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He enters the house, closing his umbrella and pushing the glass together. The warmth and the aroma engulfs him. “I miss home, Bhutan,” says mom momentarily making her forget where she was.

He goes and sits down near the glass table in agony. Mom and dad comforts him with tea and snacks. He takes out a tape recorder and starts it.

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He was sitting over the light blue bench in the corridor. He glanced for the hundredth time at the rainy street.

He slowly wipes his tears rolling down his chin and walks inside the room where every mother would give her life to a new born. A sharp needle was inserted in my fragile hand connected to glucose with long narrow tube. I know that because that’s what my dad told me when I was five. He was looking at me with his eyes filled with tears feeling sorry, for I was born. Whenever I would feel the pain due to constant glucose checkup and N Allopurinol injections, I’d cry a lot and he said that sometimes I’d even be awaken crying from dreams because of the pain. Week passed like that, every time I cried Tshogyel would come near me and sing a lullaby letting me gradually fall asleep for minutes though, he said.

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One day he came in and hugged mom so tight with joy, he exclaimed, “Tshogyel…Doctors in London have said to found the cure to our baby.” Tear of happiness filled her eyes and hugged him tightly.

100,000 ₤ was beyond what simply my family could afford for the treatment.

Residing with parents at Tshimalakha, Tshogyel would often come home where my father stayed. Panda was timorous about the relations he had with mom.

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It is not good to describe the romantic life of parents but you see their sex life has been complicated and the reason is me. Their pleasure of having unprotected sex made me alive. Maybe you can say they were cursed for mating before marriage.

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Despite, my parents had no good scenic roam together, I thank God that I rendered to mesmerizing visit to London with both of them. Thousands of lands and vast oceans away; in London they had a cure for me. They sold everything; land, house, car but could not incur the expenditure.

At last they set their foot to Health Minister’s office. Perhaps in Bhutan the first case to be ever diagnosed from Lesch-Nyahan Syndrome was me. Getting an appointment was a rocketing process, I mean seriously I had to wait for them to return for many days with mom’s friend who took care of me in their absences. The days seemed endless and the night was sleepless how I missed them. I was about three, gradually struggling with the power to live.

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Finally after five days I saw them my eyes dropped every bit of tears, I felt like hugging them but helpless. They were not happy, I heard them discussing despite governments help, they couldn’t aggregate the whole sum.

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Often Tshogyel would take me to walk whenever dad went for work. She used to say, “Let’s go for a walk honey,” slowly pushing me towards the door. It wasn’t a normal walk, she would push the wheel chair and we would go on a ride. Every time she took me out I became sad seeing other kids running and playing but I wouldn’t deny the walk because it made me think that the world doesn’t end within the four walls.

Dad comes home smiling and started an online campaign titled Jangsem. He shared my conditions and almost everything in it. Call it God’s blessing or a miracle, within a week’s time Bhutanese all over the world contributed so much that it was beyond the sum we needed.

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After days, we are flying to London with visa and passport helped by the Health Minister and hope for a new life. Their eyes brightened as they met with the doctor. Our hospitality were all arranged by the government of Bhutan so we didn’t have any issues.

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The big day had come. Only thing they could do was wait and pray as they watched me get in the ICU on the wheeled stretcher. They say it took six long hours but felt a life time. When the red light finally buzzed off and the doctor came out saying that the surgery was successful yet he was in a critical condition upon hearing the news it broke their heart. Though he can live a longer life than before, we can’t prevent the disease from taking his life away,” melancholy replied the doctor.     

   

“And here I am finally living my last days of my life happily, it’s been almost fifteen years since all these happened so I don’t remember properly,” I smile.

“If you were cured, why didn’t you and your family go back to home? Why did you all intend to stay here only in London?” He asks curiously taking a sip of cold tea.

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“Mom, you need to warm his tea!” I shouted looking at the kitchen, Mom’s busy cooking supper and Dad in his room doing his work. “Well, I have appointment with my Doctor every month so we can’t just come to London and go back to Bhutan every month.” I give a sarcastic laugh.  He replies with the same sarcastic smile.

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“Don’t you feel like going to your homeland?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Who doesn’t feel like going to their home? Now London is my second home, it has been nice to me and I like it here but…” I don’t want to share my inner thoughts but something in him tells me that I can trust him. He wore a black Bhutanese national dress with a white piece of cloth piece attached to the dress just above his waist.

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“I was informed yesterday that a journalist will come to interview today, I never expected the person to be from Bhutan.” I give a dark humor quickly changing the topic. I think he understood me and went along with my flow. He shares me the reason why he came in Gho as instructed by the Health Minister so I can imagine what it looks like to wear Gho. “He is worried about you most of the time. He shares me about you, he says that though he never saw you he felt delighted that he was able to be of some help,” his face saddens as he replies.   

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He is nice, he replies all my questions without any restrains and burning scrutiny. As he leaves our house after the supper, out of all blue a question triggers my mind, it bothers me if all the Bhutanese are as Hospitable as him. As I am approaching end of life’s journey, I recall every bit of memories. I am perhaps living a second time thinking all that has happened; I had experienced a life time even within my numbered days.

As I lay sleeping, hugging my pain and misery, I remember asking Ken Cho Sum a favor. A favor to be born with my mom, Thsogyel and my dad, Panda in Bhutan, a place where I call HOME.

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                                                                 The End

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