It is easy to forget what keeps us alive until the shelves empty. During the lockdown, when imported food stalled at borders, Bhutanese villagers did not wait for foreign grain supplies. They turned to what their fields had always given them—Ashom Kharang. Maize was not a fallback; it was survival itself. For farmers, it has long been the daily lifeline, carried from field to hearth with dignity and toil. Yet in towns, the story is different. Rice sacks stamped with foreign labels, breads packaged in plastic, even instant noodles are consumed with pride, while Kharang is quietly dismissed as the food of the poor. This is not just a matter of taste; it is a symptom of cultural amnesia. India has roti, China has noodles. What will Bhutan claim if maize slips from our tables entirely? A nation that forgets its staple forgets its roots.
To treat Kharang as outdated is to misunderstand its worth. Beyond nutrition, it is economic and political armour. It cushions households from price shocks, protects the nation from adulterated imports, and sustains an organic tradition that no supermarket can replicate. Abandoning it means greater dependency—on foreign markets, on fragile supply chains, and ultimately, on values that are not our own.
The irony is that while villagers still live by Kharang, the urban elite, who can afford alternatives, are the ones most eager to discard it. But when the next crisis comes—as it surely will—whose wisdom will keep us fed: the farmers who kept faith with maize, or the consumers who traded resilience for convenience?
Ashom Kharang is not nostalgia—it is strategy. It is not mere food—it is identity. To save Kharang is to save Bhutan’s resilience, integrity, and soul.
Our Ashom, our Nation. Save Kharang, save the Nation. Value Ashom Kharang, value the Nation.
Sarva Mangalam
