A piece of Tibet from the diary

An early morning breakfast at Peace Cafe, with a view of the gigantic mountains in the West. True to its name, the silence inside the cafe was overwhelming. There is such a sense of peace inside the cafe that not soaking in the peace and quiet of the place would be a crime.

I looked up at the moon. The tables where we sat were wetted by the moistures in the cold breeze at the terrace restaurant, and dimly lit by lights of various colors and hues. By the time we called it a day, the moon was nowhere near where it was when we came. It was time to leave.

Now, I remember (when I look back)....

The ride down the bumpy road in the middle of the night. The breeze was chillingly cold. The fun was huge.

The innocent pretty faces of the kids at the children village. For a moment they stole my heart (if I ever had one).

The walk down the road. Alone. Early in the morning.

Each night spent there. Colder by her absence, warmer by her thoughts.

The faces I still remember. From the streets to the offices. Some names I forgot.

The way back. The look back for one last time as the lights faded into the far distance.

DSK

Waking up last weekend to see DSK handcuffed---unshaven and ruffled as he was being taken to the Court for arraignment was like a nightmare for many of those who have been waiting eagerly for DSK to officially announce his fray for the French Presidential primaries.

They adored him. I was told this ‘man’ really has a charm in him and that he is the only one capable of dethroning the already hated and ridiculed French figure that Sarkozy has become of late.

Strauss Kahn—often our dinner table topic of discussion seemed to me to be, at the face of it a charming gentleman smart enough to have led the IMF at a time when the economy in this part of the world and elsewhere did not give people any reasons to smile.

“Europe is going down the drain”, uncle would tell me. “And, this Sarkozy is no good”, he often concluded as a matter of factly.

I feel sorry for DSK and much as I do for the victim. And, it is too early to make a personal judgment yet. But, I hope he gets bail today. My sympathy is with the French socialists.

Racism's Ugly Child: Pu Lal Thanhawla

I have been lucky to have befriended many Mizo students throughout my student life. I have shared flat with some of them, shared benches with many and have been there for each other at times of need. I particularly cannot forget this Mizo friend of mine who stood by me as if his life depended on mine when I was confronted by a college-mate.

In spite of the undeniable distance that existed between the two communities since a very long time my belonging to the Chakma community was never an issue during the time I knew them. They savored the Chakma dishes I used to cook on special occasions and I savored theirs. Most of them were very fond of me. They remain my good friends till to this day.

Coming back to this recent development in Mizoram where the Chief Minister Lal Thanhawla have termed the Chakmas as “irritant or pollutant” in a public function and which was picked up by a local daily I wonder what made him to say what he did. Just a few months ago I remember reading how the same Chief Minister was all praise for the Chakmas and their vibrant culture and rich history during a visit to the Chakma headquarter. And, as his recently made lowly remarks unmask his double face I wonder what is the true color of the mask of our state’s Chief Minister when it comes to the minorities of the state of which Chakmas are just one.

The other day I texted the headline of the alleged news report on Thanhawla’s racist remarks to one of my close Mizo friends and the first reaction was, “Did he actually say that?” “This is really bad”.

Her reaction provided me the chance to ask her to possibly discuss the same with her friends and see how they feel about the whole issue. The next day when she reverted back to me I was for a shock when she said that most of her friends feel that the Chief Minister was (probably) right! Most of them were of the belief that Chakmas were indeed outsiders or refugees.

I have put down my insight on this particular issue in a previous post titled, "Deconstructing the Foreigner's Discourse in Mizoram", and can be accessed here: http://zurosurih.blogspot.com/2010/07/foreigner-discourse.html

I tried to reason with this friend that her fellow Mizo friends who think so are mistaking their judgments and opinions (based on hearsay) to be the truth. But that is the saddest part.

Of course I cannot blame them. They are just young Mizos born and brought up in the comforts of Aizawl city with rich parents and they have every right to believe what pictures the press and other anti-chakma forces in Aizawl painted of the Chakmas. Most of them have not traveled beyond the comforts of Aizawl city to witness the socio-economic and ethnic realities of the state. Hence, they think and consider it all right to refer the Brus or Reangs as ‘Tuikuk’, meaning “water insects”; a highly derogatory term by any measure just as they consider it to be okay to refer the Chakmas as “Thakam”, another derogatory term. I was visibly disgusted when I discussed this and told my friend, ‘You know what. This is the same as me referring the Mizos as “uncivilized” or “parasites”. To this she merely responded with a laughter. But I had a feeling that she got my point.

I won’t blame these friends of mine. It is not their fault. They are not racist and thats the way I have known them. But I cannot say the same for other Mizos. They have been fed with stories of the Chakmas being outsiders and refugees from across the border who deserved to be hated and despised.

