26/07/2025
From BabySitter to Karoake Girl: A Journey She Never Chose
My name is Sonam Pelki Buthri, and I am from Punakha. I never had an opportunity to see my parents and they left before I could even talk. I graduated from Punakha Central School with Commerce but couldn’t qualify to the college I dreamt.When I first arrived in Thimphu with my brother Singye Wangchuk, I had come with a simple heart and a bigger purpose to help my brother and in-law to babysit their 3.5 month-old baby. Both of them works at the Bank of Bhutan, and while they were away at work, I clean, wash dishes, and devoted myself to their child.I rarely stepped outside unless they asked me to buy diapers. I never asked anything because they had promised to enroll me at the Royal Thimphu College once their child turned 5. I clung to that hope like a prayer. Whatever little money they gave me, I saved in my piggy bank.
Years passed quickly. The child turned 5, but the promise they once made began to fade into silence. One day, I gently reminded them. Instead of support, I was met with rage. My inlaw shouted at me as though I had committed a grave sin. She accused me of being ungrateful, saying, “I didn't bring a girl here to bark at the hands that feed her." After that, scenes changed. The kitchen pots seemed to bang louder when she cooked, the door creaked in protest as though the house itself was asking me to leave.Then came the worst betrayal.
One evening, she slipped her gold chain and some money into my bag. When my brother came home, she hugged him in tears, accusing me of planning to run away without informing. As he lift my bag, the chain and cash fell out. Without giving me a chance to speak, he lashed with an electric wire, called me a thief, kicked me out, and said never return home.
That night, I had no one to turn to. With the small savings I had, I rented a room and cried myself to sleep. The next morning, unsure of what to do, I sat by the Clock Tower, planning to return to my village. Just then, a slender girl with rosy lips appeared as if fate had sent her. Her name was Dechen Pema. She was kind, offered me lunch, and listened to my entire story. When I told her I was leaving, she gently held my hands and said, “I can offer you a job. Will you take it?”Before I knew it, I was standing in front of Karma Singye, the owner of Singyel Karaoke in the heart of the capital. He welcomed me without hesitation and told me to start the same day.
That evening, I returned with Dechen. She helped me get ready, painted my face and dressed me in her pants and shirt. I felt uneasy at first, but she encouraged me. “You mustn’t be late,” she said. At the karaoke bar, I was assigned to the counter. Everything felt unfamiliar, the air was thick with perfume, smoke, and a strange kind of desperation. A young man in his 20s approached me, saying, “Can we date?” Another man in his 30s asked me to keep him company. A much older uncle in his 50s whispered, “If you want money, let’s go for a drive after this closes.” I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know whether to cry or scream.But time teaches strength.
Five months in, I had learned how to carry myself. I greeted everyone with kindness, treated guest with grace, and learned the art of gentle conversation. I served drinks and entertained people.One evening, I received a call from an unknown number. Outside, it was the same uncle who had made advances months ago. I joined him, thinking it was just another drink and conversation. But his intentions turned dark. He began touching my lap, kissed me, and was quickly getting out of control. I gathered every ounce of courage I had and warned him: “If you don’t stop, I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”
To everyone reading this: Please don’t judge women working in karaoke by what you assume. We are not what you think. We are daughters, sisters, and mothers too.We may wear makeup, serve drinks, and entertain but behind every smile is a story of survival, broken dreams, and silent battles.“If you loved the art of my writing, follow me on Facebook”
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