By Karma Negi
I still remember the times when the arrival of Buchen to our village was an annual event. Every year they would appear in the winter months, when all the villagers were done with their farm work and were about to go into resting mode, and then after days of performances, Buchen would disappear for the rest of the year. I remember the Buchen who would go to different villages one after another spreading religious knowledge in dramatic and witty ways.
A Photo Essay
Written by Sonam Chhomo
– Chemi Lhamo in conversation with Tenzin Sonam
Read moreBy Rinchen Angmo, Nawang Chhoetso and Sonam Chhomo
Read moreThere are stories which we choose to share and stories which irrevocably fade away with time.
— Sonam Chhomo and Nawang Chhoetso
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When we ask them about their stories, you would notice a sense of hesitation in the beginning, but internally we all know that they are too eager to feel the same emotions again as they traverse through memory lane. And when they speak, you’ll notice that it becomes hard to stop them, you fear interrupting them lest they change their mind and become silent after a pause. You don’t want that to happen, do you? You too want to understand them and wish to find yourself a place in their memory so that you witness them first hand, look at their obscurities and in a childish spree compare yourself to them. Of course our imagination too helps us to walk this same path as they start travelling back to these days in the hope of reliving their most loved memories.
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Perhaps listening to their stories may retain the authenticity of these experiences which no travel book may hold, perhaps their stories will be the last reminiscent of their generation’s experiences and it is only fair as this becomes our duty to document these as part of history, our history. .
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