Cured now, and a cook

1 December 2009

A former inveterate alcoholic, Sherpa’s life is a story of monumental relapses, physical and mental. “16 times! That’s quite degeneration,” he says.

“We seldom sit down and consider how we live our life. It’s often too late when we realize we’ve spent it up to nothing,” he says. Now, beaming with joy and hope, Sherpa says, “My story must be heard. It’s a narrative of effort and determination, of failures and perseverance. And success.”

A son of a royal body guard, Sherpa’s addiction to alcohol started early in his life. “Addiction begins at home, like charity of a sort,” he laughs, explaining how alcohol was easily available in his younger days.

“My mother used to brew ara at home, as did every housewife in the army colony back then. I’d taken to drinking regularly since I was about 14,” he says.

Little by little, Sherpa had become a heavy drinker by 15. The academic bit of his life got relegated to utter negligence. He failed in class VII. He repeated and got through, but only just.

When he reached class VIII, Sherpa’s addiction had arrived at a no-looking-back phase. He remembers that period of his school days only very vaguely. Though he knew he would fail again, he decided to sit for the common exams to comfort his parents who were already too distraught and flustered with his immutable behaviour. He made it this time too, with 42 percent average.

“I had the brains. Only I didn’t put it to good use. Drunken dreams dwindled it all,” he says.

On a day one vacation, Sherpa’s father caught him drinking with some dozen friends outdoors. They were taken home, lashed on their bottoms black and blue and pink, and punished them the army way – folding, rolling, half-nude with burden on their backs.

“We were made to roll 20 times each an alphabet – A-L-C-O-H-O-L. 140 rolls on a hard ground in absolute winter put us all on bed for two weeks. 40 more rolls and folds could have put a period on our lives,” he recalls.

Rolls and folds half-nude on a hard and dusty winter ground had brought some magic along, though transient and fleeting. For three months, Sherpa didn’t drink. He couldn’t gulp fear and bad memories of the recent past. Good little Sherpa played guitar and awesome tunes all day long on his front porch in Dechencholing.

“But I don’t know how and when I retracted to my old habit, at any rate, not much after, I suppose. I don’t think any kid would have got so much beating. I’d got so used to I could feel no pain.”

Sherpa dropped out after class IX wanting to be either an army soldier or a driver. His parents objected to both on the grounds of his drunkenness.

While he continued drinking, his parents disowned him to his own care and habits. That’s when he took off to Paro with his uncle to cook for foreign guests at Hotel Joryangz. Four years there, nothing changed.

In fact, it got worse. He’d begun hallucinating, seeing and hearing strange things. It got so out of control that he’d to be admitted to hospital 16 times, to no effect.

He recounts, “I would see kings and fairies the size of a human thumb singing, some blur images of satans and cannibals trying to sizzle me on a burning griddle. Once, while looking out my window, I saw some dogs in dingo chopping my parents into pieces with a chainsaw. The whole town was burning. Looking back, it’s funny, really. But it was such a horror when I felt it.” Unable to handle his insanity, his uncle tied him up on a chair and locked him up.

“Withdrawal is such a pain I’d rather cut all my fingers. When one’s tongue is locked and limbs twisted, thoughts paralyzed even, it’s an indescribable inferno of an experience,” he recalls.

Out of 16 relapses, eight had been such an agony of terrible torments Sherpa had to go through. “Been through a bardo and back, really,” he says.

When the rehabilitation centre at Serbethang opened some months ago, Sherpa saw it as the last recourse in his life. Leave it on or mend it, this one last effort. There is no third way. And thus he gave in with a hope of revivification and a new start.

Today, Sherpa has a certificate of total cure from the centre, which is the testimony to his effort and determination, perhaps the greatest documentation of pride he can look on as the ultimate barricade against lure and ensnaring by the old ways.

“I’ll never forget the words of Her Majesty the Queen Mother, Azhi Tshering Pem Wangchuck, when she awarded us the certificates. ‘Whatever help you need, go to YDF. But promise me that you will not follow your old habits ever again.’ I’ll always remember that day, and the promise that I made. This is my new life,” he beams with pride.

Reclining with an easy charm on the comfort of a snug setting of Ambient Café in Thimphu where he is employed as a cook, Sherpa looks out into the gloaming with a nostalgic and appreciative smile.

“Lama Shenphen is the greatest influence of my life. And the centre and all the counsellors. How can I ever thank them adequately?” Sonam Tshering Sherpa glows with a sense of gratitude.

Sonam Tshering Sherpa, 27, from Lhamoizingkha has a lot of people to thank. A father of one and a divorcee, his journey has been one of a kind, and he describes it with regrets and hope mingled. Our reporter Jigme Wangchuk reports.