He was running, running, knowing that if he stopped he would fall down and die. He wanted to turn back and look at the thing that was chasing him, that unknown fearsome thing. He wanted to look at its face, observe it up close and see what it was made of. But he was too scared. And he had to run. He had never felt this scared in his life, he was sure of it. He couldn't remember how long he had been running away from this terrifying thing, and his legs felt like they were going to fall apart any moment. He could see a light in the distance, and decided to run towards it, hoping to find other people who could tell him what he was running from. Gathering all the energy he had left in him, he picked up his speed, and came closer and closer to the light. Suddenly a burst of light fell on his face, and a loud noise filled the air.
Ringggg....ringg...ring....
What?
That must be his phone ringing. Without opening his eyes he groped under his pillow and found his cell phone.
"Hello?"
"Charlie?"
It was U Siama, he could tell from the way his voice fell.
"Yeah?"
Charlie opened his eyes. Ouch! That was really bright, his eyes hurt. He closed them again immediately.
“You there, Charlie?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sleeping? Did I wake you up?”
“No you didn’t wake me up; I was just about to get up anyway.”
“What are you doing today? Are you going over to Zotea’s?”
“I don’t think so, we were there until five this morning. Pi Hlimi was sleeping quietly and there was nothing more we could do so we came home.”
That was such a scare last night. Everyone was sure Pi Hlimi would not make it, but somehow she held on. You should have seen the look on her family’s face. Charlie had never seen anyone die, and had never been so near to someone so sick, and he never had anyone close to him die. Death was a concept he did not fully understand. But last night was different. He saw the despair, the anguish, the helplessness that the death of a loved one brings. Or near death. What if anything was to happen to his family…
“... and anyway my father was going for his checkup,” U Siama was saying.
“Oh right.”
“So, are you coming over to the shop? I have something great to show you.”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you and let you know.”
“Okay. See you then.”
“Bye.”
It was noon, and the house was very quiet. Christopher must still be sleeping, his parents must have gone off to work, and only God knows what U Mazuala was up to, probably working on one of his get-rich-quick schemes. If Cecilia was around she would be filling the house with her music - Pussycat Dolls and Rihanna and Beyoncé - and singing and dancing along. He missed her presence, her girly presence, her laughter, her silly conversations, her watching sappy Korean movies with her friends on his computer and crying their eyes out.
Charlie reluctantly got up - it was too bright to go back to sleep. It was going to be a hot April day. He decided to go over to Zotea’s and keep Cecilia company; she was after all his baby sister and he couldn’t leave her all alone in a house full of sadness and suffering (he still couldn’t get himself to think of it as “her” house, it was still Zotea’s house). And maybe afterwards he would go and see U Siama at his shop and find out what the excitement was all about.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Gossip - 8
A gust of wind blew from nowhere, making schoolgirls hold on to their skirts and young ladies to their hair. Dark clouds rolled about in the sky, and the air suddenly felt colder and somewhat sinister. It was twilight, the sun had set but darkness had not yet set in, there was an eerie glow in the air, “This is the scene where the vampires would sit up in their coffins and walk up the dungeon steps,” Pi Parteii thought to herself. Why had she seen that movie with Charlie last night? It was so unlike her, staying up until eleven watching a movie, that too on a Sunday night. She looked around the bus stop, everyone looked so grim and serious, and they all seemed to be running. Running from something, vampires perhaps? “Stop it Parte,” she told herself, “there’s no such things as vampires.”
The bus came, and it was jam packed. If it was any other day she would have waited for the next one, but today she was in a hurry. Cecilia and Zotea were coming to dinner, and she was worried about the cooking. She had put the boys in charge, but something was bound to go wrong, it always did. She had hoped to go home early today but it turned out to be the busiest day she’s had in a long time. She climbed inside the bus. It was even worse inside than it looked from the outside. It was so crowded she had to stand near the door. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat. The two women sitting next to her were talking loudly. The young man standing beside her had earphones plugged into his ears, he must have turned the volume to the fullest; she could hear the music coming out through the earphones.
“And then he called me and asked me to go back, but I said if you want me back come and fetch me, and you know he wouldn’t dare set foot inside my parents' house, so I guess I'm not going back,” the woman sitting beside the window said.
