For memorial service for Wangchuk, August 1, 2010 What first comes to mind when I think of Wangchuk is his smile. It was extraordinarily sweet, open, embracing, grinning, funny, warm, compassionate, real. Here was a young man of great sensitivity and depth, and when you saw him smile, you could sense all that. Wangchuk was my student, my teacher, my son, my brother, my comrade, my colleague, my friend. In 1995, a program I chair at Brandeis decided to present a day’s event on Tibet. We called it “A Culture in Exile.” I had known almost nothing about Tibet but was inspired by a film made in 1992 by another former student, Mickey Lemle, which was called Compassion in Exile: The Life of the 14th Dalai Lama. A colleague in anthropology told me we had a Tibetan student at Brandeis. That was the first I heard of Wangchuk. It took me a while to realize that Daja Meston was also Wangchuk Meston, but I got there. We met, and I asked Wangchuk to accompany me to our now rather famous Rose Art Museum, where a treasure was stored of Tibetan artifacts someone had donated to Brandeis. I had looked them over but did not know one thing from another. I had no idea what to display or how. Wangchuk sorted it all out but told me that the labels on the pieces were inadequate. He wrote better ones himself, and he helped me understand how to arrange the artifacts into a meaningful exhibit. Crucially, he also helped me to choose the right speakers and plan the day’s conference on Tibet in exile. Thanks heavily to Wangchuk, the event was a great success. Wangchuk was thrilled, of course, and again helpful, three years later when His Holiness the Dalai Lama came to Brandeis for two days. After our first encounter, Wangchuk took a couple of courses with me and did excellent work in both. He was rather quiet in class, and I began to see him as an amazingly thoughtful guy who through an almost frightening modesty and humility tended to keep his light under a bushel. Wangchuk decided to major in sociology, where I believe he felt at home. And he joined the Peace, Conflict, and Coexistence Studies Program, which spoke to him intellectually and politically as well. We talked outside of class more than inside, and I learned of the great breadth and depth of his interests. I also learned he was not sure that he had what it took to get through Brandeis. He of course did have what it took and made it through just fine. It turned out that Phuni had urged Wangchuk to apply to Brandeis even though he doubted he could earn a degree there. After he graduated, we both prevailed upon Phuni to attend Brandeis. She also was not so sure she could do it. Like him, Phuni made it through just fine. One time when I was in Israel for a few weeks, Wangchuk asked if he could join me. He learned only as an adolescent that both his parents were Jewish, and he wanted to start investigating his Jewish roots. I felt Wangchuk’s wonder and almost disbelief as we walked the streets of Jerusalem, toured and met friends of mine in various parts of the country, and talked about Jewish history, Jewish culture, and the Jewish renewal that Israel represented. One time as we were walking, I noticed that Wanghuk kept looking down at the sidewalk. I asked why. ‘Because I don’t want to step on any ants, he said. It is wrong to kill a living being.’ Thus I learned an important piece of what Buddhism meant to Wangchuk. My wife Pamela and I were both very taken with Wangchuk’s gentleness, compassion, and authenticity. We also were drawn to Phuni’s courage, determination, and joie de vivre. When children came into our lives, we decided that if anything happened to us, we wanted to make sure they would continue to be raised with the values and compassion so important to us. We asked Wangchuk and Phuni to be our children’s godparents. We were thrilled when they accepted. Our children adored Wangchuk and of course Phuni. Like us, they miss him terribly. What we hope to keep alive for them are his kindness, his playfulness, his honesty, his decency and integrity. And his smile. Gordie Fellman

http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/obituaries/articles/2010/08/01/daja_meston_39_buddhist_peace_hid_his_inner_struggles/

Daja and I are cousins. Our grandmothers were first cousins, I think. As blood-relatives we are pretty distant. But we became very close. My wife and I are currently trying to adopt Phuni’s cousins in India. (You may have heard about that. Yes, that’s us.) I met Daja when I was a first-year college student. Daja was living with my mother, Sandy Kaplan, in Newton. For some reason she was very intent on helping this distant relative of ours. In his book Daja described the rock posters on the walls—that was my room. I remember one of my first conversations with Daja. He asked me what I wanted to do with my life. So I told him my ideas for work. He listened, paused, and then asked, “What about helping others?” As we grew into adulthood Daja, Phuni and I got closer and closer. In 1994 my mom became ill with early-onset Alzheimer’s. As I visited her from NYC I would spend time with Daja and Phuni, talking about my mom, politics, Camus, Daja’s work with Tibetan rights. My mom died in 2003. Some time after I was talking with Daja, Phuni and Phuni’s father in their room at the Walker Center. I was having a hard time in my life—overcome with sadness, having trouble with relationships. During a pause in my talking Phuni’s father began to speak. He spoke for about 5 minutes straight. Of course I didn’t understand a word. When he was finished Daja smiled, and told me that he said I needed to let go of my sadness for my mother so I can release her spirit. I got happier in my life. And (not coincidentally) I married my wonderful wife Rebecca. We have been looking forward to bringing our families closer together for the rest of our lives, raising our children together—giving Dechen and Lhakyi time to spend with their Tibetan extended family, having Jasmin and our up-coming baby play together. Daja played such as important part in connecting our families, bridging our cultures. In Feb, 2008, Daja, Phuni, Rebecca and I went to India to meet the girls and their extended family. Daja was so important for us in translating everything, language and otherwise. In the days after Daja’s death Phuni told me that she sees Daja everywhere. And I think that’s because he is everywhere. I see and hear him--his giggly laughter, his kind smile, his intellectual curiosity, his dedication to building relationships with his friends and family, his struggle to resolve the issues in his life, his dedication to his book, his humility in trying to convince himself that there is something in his life that other people will find interesting, And so we are going to try to let his spirit go. We will try not to hold onto our grief. Because we know that he will always be a part of our lives. He will be with us as we practice compassion and open our hearts and lives to others; as we work to be better parents – more accepting of our child’s difference and perhaps a little less worried about his future. He will be with us as we work to be better partners and friends – more forgiving, more loving, and more accepting. He will be with us as we help watch and protect his beautiful young family. And we will always miss him.

I am so deeply moved by his life, his struggle, his powerful story. May he know eternal peace. Jim Sheehan