Receiving the Bronze Medal for 10 years of service to the nation is a
deeply meaningful milestone in my civil service journey. Through this article
series, I will look back on the past decade, reflect on my contributions, and
share the experiences, challenges, lessons, and growth that have shaped my
service to the nation.
In 2014, I
appeared for the Royal Civil Service Examination (RCSE). When the results were
declared, I was fortunate to be selected into the civil service fraternity.
Like many young graduates, I was excited to have secured a job without having
to compete in the job market. At that time, I did not fully understand what it
meant to take the oath of a civil servant or the responsibilities that came
with it. I was simply happy and proud to be employed.
After the
induction programme, the placement process began. Many in-service candidates
had also qualified through the examination, and postings were allocated based
on merit ranking. My first choice was the Trashigang Regional Office under the Department
of Roads (now the Department of Surface Transport).
During oath-taking ceremony
However,
things did not go as planned.
During the
placement discussions, some adjustments became necessary. It was then that I
heard the name "Tingtibi" for the very first time. Nobody seemed willing
to go there. The officer who had initially selected Tingtibi was reluctant to
take up the posting, and the situation became difficult to resolve.
After some
discussion among ourselves, it became clear that the issue could only be
settled if someone volunteered to take the Tingtibi posting. For the greater
good of my friends and colleagues, I agreed to choose Tingtibi—a place I had
never heard of before.
That decision
marked the beginning of an unforgettable journey.
After
completing the induction programmes conducted by the Ministry and the
Department, I received a sheet of paper containing the contact details of the
Chief Engineers under the various regional offices. Soon afterwards, I began my
journey to my first posting.
The route from
Thimphu to Gelephu was familiar to me, as I had travelled there before. The
road beyond the Gelephu Tshachu Junction, however, was entirely new.
At the Gelephu taxi stand, I hired a taxi for Nu.
3,000. The driver was a middle-aged Nepali-speaking gentleman. With my few
belongings loaded into the vehicle, we set off towards my new destination.
As we passed the Tshachu Chorten and entered
unfamiliar territory, everything felt different. The vegetation reminded me of
places where I had grown up, but the landscape and surroundings were completely
new. The road wound through lush green forests, crossed scattered settlements,
and climbed steadily through thick jungle.
Eventually, we reached Tamala, the highest point
between Gelephu and Zhemgang. From there, the road descended, passing the large
white chorten at Tama. After travelling further, we arrived at a small town.
"This is Tingtibi," the driver said.
We asked a passerby for directions to the
Department of Roads office. Following the directions, we crossed a
brown-coloured bridge and drove past a chorten. A few small shops lined the
roadside. Then I saw a pink building with a signboard in front.
A smile appeared on my face.
Tingtibi RO as is seen today.
"Here we are," said the driver.
At last, I had arrived at my destination—a place
that had been completely unknown to me only a few weeks earlier.
After paying the driver, I unloaded my belongings
from the Maruti van. Looking at my few possessions, he quietly remarked,
"It is winter and it will be cold here." His words suggested that I
had arrived without many of the necessities a newcomer would normally bring,
such as blankets and warm bedding.
But I was content.
I had always believed that people could adapt to
any situation and that there was always a way forward. With gratitude, I
thanked the driver and waved goodbye.
Standing in front of the office, I took out the
contact sheet and called the number I had been given. The officer answered and
told me that he would come outside.
A minute later, I saw a gentleman wearing a black
gho walking towards the entrance. He waved at me, and I followed him inside the
office.
It was during office hours.
We shook hands as we met for the first time.
"Welcome," he said.
"Thank you," I replied.
After a brief pause, he looked at me and asked,
"Is this your first day in the office? You are reporting in casual
clothes?"
I smiled and explained, "Yes. I have come
directly from my journey. Headquarters gave me your number, and I called as
soon as I arrived."
After some formalities, I was introduced to the
caretaker of the office. He showed me to a room that would become my
accommodation. It was a small, shabby room filled with old documents and files.
There was a bed pushed against one side of the wall and a small attached
toilet.
It was far from luxurious, but it was mine.
That modest room marked the beginning of my life
as a civil servant—a young officer starting his career in a completely
unfamiliar place, far from home, with little more than determination, optimism,
and the willingness to adapt.
Looking back today, that journey to Tingtibi was
not just a transfer to a remote office. It was the first lesson of public
service: sometimes the most meaningful journeys begin in places we never
planned to go.
