Postcard from Paro

I was impressed by Bhutan’s landscapes,charmed by its citizens yet intrigued by its place in the world. Having visited it during the royal wedding,I encountered a country which loves King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck and appears transfixed by monarchy. Cities came to standstill,thousands of people sat for up to eight hours in silence,paying heed to the police and a thin white cordon,as they waited for him.

Terms like the “last Shangri-la” or “the Land of the Thunder Dragon” make for catchy copy. “Happiness” as an idea can sell just about anything. But to visit Bhutan is also to witness a country with a foot in the old and a foot in the new,like the heroine of a Thomas Hardy novel. She is riveting,you want to know more about her. But she is an uneasy heroine,as her choices will come to define her.

Delhi to Paro (Bhutan’s only international airport) is only a two-hour flight,but it takes you to an entirely different world. In the check-in line,the frequent fliers distinguish themselves from the first-timers,as they ask for a “left window” for the journey and a right for the return. A left window on the Druk flight will throw up a view of the Himalayas. When the pilot points out Mt Everest and Annapurna from the cockpit,the curious hustle to the left,cameras and cellphones in hand. I always delight in aeroplane views,the smallness of the details and vastness of the landscape. This one is something else altogether. “Everest stood a wingspan away from me”,how many people get to say that?

As the plane touches down in the Paro valley,it takes a series of dips and turns,with the wings’ shadows grazing the hills. Fewer than a dozen pilots are certified to land at this airport,said to be one of the most challenging in the world. The road traffic leading to the airport even comes to a halt during take-offs and landings.

Billboards find no place in Bhutan,but on disembarking,a large portrait of the king and now queen smile down from their perch near the runway. This one photograph,taken during the official engagement,has been replicated ad infinitum through the country. You see it on hill slopes,at city-limits,in shop windows,at traffic roundabouts and hanging from doorways.

Paro as a city complies completely with the idea of Bhutan. With its large swathes of paddy fields,the meandering Paro Chhu (river) and gentle hills,it retains a strong agrarian feel. On a Sunday drive,you will come across groups of men armed with high-tech imported bows and arrows aiming at distant targets. Outdoor darts,played in teams,is another popular sport. When a contestant hits a target,his team erupts into a merry song and dance and he wins a bright medallion,which he pins to his belt.

You can walk out of the airport,cross the highway and find yourself alone by a riverbank. You can dip your ankles in the icy water,slurp on cheese momos,listen to the silence and the city will cease to exist. An Indian Oil petrol pump might stand sentry at the corner of the highway,but you’ll seldom,if ever,hear horns blaring or cars screeching. With a population of just under seven lakhs (in a Kerala-sized country) and with no traffic lights,jams and crowds don’t hassle Bhutan.

Rows of intricately carved wooden houses and shops make up the main street of Paro,which was built only in 1985. With the newly-wedded royal couple expected to arrive,the street awaits,prayer scrolls streaming down buildings and scarves draping the archway. Liquor sells more prolifically than tea here. Only after a trip to three restaurants could we find the traditional Bhutanese tea or suja. Made with butter,it leaves your tongue in a sheath of grease and salt but also very warm and ready to take on possible snows. The houses,made of wooden roofs and stone walls,are remarkable for the elaborately carved wooden cornices. While mythic creatures like the winged-Garuda,with a snake in its mouth,glare from house facades,you will also find the odd phallic depiction,complete in hirsute detail,drawn to ward off evil. A more abstract yet obvious enough version also hangs from the eaves of houses.

Around 60km from Paro,Thimphu contains the telltale signs of a capital city. Skeletons of scaffolding and land-movers dot the city’s landscape. Hyundai,Tata and Honda showrooms appear frequently. While most men wear the gho and the women the kira,as only these are permitted in government buildings,here you will also see teenagers in low-hanging jeans and tight T-shirts.

Tobacco is banned and smoking a cigarette can land you in jail,but mouths here constantly chew Pan Parag and betel nut. If you chance into the narrower allies,just off the main road,a glowing cigarette butt and teenagers playing carom (with money) might catch your eye. The main streets often resemble Indian streets of the 1980s with their box televisions,video parlours,but also many internet cafes. It was,after all,only in 1999 that the government lifted the ban on television and internet. Bhutan imports more than it sells to the world,and it’s little surprise to find many Indian products,from Dabur toothpaste to the Indian rupee to Bollywood songs in free circulation.

In Thimphu,one sees the old and new struggling with each other and finally coexisting. At a cafe I frequently visited near the city centre,monks in maroon would come in and order coffee and cake,young Bhutanese girls would pore over Facebook and photos of the royal wedding and Westerners would drink their latte while reading Mad Treks in Bhutan. With tourists having to pay $200 a day,Bhutan hasn’t become a Nepal for back-packers.

For a country to measure happiness as a national policy takes an odd bit of whimsy and idealism. But Bhutanese share an uncommon grace and gentleness. Restaurants shut at 9 pm and lunch service starts by 11am. Cab drivers will walk you down to your hotel on one-way streets and will return your phone if left in a cab,people apologise to each other after motor skirmishes. Bhutanese women with their marble skin and high cheek bones make striking figures. They also enjoy an equality that is rare in South Asia. The streets are safe and cases of harassment rare. You see women working at car washes,carrying cabinets up slopes and suitcases up hotel stairs.

Accustomed to the ambitions of India,I also found them laid-back,reluctant to question and beholden to the dominant royal ideology. In Bhutan,you are transported to a different world,but what lies beneath might not be as perfect a picture.