“That’s the spirit. You are much better off without him. And you look... happier,” her friend said.
“You know what, now I'm officially a nuthlawi, a divorcee,” the first woman said, and they broke into giggles.
There was a loud bang of thunder, the wind grew fiercer, and it was rapidly getting dark. Pi Parteii reached inside her bag, felt around it, and found she didn’t have her umbrella with her. Wonderful. Now she would have to call one of her sons to meet her at the bus stop with an umbrella. Well, it hadn’t started raining yet; if this bus went a little faster she could make it before the rain came.
“Why does it always rain every time I am away from home?” an old woman said, “I hope that daughter-in-law of mine remembers to take in the washing.”
The conductor, a short plump man with paan stained teeth, squeezed himself between the passengers. Pi Parteii took out a ten-rupee note and gave it to him, “Kulikawn”, she said.
The conductor stopped, and looked at her. “Nu Parte, is it you?”
“Why, it is Sangtea. How are you?” she said.
“I'm fine. It’s been a long time, isn’t it? How are the children? They must be all grown up now.”
“Yes, they are all bigger than me now. Cecilia got married, you know.”
“Cecilia married? The last time I saw her she was about eight years old and I had to hide my tools from her.”
“So Sangte, why are you a bus conductor? You were a very good carpenter.”
“Oh this, I am just helping out a cousin, his conductor went home and he couldn’t find anyone else.”
Pi Parteii gave him the money again “You know where I'm going.”
Sangtea refused to take the money.”It’s all right, you are in my bus now.”
“Take it, I don’t want to feel guilty.”
“It’s okay, really,” Sangtea said.
“You know Sangte, we are still using all the furniture you made for us.”
“That’s good.”
“You should come visit us some time.”
“Yes I will do that,” he said, and made his way to the back of the bus.
It was raining heavily now, and people hastily closed the windows. Pi Parteii found a seat, sank down, rummaged inside her bag and took out her cell phone. It was switched off. Now that was strange, she didn’t remember switching it off. Oh, it must have been all the squeezing and crushing. She switched it on, and dialled Charlie. It rang and rang, but Charlie didn’t pick his phone. She dialled again, and listened to it ring. One, two, three… eleven, twelve rings. Still he didn’t pick it up.
She disconnected, and dialled their landline number. All she got was short beeps. Trust the phone to stop working every time it rains. She could call Christopher, but he was using his Delhi number and had asked her not to call him, “Roaming charges,” he had said. Her husband had refused to get himself a cell phone (“I can’t work these new gadgets”)
She dialed Charlie again, still no answer. She disconnected, and dialled Christopher. He answered on the first ring.
“Hello”
“Chris, why is Charlie not answering his phone?”
“He’s over at Zotea’s house.”
“Why is he over at Zotea’s house? I put you two in charge of the cooking. Have you done anything yet?”
“They are not coming for dinner. Pi Hlimi suddenly got worse, and everyone is gathering there,” Chris said.
“When was this? And why didn’t you call me?” Pi Parteii said.
“About twenty minutes ago. We called you a hundred times; your phone was switched off. Why did you keep it switched off anyway? “
“That’s not important. Listen, bring an umbrella and meet me at the bus stop, go now.”
“All right.”
“Where’s your father?”
“He too is at Zotea’s house.”
“Okay, now go.”
She hung up.
It was completely dark outside now, the driver had switched on the lights, and she felt like she was travelling in a night bus. The bus was almost empty, and it seemed like the rain and the wind were getting louder by the minute. Pi Parteii suddenly felt sad, sad for her poor daughter, for her son-in-law, for Pi Hlimi and the grandchildren she would never see.
“Nu Parte, it’s your stop,” the conductor said.
“Oh yes. So long then Sangte, come see us whenever you want.”
“Will do. Goodnight then.”
She got down and looked around, but couldn’t find Christopher anywhere. She remained at the bus stop, dimly aware that she was getting wet; but she didn’t want to step inside any of the nearby shops, didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.
“Let me have my moment of sadness, let me be alone for just a few seconds, because in a few minutes I will again have to be the comforter.”
All around her, the rain kept falling in sheets.
