Lemyao Shimray
A small group of seven youngsters known as ‘Chinkies’, ‘Chinese’, ‘Nepalese’ in India to any of the two-legged-mammals who have eyes like a tiny dot on white paper or with one eighty/ one thirty degree eyes slit were once again assembled in my small one room apartment for another sing-song in the hot summer of May in Delhi[i]. A cocktail of North East people in India; Naga, Mizos, Khasi, Arunachali[ii]….all came in different shape and size with the clothing of Channel [V][iii], except for the damn eyes again!
Among them were two new kids on the block. When they were introduced to me, their names were so difficult that I had to call the one with the one eighty degree eyes, 180 and the one with the one thirty degree eyes, 130. They stay within their community in one clumped colony in West Delhi. And by the way, they describe themselves as jobless with no future, no work, no career, no study, just wasting life waiting for some Bible college to accept them for a mere degree. That turns me off, because I can never admire parasites. The party was in full swing with the cooking: ‘a call for meat Lovers’, and beer drinking: ‘A call for beer drinkers’. There was no room for hard drinkers or those who opt for soft drinks!
One of my Naga friends, who happens to be a DJ, started playing his usual trance force-to-listen-music CD he brought ignoring my stack of Indian Sufi and Arabic collections. The Mizo couple was nestling on the nearby couch ever-ready to spill their drinks on my favorite expensive carpet from Kashmir. After two minutes, to egg the Naga DJ on, I took out my tabla[iv] for my must-sing Ghazal; after all it’s a free country, free speech, free choice of music. Finally, after a bit of yo yo by our Mizo couple, an empty note from my Arunachali nerdy pal whose world revolves around only P-O-L-I-T-I-C-S talk, a wrong key from the cheeky Khasi girl who was admiring the colorful clay lamp that was hung on the porch and heart breaking never-ending ‘aaaaaaa’ from my side, we decided to agree on a suggestion that our new found friends would entertain us with their silver voice and guitar!
They never were hesitant to grab the guitar and clear their throats, which seemed odd after several long moments of them as silent spectators. But once they started off, it dawned on me that this is how the music lovers are. They started with their Burmese song which I never understood but can feel the compassion with which they sang together and when asked what it meant, they started a new song. ‘Its a Chin traditional song similar to this,’ 130 announced, and began ‘country road take me home to the place I belong, West Virginia, mountain mama…take me home…’ I was not being a softy and it was not because of the atmosphere; but the way they worshipped the instrument they held and the sadness of the note they sang stung my eyes enough to blur the vision.
‘Now what is Chin? I thought you are from Burma,’ I said ‘What are you waiting for with no work like a market cow? Any damn hotel will eagerly take you in for a club night show; you can easily make money with that kind of voice.’
‘You think I haven’t tried?’ 180 replied. ‘No one takes me seriously in spite of the fact of my good scratching, every club, bar, hotel…I tried.’ And for your first query miss…, he replied with that sexy flirty smile ‘Chin is Sino-Tibetan race believed to be derived from Central part of China. At that time, Chins were living in the area around Chindwin River, northwestern part of Burma. But because of the war, our ancestors were forced to leave that area and we started to settle in the mountainous region the current Chin state. In the 16th century, Mizos shifted to the present India side. Until British rule in the 19th century, Mizo and Chin people were free from any rule. Under the British rule, they were brought under the three administrations. Our ancestors land was divided into three territories fall in India, Bangladesh and Burma by international boundary after WWII.’
‘Now what is this scratching?’ I said scratching my head, ‘and anyway chinkies are a much better singers than Indians when it comes to western music.’
As DJ chuckled, ‘For a girl who tries to perfectly sing ‘Shubh din ayo re darbar main[v]…’ and ‘I Love my India, Yein mein ra India[vi]’ with that funny Tabla, you know she’ll never know about it.’
India, the land rich of Sages, deeply rooted with culture, a land for tourists and her own people to awe the magnificent Taj Mahal and Minakshi temple. It’s a place of amazing cuisines of its different regions that give the centre-shock[vii] delight to others. But it’s also known as the land of MUSIC in which all religions delight in. And I cannot understand how he can never enjoy the flavors as a musician. I eyed at DJ hard for a split second viewing the XOXO ring he was sporting as he gently pulled back his pony tail. My eyes met with his and in that moment all I could see were two dots above a pierced nose.
