Dorjee: A Tibetan Love Story

Dorjee, like his name, was a thunderbolt out of the blue. He was a remarkably beautiful man - masculine and chiseled, yet his ruddy complexion and sunny demeanor betrayed the mischievious boy within. It was no wonder that he was always popular with the girls, even back in Tibet, from where he came.

But there was this one Indonesian maid, in the condo where he worked, who wouldn't give him the time of day. Despite his winning smile, she'd always turn a nose on his best efforts.

"This girl is like a fiesty wild llama," he bragged to his compatriots in the security office, "and I shall break her in." There was a glint in his big brown eyes as Dorjee's mind drifted away to the flora and fauna of Tibet and instantly his friends knew that the Indon maiden would be no match for this scoundrelly Lothario. They were convinced that as soon as she warmed up to his charms, she would soon be warming his bed.

. . . . . . . . .

"They've been calling each other every day," Mae exclaimed as she scrolled through the call logs on the Nokia we had loaned Roma, "and right under our noses too!" Roma had wanted a phone in case her hubby ever called her when we were out, and now it was being used a tool for her little tumble with the Tibetan Casanova.

The alarms went off in Mae's head. In her eyes, this was betrayal of trust. It was a security threat. And it wasn't the way good people behaved.

But I, I was always a fool for love. In my eyes, I saw a lonely girl, thousands of miles from home. I saw a young wife so often disappointed by her deadbeat husband. I saw a woman longing for love. Of course the fact that our security guard looked like the finalist for a Shah Rukh Khan lookalike contest didn't help matters. Heck, if I were a lonely woman, I'd be all over that handsome bastard in a heartbeat!

In the end, Mae and I decided that the best course of action was subtlety. One night, out of the blue, Mae went and had an impromptu heart-to-heart with Roma, her conversation peppered with liberal mentions of Roma's husband and their two-year-old daughter, Yunita. And despite not ever having let in on the fact that we had discovered her sordid little tryst with that handsome devil, our plan worked like a charm.

Our girl began to keep her distance, not replying his calls. Soon, she found it convenient to simply leave the phone at home. And just like that, it was over. The guard eventually quit and was never seen in our neck of the woods again.

. . . . . . . . .

Dorjee gazed into the Himalayan mountain range as the sun ebbed into the twilight. He had come home to nurse his broken heart only to find that there was a new beginning waiting for him in Tibet. "It's time we went, Roma. Dorjee's got an itch you can scratch," he whispered as he gingerly patted his new pet llama amourosly on the rump.