The bus came, and it was jam packed. If it was any other day she would have waited for the next one, but today she was in a hurry. Cecilia and Zotea were coming to dinner, and she was worried about the cooking. She had put the boys in charge, but something was bound to go wrong, it always did. She had hoped to go home early today but it turned out to be the busiest day she’s had in a long time. She climbed inside the bus. It was even worse inside than it looked from the outside. It was so crowded she had to stand near the door. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat. The two women sitting next to her were talking loudly. The young man standing beside her had earphones plugged into his ears, he must have turned the volume to the fullest; she could hear the music coming out through the earphones.
“And then he called me and asked me to go back, but I said if you want me back come and fetch me, and you know he wouldn’t dare set foot inside my parents' house, so I guess I'm not going back,” the woman sitting beside the window said.
“That’s the spirit. You are much better off without him. And you look... happier,” her friend said.
“You know what, now I'm officially a nuthlawi, a divorcee,” the first woman said, and they broke into giggles.
There was a loud bang of thunder, the wind grew fiercer, and it was rapidly getting dark. Pi Parteii reached inside her bag, felt around it, and found she didn’t have her umbrella with her. Wonderful. Now she would have to call one of her sons to meet her at the bus stop with an umbrella. Well, it hadn’t started raining yet; if this bus went a little faster she could make it before the rain came.
“Why does it always rain every time I am away from home?” an old woman said, “I hope that daughter-in-law of mine remembers to take in the washing.”
The conductor, a short plump man with paan stained teeth, squeezed himself between the passengers. Pi Parteii took out a ten-rupee note and gave it to him, “Kulikawn”, she said.
The conductor stopped, and looked at her. “Nu Parte, is it you?”
“Why, it is Sangtea. How are you?” she said.
“I'm fine. It’s been a long time, isn’t it? How are the children? They must be all grown up now.”
“Yes, they are all bigger than me now. Cecilia got married, you know.”
“Cecilia married? The last time I saw her she was about eight years old and I had to hide my tools from her.”
“So Sangte, why are you a bus conductor? You were a very good carpenter.”
“Oh this, I am just helping out a cousin, his conductor went home and he couldn’t find anyone else.”
Pi Parteii gave him the money again “You know where I'm going.”
Sangtea refused to take the money.”It’s all right, you are in my bus now.”
“Take it, I don’t want to feel guilty.”
“It’s okay, really,” Sangtea said.
“You know Sangte, we are still using all the furniture you made for us.”
“That’s good.”
“You should come visit us some time.”
“Yes I will do that,” he said, and made his way to the back of the bus.
It was raining heavily now, and people hastily closed the windows. Pi Parteii found a seat, sank down, rummaged inside her bag and took out her cell phone. It was switched off. Now that was strange, she didn’t remember switching it off. Oh, it must have been all the squeezing and crushing. She switched it on, and dialled Charlie. It rang and rang, but Charlie didn’t pick his phone. She dialled again, and listened to it ring. One, two, three… eleven, twelve rings. Still he didn’t pick it up.
She disconnected, and dialled their landline number. All she got was short beeps. Trust the phone to stop working every time it rains. She could call Christopher, but he was using his Delhi number and had asked her not to call him, “Roaming charges,” he had said. Her husband had refused to get himself a cell phone (“I can’t work these new gadgets”)
She dialed Charlie again, still no answer. She disconnected, and dialled Christopher. He answered on the first ring.
“Hello”
“Chris, why is Charlie not answering his phone?”
“He’s over at Zotea’s house.”
“Why is he over at Zotea’s house? I put you two in charge of the cooking. Have you done anything yet?”
“They are not coming for dinner. Pi Hlimi suddenly got worse, and everyone is gathering there,” Chris said.
“When was this? And why didn’t you call me?” Pi Parteii said.
“About twenty minutes ago. We called you a hundred times; your phone was switched off. Why did you keep it switched off anyway? “
“That’s not important. Listen, bring an umbrella and meet me at the bus stop, go now.”
“All right.”
“Where’s your father?”
“He too is at Zotea’s house.”
“Okay, now go.”
She hung up.
It was completely dark outside now, the driver had switched on the lights, and she felt like she was travelling in a night bus. The bus was almost empty, and it seemed like the rain and the wind were getting louder by the minute. Pi Parteii suddenly felt sad, sad for her poor daughter, for her son-in-law, for Pi Hlimi and the grandchildren she would never see.
