Monday 21 December 2009

It happened to me.

As a child I've read so many "It happened to me" in Tinkles. Now as i enter the adulthood, I've had various types of taste in my life. Today's "It happened to me" was sour with a twinge of bitterness yet delicious like that of little raw mangoes before summer.

I was sleeping for most of the time in the class today. As I squinted up from my table, the professor was teaching about the different types of forces involved in building construction and was asking for someone to help him demonstrate it. On seeing me on a battle with mighty sleep, he beckoned me on the stage. Once on the stage, my hands were fully stretched, each of them representing different beams on the column when someone from the back shouted, "Kinzang your long is out" followed by a roar of laughter among those students from where the sound came. Obviously they were joking, so I smiled back at them. The professor continued explaining as he turned and twisted my hands like a proud mechanic working on an old car. "Watch out your long", this time somewhere from middle and more laughter. I tried to frown but it was hard to miss the humour. These guys, in the past few weeks, were more interested in learning my mother language more than the lessons in the class. All most all of them are handy with few words like long, thu, jadaa … and so on. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not obscene but they are. And it would be unfair if I cannot do them a little favour when many of them are involved in arranging my date with a lovely brown-eyed blonde in our class.

I was beginning to feel the ache on the joints as a high pitched sound came from somewhere, "Hey, your long". "your long, your long", few more followed. This time everybody in the class was laughing with me except our short chubby professor. "Is everything all right", he announced and continued twisting my hands and legs like a yoga master without waiting for the student's response. I couldn't help but be proud of myself for being able to be the cause of their laughter and perhaps their happiness. I waved at the girls on the first row.

When the professor finished his lecturing, I must have been tired but I was all smiling. Today everybody laughed with me, I thought. As I walked down the hall I winked at few girls when a Chinese boy on the side tugged on my shirt and whispered, "Kinzang your zipper" pointing between my thigh. I felt the pang of helplessness at the bottom of my stomach as I gently bent down to discover that my zipper was all this time open. My white underwear could have camouflaged any colour but the black school pant. All this time they weren't laughing WITH me but they were literally laughing AT me. All this time they were shouting, "long, long" but not "zipper" just to, as I learnt later, save my embarrassment from the professor. But the damage was done already. Two rows in front, my brown-eyed blonde was giggling behind her hands.

I quickly excused myself to the toilet and zipped my pant. Much harder than necessary.

Saturday 5 December 2009

Phawphaw meymey

This is a story of my best friend and neighbor. He is 74 years old now, if I can remember it correctly. This morning I was calling my mom and she said he is nearby and wanted to meet me. No sooner did he take the receiver than he began to laugh heartily as he spoke, “Owe khotsa phaw phaw zakpa ma phi na…” and continued laughing. I was waiting for his laugh to cease when the line was interrupted. I know, even as I write this, he is still laughing.

I’ve always envied the way he could laugh. He has this special gift of laughing. He would take in the huge gulp of air, stretch the muscles over his wrinkled face towards the ear, expose bit of his doma tainted tooth and then laugh out until his lung run short of air. I’ve wished, if only every man on the earth can laugh like him.

I‘ve never cared to ask his real name. He was known more as Meymey Phawphaw among the children. I was no adult then. My parents used to smile understandingly at each other, every time I mentioned the word “Meymey Phawphaw”. I thought they liked it. So I used to compose a song and sing to them:

Meymey phawphaw yusung khuwa sa khorey,
Abi phawphaw rokthey gi buwa sa khorey.


I would sing this all day long until my mother shot a cold angry look on me.

He used to visit our house frequently. He would say my mother makes the best ara in the village. My mother was always flattered. What she didn’t know was that he said this to every household he went to drink ara. But he had a small sugarcane garden in front of his house and two big mango trees in the backyard that gave a big yellow fruits in the summer. So there was no reason I shouldn’t be his friend. As the time went by, he had grown very fond of me and I found myself feeling close to this old man. He would make bow and arrow for me and together we used to go to play in the open field below our house. He would teach me how to play damnyen and make me sing shonna shona hang shona…. . In turn I would teach him how to play carom board. “Songo gatpu gisho othen philey ani”, he used to say every time he scored in the pocket.

Unlike most of the other old people, he would never tell the fairytales. He used to talk about how brave he was as a young in the army. He would tell me how successful he was in seducing women. He asked me once if I’ve ever slept with girls. “Only two”, I lied. He laughed out loud and said, “When I was 16 years old as you, I’ve slept with seven women from Yurung and two from Chimung and Chongshing Borang each.” He is from Yurung in Pema Gatshel. Then suddenly he became unusually serious and spoke in lowered voice, “Tha gotcho khotsa, oma lona zemu ga phawphaw philey lamey. Yamlang zasu phaw phaw dasery philey kheley. Dakpa kam pecha sho tsa degni lampey kheyley na”. It was then I realized the meaning of Phawphaw and the reason why my loving mom would give me that cold angry look.

I completed my Higher Secondary and was going abroad for further studies. When I told him this he gently stroked his gray beard and sighed, “Don’t become a bad boy”. I understood his definition of bad boy. He must have heard about the students going abroad and getting into drugs. Getting into fight and being killed or never returning home. He suggested me why I don't represent our constituency in the upcoming election that he and the whole village folk would have full support on me. It was funny but I wouldn’t laugh at my friend’s innocence. I explained him about the requirement of minimum degree certificate to join politics.

A night before I left, I went to see him but he wasn’t at home. His abi told me he went to Yurung to visit his one and only grandson from his previous wife on Tuesday last week. That was the day after I told him I was leaving abroad for further study.