Could I love the annoying?
The drive up the Namo Buddha hill in Nepal in a small cramped Maruti 800 on a rough farm road once again brought my attention to this constant annoying screeching. Upon being asked, my father said it was the sound of an insect called a taemjim (in Dzongkha). I had heard this screeching many a times before. The more I listened to it, the more annoying it was getting. The hike down the hill was peaceful though. The screech had disappeared. No screech of the annoying thing. Later I found out from father that it had timing, which was quite interesting. And it was a relief because I could not imagine the lives of the people living in the area if it continued forever.
Just about a week ago, upon our arrival into the jungle that was about fifteen minutes from the Gasa hot spring, I started hearing the screeching once again. This time before I could complain, my father asked me if I was hearing the sound of the taemjim. We then compared the climate and the vegetation to that of the Namo Buddha area. It was the same. The sound was the same – annoying and irritating. But things were about to change - my view, my thought, my understanding and my feeling for this annoying thing. And this is why the learned say “expect the unexpected” for a reason.
On the fourth day at the hot spring, as usual, I was enjoying listening to Lama Chimi and my father talk about days in the past – happy and sad ones. As I was busy watching the pot boil, the two started giggling. When I asked them what it was, Lama Chimi shared a little story – a day from when he was just about eleven years old. The other protagonist must have been just a few years older – Asha Dodo. As little monks the two were supposed to attend a ritual of the annual harvest-offering at a village house in Nahi, Wandiphodrang.
On their way up to the house through the small forest, Asha Dodo stopped and asked him if he wanted a chutse-gari (wrist watch). Lama Chimi wondered what he was talking about. Asha Dodo then picked up a taemjim and said that this was a chutse-gari. He wrapped it up in a piece of deysho (handmade paper) and put it in the folds of his monk shirt. Lama Chimi did the same and they got their watches. They were late. Their Lobey (master) was already there and gave them a very stern look as is common in the monastic life in Bhutan. The other senior monks were already there. The two quickly sat on their mats at the end of the row. The ritual began solemnly.
It was now tea break and everyone sat seriously quiet. The delicious butter tea was being served. Except for the sound of the tea being poured, there was pin drop silent. Then all of a sudden – CHEE REE REE REE REEE… the screech of the taemjim began. Everyone looked alarmed. The master nearly spilled his tea (I am sure). He looked around sternly while the other monks suppressed their giggles. Asha Dodo and Lama Chimi’s alarm rang shrill from their watches in the fold of their shirts. The master made them stand up and asked another monk to search them. Their watches were discovered. The master walloped them without any mercy or appreciation for their humour.
They were to miss their tea and reach the taemjim back to where they had collected the insects. They ran down the hill, into the jungle and sincerely reached their watches back to their trees. They ran back in a hurry with the fear that they might miss lunch too. The two managed to reach back right on time for lunch. All the monks were lazing in the afternoon sun after a sumptuous meal. The two quickly ate the cold rice out of their tora (a white cloth used in place of plates) with the little curry that was given to them. They got another good walloping for dessert and then were made to sit at the row when the ritual resumed after lunch.
The story made me wonder about this taemjim and this time it was more than its annoying and irritating screech. I discovered from my sister that it was called a cicada. Just that evening, for the first time, I saw one peek from the glass window. The insect was a very cute one – ugly, but bearable to look at. It had big eyes wide apart and was of a dark dirty green colour with semi-transparent wings. It was much bigger than a bee. The screech, I came to learn later, is the cicada song for mating and courtship. The Ancient Greek myth has it that Tithonus was eventually turned into a cicada after being granted immortality, but not eternal youth, by Zeus. The Greeks also used a cicada sitting on a harp as emblematic of music. It’s annoying screech was indeed music now. I’d call it a love cry!
Cicadas can also produce sounds up to 120 dB (SPL) and is among the loudest of all insect-produced sounds. If a cicada sang just outside the listener's ear it can cause permanent hearing loss in humans. No wonder I have hated the annoying screech. But hearing Lama Chimi’s story and after seeing the insect up close and personally, I just am in love with yet another wondrous creation of Nature. Its sense of timing in the late mornings and afternoons to sing its song qualifies it as a clock. It never misses its time. I hope to put in me its sense of punctuality.