“Nu Parte, it’s your stop,” the conductor said.
“Oh yes. So long then Sangte, come see us whenever you want.”
“Will do. Goodnight then.”
She got down and looked around, but couldn’t find Christopher anywhere. She remained at the bus stop, dimly aware that she was getting wet; but she didn’t want to step inside any of the nearby shops, didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.
“Let me have my moment of sadness, let me be alone for just a few seconds, because in a few minutes I will again have to be the comforter.”
All around her, the rain kept falling in sheets.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Gossip - 7
The church compound bloomed with flowers. It was Easter Sunday, and as they did every year people brought flowers and plants in pots and in beautiful vases and in plain bowls. Varieties of flowers arranged in different styles by the young ladies and mothers of the congregation adorned the church verandah. It had rained briefly in the morning, and the world wore a fresh new look. White bright sunshine bathed the world, and made even the ugliest person look beautiful, and if you looked in the distance you could see a faint rainbow over the mountains. The morning service had just ended, and people milled around the flowers ooh-ing and ah-ing and giving each other compliments for the creative arrangements. Cameras flashed, laughing groups of young people went around taking photos, and mothers were heard telling their children not to touch the flowers.
Mimi scanned the crowd, looking for Marini, and then remembered Marini must be shepherding her group of Sunday School children towards the table where the Easter eggs and cakes were arranged. Goody U Marini, always busy with something or the other, this choir practice or that committee, never had time for her friends. And look at the way she treated that poor boyfriend of hers, whenever he came to see her at her house she was always rushing out to go somewhere important, or a dozen other suitors would fill her house, and most of the time the poor boyfriend had to sit alone with her family and watch the local programs on TV.
Mimi went towards the food tables, although she had no intention of eating a boiled egg in full view of the community – but the cake looked delicious – maybe she should eat only the cake. No, she musn't. Cakes are fattening, and she had always put on weight easily. Her mother always said she was not fat, only large boned, but then her mother never saw her naked and never saw the rolls of fat on her thighs. Besides, her makeup would get spoiled if she started stuffing her face now.
“Hey Mims,” a familiar voice called out – oh no it’s that disgusting guy U Mavala, who had always been after her ever since she was in high school. Look at that ponytail, makes you sick to the stomach, and did he have to dress like a teenager? She flashed him a brilliant smile but her eyes said something else.
“Hey U Maval, how many eggs have you eaten?”
“Two, but don’t tell anyone.” He carefully picked a slice of cake, and ate it hungrily, as if the world was coming to an end and he had only fifteen seconds left before the last bugle call. “Nice cake,” he said with his mouth full, and tried to smile. Mimi quickly looked away, and was relieved to see Marini coming her way.
“What’s the big hurry, U Maval, there are plenty more cakes,” Marini said, looking at Mimi who was now faking a cough to hide the sudden fit of laughter that came over her.
“Yeah U Maval, you can have my cake too if you want it,” Mimi said, and violently coughed again.
“I’ll go get a cup of tea, please wait for me here,” Mavala said, and walked towards the tea tables.
“Have all your children eaten?” Mimi said.
“I think so. It’s not an easy job, making sure fifty children under the age of ten each get an egg and a slice of cake and a cup of tea, but I think we managed very well.”
“Where are the mothers?”
“Do you think they would come and help when the Sunday School teachers are around? They are probably afraid they would get their beautiful clothes dirty.”
“What about you, have you eaten?” Mimi asked again.
“I never want to see another boiled egg in my life again,” Marini said.
“Then let’s go home before that desperate Mavala comes back,” Mimi said.
The air was cool and balmy, and the road was still damp from the morning rain with a few puddles here and there. The girls hitched up their puan and walked slowly, carefully stepping on the drier areas. Some oil had spilled on the road, probably from a passing vehicle so that a rainbow of colours formed on the road. The main road was very quiet, and the click click of their high heels was the only sound.
“RK-a called me last night,” Mimi said, breaking the silence.
“RK-a who?”
“You know, Zotea’s cousin, we met at the wedding, don’t you remember?”
Mimi was slightly annoyed; her best friend had no interest at all in her love life. And it was Marini who always came running to her with her boyfriend issues. How could she be so insensitive?
“Oh that guy, yeah now I remember. Why did he take so long to call you? It’s been almost a month now since the wedding,” Marini said.
