My father was not just a figure of respect in our village;
he was special to me in a way that words could scarcely capture. His presence
was a commanding one, and while his towering height and fair complexion might
have drawn the admiration of those who saw him, it was his inner strength that
left an indelible mark on my heart.
Dad had the kind of intelligence that earned him the
reverence of the people in our village. It wasn't just book smarts; it was a
profound wisdom, an innate understanding of life's intricate tapestry. Many
regarded him as a beacon of knowledge, someone to turn to for guidance in times
of need.
His physical stature was a testament to his vitality. Tall
and strong, he stood as a pillar of strength in our family. He was as
physically capable as my late grandfather had been during his prime, a
formidable presence that few could challenge in terms of sheer physical
strength.
Yet, life's relentless demands had taken their toll. The
intense pressures he faced had gradually receded his hairline into baldness.
The burdens of existence had etched lines on his face, marks of resilience and
sacrifice. But even in the face of adversity, his hands remained nimble, gifted
in carpentry and wood carving. He crafted objects of beauty and tradition,
turning raw materials into works of art that would endure for generations.
However, despite his many talents, he was not without his
quirks. His singing voice, for instance, left much to be desired, and his
dancing skills were equally unimpressive. But in the realm of chants, he was a
master among his peers. His voice resonated with a spiritual power that could
stir the hearts of those who listened.
His role as a ritual master at our local temple was a
testament to his dedication to his faith. He took on the responsibilities of an
astrologer in our village, guiding the people with his wisdom and insight.
During these years of service, he earned a sterling track record, marked by
diligence and humility.
So far, my father has journeyed to many sacred
places, receiving blessings from high religious lamas. Among his many root
Gurus, the H.H. 14th Tshegtse Rinpoche held a special place in his heart, a
connection to a world of spirituality that ran deep within him.
My father was not just a man of physical strength; he was a
man of principles and values. He had a profound sense of good upbringing and
instilled in us the importance of good manners and conduct. He believed in
leading by example, and his integrity was unwavering.
Amidst the backdrop of his wisdom and steadfastness, there
was another facet of my father that added vibrant colors to his character – his
irrepressible sense of humor. While many respected him for his intelligence and
revered him for his spiritual role, they also cherished him for his ability to
bring laughter and joy into their lives.
My father possessed a remarkable talent for imitating other
people's actions and mannerisms, turning everyday situations into moments of
uproarious comedy. His jokes were like precious gems, their brilliance
captivating both young and old alike. Whenever he spun his tales of mirth, it
was as though a veil of seriousness lifted, revealing the mischievous twinkle
in his eyes. His sense of humor was infectious, a joyous contagion that
spread wherever he went. Laughter would ripple through the room like a gentle
wave, and people would find themselves chuckling, their spirits lifted by his
playful antics. His jokes weren't just ordinary; they were engrossing
narratives that drew listeners into a world of mirth and delight.
Whether it was a casual gathering or a solemn occasion, my
father's fun-loving character was a constant companion. He had an uncanny
ability to find humor in the most mundane of situations, turning the ordinary
into the extraordinary through the lens of laughter. It was a gift that endeared him to everyone he met, forging
bonds of friendship and camaraderie. In a world that could often be burdened by
its own weight, my father was a ray of sunshine, a reminder that even in the
darkest of times, there was room for joy and levity.
As I reflect on this aspect of my father, I am reminded that
life is not just about the serious pursuit of knowledge or the weighty
responsibilities we bear. It's also about finding joy in the everyday moments,
about sharing laughter and smiles with those we hold dear. In this, my father
was a master, a jester who brought happiness wherever he roamed, a reminder
that in the tapestry of life, humor is a thread that binds us all together.
However, despite his many qualities, he had his share of
shortcomings. In our culture, it was taboo to point out the flaws of our
parents or elders, but I believed that right was right and wrong was wrong,
regardless of the individual. While he cared for us deeply and wanted the best
for our grooming, his methods were sometimes too harsh.
One of the greatest sources of contention between us was his
aversion to games. He saw them as distractions from our responsibilities and
was resolute in preventing us from indulging in them. I had a particular
fondness for archery, but I longed to join my friends in their games,
especially during the evenings. Yet, my father's strict stance left me yearning
for those moments of play.
Another point of disagreement was his disapproval of us
watching videos or movies. For us, who were exposed to this form of
entertainment for the first time, it was a source of fascination and joy. To
me, getting the chance to watch a movie was akin to winning a million-dollar
ticket, and I was crazy about it. Unfortunately, such freedoms were a luxury we
couldn't afford in our home.
Yet, my father balanced these restrictions with a deep
commitment to our education. He began teaching me the Tibetan alphabet before I
even enrolled in school. His dedication to my education knew no bounds, and he
instilled in me a love for learning that would shape my future. He taught me
the basics of recitation and introduced me to a prayer dedicated to the God of
Wisdom.
By the time I entered school, I was well-versed in these
lessons, and they became the foundation upon which my academic success was
built. His greatest gift to me was a narrative story from the book "The
Words of My Perfect Teacher." This story shared verbally, kindled a deep
love for Buddhism within me. I remember once requesting him to gift me the book, but he
didn't have an extra copy. Fortunately, I was able to obtain it from my Akhu,
who was mastering Buddhist philosophy at Namdroling Monastery at the time.
My father knew of my academic prowess and understood my
potential. He constantly reminded me to keep learning and to explore anything that
piqued my interest, even if mastery eluded me. His words of wisdom served as a
constant source of motivation, encouraging me to work tirelessly.
In school, I learned modern subjects, but when I returned
home, I was groomed to handle the basic responsibilities of a Gomchen. My
father took me along with him wherever he went, allowing me to learn and
experience the world beyond textbooks. As I reached grade 9 and beyond, I began to feel a sense of
embarrassment about representing the role of a Gomchen in our community. But
with the wisdom of hindsight, I now understand that there is no shame in
embracing such a heritage. I should not feel ashamed; instead, I should be
proud of the rich teachings and experiences that my father bestowed upon me.
In the grand story of my life, my father played a central
role, in shaping my character and guiding my path with unwavering love and
discipline. He was more than just a parent; he was a mentor, a guardian, and a
source of inspiration. The lessons he imparted continue to influence my
journey, a legacy that I cherish deeply.