I also will cry out as shrilling loud as the cicada if I can make love heard by all sentient beings. And yes, I prefer the annoying cicada song any day to the humdrum humans make all the time about little things. The next time I hear the cicada song, I will sing along with it and dance to it till it clocks me to stop. May be I’ll even try and wear it as a wrist watch like Asha Dodo and Lama Chimi. So until I hear you again, sing on my little chutse-garis!
Just about a week ago, upon our arrival into the jungle that was about fifteen minutes from the Gasa hot spring, I started hearing the screeching once again. This time before I could complain, my father asked me if I was hearing the sound of the taemjim. We then compared the climate and the vegetation to that of the Namo Buddha area. It was the same. The sound was the same – annoying and irritating. But things were about to change - my view, my thought, my understanding and my feeling for this annoying thing. And this is why the learned say “expect the unexpected” for a reason.
On the fourth day at the hot spring, as usual, I was enjoying listening to Lama Chimi and my father talk about days in the past – happy and sad ones. As I was busy watching the pot boil, the two started giggling. When I asked them what it was, Lama Chimi shared a little story – a day from when he was just about eleven years old. The other protagonist must have been just a few years older – Asha Dodo. As little monks the two were supposed to attend a ritual of the annual harvest-offering at a village house in Nahi, Wandiphodrang.
On their way up to the house through the small forest, Asha Dodo stopped and asked him if he wanted a chutse-gari (wrist watch). Lama Chimi wondered what he was talking about. Asha Dodo then picked up a taemjim and said that this was a chutse-gari. He wrapped it up in a piece of deysho (handmade paper) and put it in the folds of his monk shirt. Lama Chimi did the same and they got their watches. They were late. Their Lobey (master) was already there and gave them a very stern look as is common in the monastic life in Bhutan. The other senior monks were already there. The two quickly sat on their mats at the end of the row. The ritual began solemnly.
It was now tea break and everyone sat seriously quiet. The delicious butter tea was being served. Except for the sound of the tea being poured, there was pin drop silent. Then all of a sudden – CHEE REE REE REE REEE… the screech of the taemjim began. Everyone looked alarmed. The master nearly spilled his tea (I am sure). He looked around sternly while the other monks suppressed their giggles. Asha Dodo and Lama Chimi’s alarm rang shrill from their watches in the fold of their shirts. The master made them stand up and asked another monk to search them. Their watches were discovered. The master walloped them without any mercy or appreciation for their humour.
They were to miss their tea and reach the taemjim back to where they had collected the insects. They ran down the hill, into the jungle and sincerely reached their watches back to their trees. They ran back in a hurry with the fear that they might miss lunch too. The two managed to reach back right on time for lunch. All the monks were lazing in the afternoon sun after a sumptuous meal. The two quickly ate the cold rice out of their tora (a white cloth used in place of plates) with the little curry that was given to them. They got another good walloping for dessert and then were made to sit at the row when the ritual resumed after lunch.
The story made me wonder about this taemjim and this time it was more than its annoying and irritating screech. I discovered from my sister that it was called a cicada. Just that evening, for the first time, I saw one peek from the glass window. The insect was a very cute one – ugly, but bearable to look at. It had big eyes wide apart and was of a dark dirty green colour with semi-transparent wings. It was much bigger than a bee. The screech, I came to learn later, is the cicada song for mating and courtship. The Ancient Greek myth has it that Tithonus was eventually turned into a cicada after being granted immortality, but not eternal youth, by Zeus. The Greeks also used a cicada sitting on a harp as emblematic of music. It’s annoying screech was indeed music now. I’d call it a love cry!
Cicadas can also produce sounds up to 120 dB (SPL) and is among the loudest of all insect-produced sounds. If a cicada sang just outside the listener's ear it can cause permanent hearing loss in humans. No wonder I have hated the annoying screech. But hearing Lama Chimi’s story and after seeing the insect up close and personally, I just am in love with yet another wondrous creation of Nature. Its sense of timing in the late mornings and afternoons to sing its song qualifies it as a clock. It never misses its time. I hope to put in me its sense of punctuality.
I also will cry out as shrilling loud as the cicada if I can make love heard by all sentient beings. And yes, I prefer the annoying cicada song any day to the humdrum humans make all the time about little things. The next time I hear the cicada song, I will sing along with it and dance to it till it clocks me to stop. May be I’ll even try and wear it as a wrist watch like Asha Dodo and Lama Chimi. So until I hear you again, sing on my little chutse-garis!
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