“How would I know? Do you think I would ask him that?”
“I was just wondering,” Marini said, and stepped around a large puddle that had formed in the road where the black top had eroded.
“I casually mentioned Zotea,” Mimi continued, “And RK-a said Zotea is apparently very happy with his new bride, it seemed he never went out anymore, all he does is sit at home looking at his wife.”
“That’s normal behaviour for newlyweds. After a few months he would be itching to go out again and she would become a harried housewife. Just wait and see.”
“Do you mean maybe I could have another try?” Mimi asked hopefully.
“It’s over, Mimi, accept it. You are only resentful because he got married and you are still single. You really don’t want him back,” said Marini
“Maybe I suddenly realized I still loved him.”
“Oh wake up, will you? He is gone, gone, get that into your head.”
“But do you remember when I broke up with him? He said he would always wait for me.”
“That was five years ago.”
“So what? A promise is a promise.”
“Yes, and now he’s made another promise to another girl, to be with her forever. In front of God and the community.”
There it was, out in the open - Zotea was never coming back to her. She’d known it all along, ever since the wedding, but Mimi was living in denial. What she needed was someone to come and rattle her awake, and she was thankful for having such a good friend in Marini.
But lately it looked like Marini had been avoiding her, she never answered her phone, and when Mimi sent her a text message Marini would take hours to reply. Besides, Mimi seldom went to church and other youth activities, and of course Marini was actively involved in everything. They were so different, yet they had always been best friends ever since their childhood. Or did they remain friends only because most of their other childhood friends were either married or living somewhere else? Did they stick to each other because no one else was around? They had other friends, outside friends as they used to say, but no one else knew her as well as Marini did. Mimi thought that was a big disadvantage sometimes, knowing someone too well and for too long - it made you so vulnerable and so exposed.
“My father was thinking of asking U Siama to move,” Marini said.
“But where would he go?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think he’d be moving. I told my father U Siama’s business is slowly picking up, and my father’s now thinking it over.”
“That’s generous of him. By the way, how old do you think U Siama is?”
“I guess… around thirty to thirty-five? And why do you want to know that?” Marini said.
“Well, since you two are such great buddies, I just thought you might know.”
“He is a nice guy, very decent. Most people think he’s a good for nothing type, but really he is very bright. You wouldn’t believe some of the ideas he has.”
“I think he likes you,” Mimi said.
“No way. He speaks to me like I'm his little sister, and besides…” Marini trailed off, leaving her unfinished sentence hang in the air.
“Besides, what?” Mimi asked.
“I don’t know,” Mimi laughed.
“I knew it, you like him too,” Mimi said with a wicked gleam in her eyes, and elbowed Marini.
“No I don’t,” Marini said, and lightly pushed Mimi.
“Oh yes you do, don’t think I don’t know you.”
The sound of their laughter filled the air, like a clear church bell on a quiet Sunday morning.
Mimi scanned the crowd, looking for Marini, and then remembered Marini must be shepherding her group of Sunday School children towards the table where the Easter eggs and cakes were arranged. Goody U Marini, always busy with something or the other, this choir practice or that committee, never had time for her friends. And look at the way she treated that poor boyfriend of hers, whenever he came to see her at her house she was always rushing out to go somewhere important, or a dozen other suitors would fill her house, and most of the time the poor boyfriend had to sit alone with her family and watch the local programs on TV.
Mimi went towards the food tables, although she had no intention of eating a boiled egg in full view of the community – but the cake looked delicious – maybe she should eat only the cake. No, she musn't. Cakes are fattening, and she had always put on weight easily. Her mother always said she was not fat, only large boned, but then her mother never saw her naked and never saw the rolls of fat on her thighs. Besides, her makeup would get spoiled if she started stuffing her face now.
“Hey Mims,” a familiar voice called out – oh no it’s that disgusting guy U Mavala, who had always been after her ever since she was in high school. Look at that ponytail, makes you sick to the stomach, and did he have to dress like a teenager? She flashed him a brilliant smile but her eyes said something else.
“Hey U Maval, how many eggs have you eaten?”
“Two, but don’t tell anyone.” He carefully picked a slice of cake, and ate it hungrily, as if the world was coming to an end and he had only fifteen seconds left before the last bugle call. “Nice cake,” he said with his mouth full, and tried to smile. Mimi quickly looked away, and was relieved to see Marini coming her way.