‘So how many of you are here in Delhi?’ I asked to both of them.
‘Around two thousand Chin out of two thousand five hundred Burmese,’ 180 told me.
‘And all of you are jobless?’ I was shocked and another query tumbled from my big mouth, ‘Are you a Christian?’
All this while the DJ continued with his trance while the Khasi gal was busy talking on her cell phone, the nerd scurried closer to hear the reply, the couples were hotting up for more cuddling in far corner lost in their own world, while I sat flat like a goose mama with smoke in my ears because of the Naga chilly I happened to swallow with the meat.
‘Though we are divided by international boundary, we, Mizo and Chin, share the same language, culture and custom. I want you to know that Chin is in Burma and in Mizoram, India. Chin is rich with culture and they are music lovers. Before, Chin traditions were maintained and preserved in oral way. For example, telling past history from one to another generation. After arrival of Christian missionary in Chinland in 1900, all the Chins were converted into Christian; they started to abandon their long preserved tradition. Traditional feast and ritual were slowly disappeared. They started to adopt the Christian’s way of life. It’s all lost now.’ With a sigh looking at the Mizo couple, 180 replied.
‘Its same with Naga ne?’ he asked turning to grab my Naga DJ’s attention.
No answer.
Diverting my attention to 130 I said, ‘look, if you are really interested in music, let me introduce you to some of my friends; they have a band, and it’s a good one. They play in South Delhi at a bar I often hang out at. They’re in need of a bass player, and I’m sure they could also use two more with voices like yours.’
‘You don’t understand,’ 130 replied with a sigh, ‘I am a refugee, a Burmese refugee, an illegal migrant. No one will give me a job! In India we are not allowed to work.’
Though with its high illiteracy rate, beggars in all her cosmopolitan cities; old people with crawling postures, kids earning by unfair means, high castes looking down on the lower castes, and with the human population larger than the trees in Kashmir, India never forgets to welcome and give shelter to her unfortunate neighbors. Even though there will always be the un-invited neighbor in every nook and cranny. She continues to give her good-term neighbors shelter, and welcomes sight seers with open arms, and she asks of nothing in return for her hospitality.
‘What rubbish! They make you to stay in India with no work? What did they expect? Eat imaginary noodles and ngapi[viii]?’ still trying to convince them that there is hope I said, lazily flicking the television with a remote for my ‘Tom and Jerry’ show, ‘but still, you can always say you are…ummm…uh…from Mizoram. Mizos too have Chins[ix] and think about it! You guys are born with silver spoo…- I mean guitar in your hands. And anyway it’s an imaginary territory.’
‘Thank you very much, but we cannot do that,’ they both chimed in ‘After all, we are Chin from Burma. We are known for our truth and honesty, to pass our culture unhindered we cannot sell our identity as Mizo-Chin just because we need job to survive in India. And oh! We are in this state because of the imaginary territory as you call, Miss.’
That was my first introduction to Burmese-Chin refugees and their life in Delhi.
‘Well, everything is not always fair…you know,’ I stated completely forgetting about Tom badly hurt because of Jerry’s cheese. ‘What do you expect out of this country?’
130 smiled queerly at me and said if I seriously wish to know about them, I am most welcome to accompany him to Calcutta where thirty seven of their freedom fighters are still languishing in jail. The next week we went and when I came back after the two days trip, I locked myself in my room the whole day. I was ashamed NOT BECAUSE I AM KNOWN AS AN INDIAN but because I LIVE IN THE CAPITAL OF INDIA and share their fake democracy. I realized seeing always makes you believe. And when you see with your own naked eyes, the image passing through your cornea and reaching your brain, the truth is never plainly what you see.
[i] Capital city of India.
[ii] People from the North East states of India.
[iii] The most popular western music channel in India.
[iv] Indian traditional instrument.
[v] Song sung by Tansen during Akbar’s era to call rains.
[vi] A song from Bollywood film ‘Pardes’, foreigner.
[vii] Chewing gum manufactured only in India with a combination taste of sweet, sour, bitter, spicy and pungent.
[viii] A traditional Burmese/Myanmar fermented food.
[ix] Chin is Sino-Tibetan race living in Burma and India.