This whole generation of Mizos have been made to believe that Chakmas indeed deserved to be despised and hated by people like our present Chief Minister and other anti-Chakma forces in the state. I am sure my Mizo friends will never consider me as an “irritant or pollutant” but this anti-Chakma feeling that has been fed to them is so deeply rooted that I would not be surprised if my Mizo friends do not have the same regard for my other fellow Chakmas. Or, if other Mizos who do not personally know me despise me for being a Chakma.

And, for this I put the blame solely on people like our Chief Minister Lal Thanhawla who do not miss any opportunity to rake up such anti-Chakma rhetoric and who by doing so create an ambience for such communal hatred to persist and grow in the minds of the Mizo people in the state. I do not find any other word to describe people like Lal Thanhawla but a “RACIST”.

For my Mizo friends I was perhaps the first Chakma they came across. The fact that they have accepted me in their fold the way I am in spite of having so much of misconceptions and hatred towards my community makes me believe that this gap could be bridged with time. But as long as we have people like the present Chief Minister Lal Thanhawla I don’t think there will be communal harmony and peace in the state of Mizoram. For all these reasons I take the honorable Chief Minister of Mizoram to task for his irresponsible and insensitive and racist remarks which will only facilitate the growth of further hatred, misconceptions and discrimination against minorities like the Chakmas in Mizoram. His recent remark has been taken seriously by the Chakma youths across the state and outside and I can already see a visible wave of dismay and a sense of being hurt by his racist remarks, and also a strong urge to take these irresponsible people to task whatever may be the price.

Such developments are not only disturbing but against the spirit of brotherhood and communal harmony in a multi-plural society that we live in. It is instances like this one that reminds us of the ugly face of communal tension and hatred for one another. By making the racist remarks against an already disadvantaged minority community in his own state the Chief Minister of Mizoram has done a great disservice to the honorable post he holds. Nothing short of a public apology will do enough to salvage my sense of self-respect and dignity as a member of the Chakma community in the state.

In Conversation

I cannot forget this man easily.

He started off by asking me if I would like a drink or anything. Here was a man who occupied one of the prominent seats in the conference hall just the other day asking me if need a drink; and there was no way I could have dared to say yes though a beer would have been just wonderful to start with.

“Very glad to see you”, he tells me as I extended my firm handshake.

After a good half an hour of conversation he declares, ‘We will shift to the bar across the street after sometime’.

What started as a personal interaction and dialogue with him ended up with a dinner invitation as ‘his guest’ for the evening and which I accepted since I did not have anything else to do that night.

Dinner preceded with a few drinks at the Irish Pub. And there we continued our conversation.

We talked like we have been friends since many years.

He explained to me how things work with the international system and how best we can make us of it. The experiences of his peoples were something we can take a leaf out of.

When he went to pick up another drink at the bar, his colleague pips in and tells me, “Is not he interesting?”

I responder her with a smile and nodded. I could not have agreed more.

“We have lost that case. But, we have won the war” he tells me of the watershed year when he fought the case for his indigenous people against the state in this northern European country. The government went on to build the dam but things have changed drastically ever since. What was a lost legal case proved to be a victory for his people as it united them like never before and which eventually sparked a successful movement for his people.

“Our people and yours are relatives now”, he informs me.

“You know how?” he then asks with a smile.

“Yes, yes of course”, I add just as immediately happy that people in this part of the world at least know about my people thousands of miles away in South east Asia.

He talks and then takes a sip of his drink. Then, he smiles. And in his smile I can see a childish glow of contentment. The journey would have not been easy for him and by the look of it he now seemed contended if not completely satisfied with what they have achieved over the years.

“Our journey has not been easy”, he tells me. “We have not got everything yet” he says of his peoples struggle for their rights in their country.

Over the course of the few hours at the hotel lobby and at the bar and then at the Italian restaurant we talked about our own people and our own experiences in our respective parts of the world.

‘I will tell you one thing’, he continues.

As I wait for his next sentences to come out he pauses for a moment and then continues, “This is a good sign. It’s a good start for you”.

Joe

‘There is Joe’, Julia said pointing to the other side of the road as she got down from the car.

For a brief few seconds I thought there was someone standing on the other side of the road; someone we both knew.

I knew Joe. Joe was a man who changed the course of my life in many ways. He was a wonderful man I never met.

Joe would have been a happy man to see me in his part of the world today. Perhaps he could not have even imagined that I would ever pass by the place where he now lay in peace.

Joe passed away some nine years ago. Continue to rest in peace, Joe!