eyes to deny it. But, no, she really resembles Choden. 

Holding off my puff, in doubt, I went a little closer to see if my eyes betrayed. Lo, fast forward, Alas! it was Choden. I caught her by the butterfly tattoo she has on her wrist. Damn God! Choden has been kissed by the hooded guy. Oh, for a moment my heart beat slipped. 

‘Choden!,’ I freaked out after coming near them. Startled, the lovebirds unlocked their lips. Both of them, I mean three of us, froze in the icicles of my untimely interruption. 

‘You said you’re in Phuntsholing,’ I said with a lump in my throat. Choden didn’t shudder out of shock as I expected. Her eyelids rather blinked lazily like a car windshield that swishes lazily at a low speed. “She must be drunk.” I deducted.

‘Who is this guy?’ the hooded guy with a husky voice immediately asked, interrupting my thoughts. Choden made no answer to his enquiry. 

Getting a little angrier at the way the guy looked at me, I said, “I’m sorry, but – look, she is my friend, and appears to be drunk. I want to take her home.”

‘What is the fuss bro?” the guy shouted at me again. This time his provocative look did not go well with me. I silently rolled my T-shirt sleeves high (wanted to intimidate the guy), and grabbed Choden by the hand from her seat, and walked towards the car. I have this bad habit of not speaking when I really get mad at someone.

Once inside the car, I repaired it towards the river-side spot where people usually go after the party. The spot bore green grasses suitable for a hang out.  “Why did she kiss him?” “Why did she lie to me?” I really needed to hear from her.

Choden coughed and vomited once we stepped off the car. I helped her with mineral water to floss her mouth. 

“Choden, I thought you were a beautiful girl. Why do you have to do that to me?” I asked her. Choden was in pain because she puked. Getting hopeless at the situation, I let her recover for a moment in the dark silence. In the silence, I could hear the symphony of Pachhu (Paro river), flowing by the side of the ground where we stood.

“Ah, he was my ex.” Choden drizzly stammered to say after sometime. I looked at her in dismal. “He called me at the party and we were…” Choden trailed off. I had the inclination to slap her, but I am a considerable gentleman. To see your girl being kissed by another guy really feels like a knife on the throat,I bet you. And to quell my prancing heart, I lit a cigarette to bring some of its calming effect, but the silhouette of a hooded guy with his friends shadowed the ground below. 

“Bastard,” the guy screamed from a distance. Two other sidekicks featured by his side. Looking at the trio, I felt that these are the guys who have nothing to do, nothing to lose. 

“Look brothers,” I warned them. “Her name is Choden, and she is my girlfriend,” I said.

“So you are the real hero here, and we are the beast,’ the hooded guy shot back. I wanted to tell him that only bad guys kiss other’s girlfriends, but the guys had no time for my preaching. They advanced towards me leaving me helpless on what would ensue, and the fight broke among us. 

Paangg! Where did the hard punch come from? Little I had known that the first punch in the fight was destined to land on my left ear. I almost got knocked out in the first second of the fight. Gathering balance from the ground, I threw my elbow, seeing one of them attacking me. Baang! Yes, I got it. The elbow strike I threw sought a collision against one of the guy’s nose. Motivated, I tightly seized the hooded guy by his hood, and hit him with an uppercut. I raised him down with a lower cut. He felt flat. After that, after the collapse of the boss,I got hold of other guys to rain them down with knee strikes and elbow strikes. Ten minutes into the fight, I luckily managed them out. The only bloodshed casualty I sustained was with my mouth. I did not know when the filthy hand of the skinny guy got inside of my mouth at some point during the bout. 

‘Don’t fight, Karma, or else I’ll jump into the river.” I heard Choden screaming behind me as I was kicking the guys their ass off as they ran away. I turned back. It was practically darker now, and therefore impeded me to see through. But somehow, I saw the body outline of Choden running clumsily towards the edge of the river bank. I ran towards her for fear that she might fall into the river and luckily caught her back in the nick of the time. She lazily turned back, collapsed on me in the position of hugging me. She dozed off into sleep saying, ‘I love you Karma.’ 

That was how we packed up the day.

The next day in the office, I was chatting with Patrick as he was online when Sherab asked, ‘Karma, last night you had a problem with someone?’ 

‘Yeah, but how come you know about it?’ In astonishment, I asked her.

‘I was there during the party. I saw you exchanging some bitter words with the hooded guy.’

‘Yeah. He was…uh,’ my voice trailed off. I could not tell Sherab that he was kissing my girlfriend. What if she laughs.

 “Who is he?”

“He runs a mobile shop in the town,” she said.

“Oh,” I said, typing back again to Patric. After a moment of silence, Sherab stood up with the file folded under arm, came by my cubicle and said, “You know what? He shares the same name.” 

“What do you mean?” I asked her in a low voice cautious not to disturb mates, my hands still on the keyboard.

“His name is also Karma,” Sherab said, as she displaced herself towards the manager’s cabin leaving me in trance.

“Karma? Karma?” the name echoed through hollow mind.

The mentioning of – ‘his name is also Karma’ by Sherub dumbfounded me. I felt like I was being sucked down in the whirlpool, scrambled on the frying pan, and thrown into the safety tank. The white office ceiling seemed crashing down on me. “His name is also Karma”
I froze.The humdrum office sound coming from printer printing, ringing of IP phones could be heard in my silent introspection. Part of me looked at the computer screen, there Mr. Patric seemed to be sending me a row of messages.

“…Last time when you left the airport

 you enacted a Shakepearean quote saying,

 what’s in the name,,,”  blah blah blah…

I read it, but I could read it. I know I was glaring at the messages and reading it, but I had no vision. I could not focus on what he had written. I was lost in a thought, in a reverie, trying to figure out whether it was me who she referred to when Choden said, ‘I love you Karma.’ during last night’s fight. 

“Was she saying it to me, or was it the other Karma, the hooded guy?” I Saale’s myself. “Whom did she refer to?” I had no answer. 

Few minutes passed, the thud sound of the file on the table when Sherab returned to her seat put me back into the sense. I looked around. Sherab paid no heed, and everyone was lost in their computers. I looked at my computer again, slowly dragging the keyboard a little closer, I began typing.

(tek,tek,,tek,,,tek)

“Dear Patrick,

you were right last time, my friend, about the confusing names of our Bhutanese. Yes, our names ain’t only awful, they are too weird.” I typed with a sigh.“So, If u r my good pal, don’t ask me why. My boss, Everything Is In A Name!”

I clicked the SEND button.