“What’s the big hurry, U Maval, there are plenty more cakes,” Marini said, looking at Mimi who was now faking a cough to hide the sudden fit of laughter that came over her.
“Yeah U Maval, you can have my cake too if you want it,” Mimi said, and violently coughed again.
“I’ll go get a cup of tea, please wait for me here,” Mavala said, and walked towards the tea tables.
“Have all your children eaten?” Mimi said.
“I think so. It’s not an easy job, making sure fifty children under the age of ten each get an egg and a slice of cake and a cup of tea, but I think we managed very well.”
“Where are the mothers?”
“Do you think they would come and help when the Sunday School teachers are around? They are probably afraid they would get their beautiful clothes dirty.”
“What about you, have you eaten?” Mimi asked again.
“I never want to see another boiled egg in my life again,” Marini said.
“Then let’s go home before that desperate Mavala comes back,” Mimi said.
The air was cool and balmy, and the road was still damp from the morning rain with a few puddles here and there. The girls hitched up their puan and walked slowly, carefully stepping on the drier areas. Some oil had spilled on the road, probably from a passing vehicle so that a rainbow of colours formed on the road. The main road was very quiet, and the click click of their high heels was the only sound.
“RK-a called me last night,” Mimi said, breaking the silence.
“RK-a who?”
“You know, Zotea’s cousin, we met at the wedding, don’t you remember?”
Mimi was slightly annoyed; her best friend had no interest at all in her love life. And it was Marini who always came running to her with her boyfriend issues. How could she be so insensitive?
“Oh that guy, yeah now I remember. Why did he take so long to call you? It’s been almost a month now since the wedding,” Marini said.
“How would I know? Do you think I would ask him that?”
“I was just wondering,” Marini said, and stepped around a large puddle that had formed in the road where the black top had eroded.
“I casually mentioned Zotea,” Mimi continued, “And RK-a said Zotea is apparently very happy with his new bride, it seemed he never went out anymore, all he does is sit at home looking at his wife.”
“That’s normal behaviour for newlyweds. After a few months he would be itching to go out again and she would become a harried housewife. Just wait and see.”
“Do you mean maybe I could have another try?” Mimi asked hopefully.
“It’s over, Mimi, accept it. You are only resentful because he got married and you are still single. You really don’t want him back,” said Marini
“Maybe I suddenly realized I still loved him.”
“Oh wake up, will you? He is gone, gone, get that into your head.”
“But do you remember when I broke up with him? He said he would always wait for me.”
“That was five years ago.”
“So what? A promise is a promise.”
“Yes, and now he’s made another promise to another girl, to be with her forever. In front of God and the community.”
There it was, out in the open - Zotea was never coming back to her. She’d known it all along, ever since the wedding, but Mimi was living in denial. What she needed was someone to come and rattle her awake, and she was thankful for having such a good friend in Marini.
But lately it looked like Marini had been avoiding her, she never answered her phone, and when Mimi sent her a text message Marini would take hours to reply. Besides, Mimi seldom went to church and other youth activities, and of course Marini was actively involved in everything. They were so different, yet they had always been best friends ever since their childhood. Or did they remain friends only because most of their other childhood friends were either married or living somewhere else? Did they stick to each other because no one else was around? They had other friends, outside friends as they used to say, but no one else knew her as well as Marini did. Mimi thought that was a big disadvantage sometimes, knowing someone too well and for too long - it made you so vulnerable and so exposed.
“My father was thinking of asking U Siama to move,” Marini said.
“But where would he go?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t think he’d be moving. I told my father U Siama’s business is slowly picking up, and my father’s now thinking it over.”
“That’s generous of him. By the way, how old do you think U Siama is?”
“I guess… around thirty to thirty-five? And why do you want to know that?” Marini said.
“Well, since you two are such great buddies, I just thought you might know.”
“He is a nice guy, very decent. Most people think he’s a good for nothing type, but really he is very bright. You wouldn’t believe some of the ideas he has.”
“I think he likes you,” Mimi said.
“No way. He speaks to me like I'm his little sister, and besides…” Marini trailed off, leaving her unfinished sentence hang in the air.
“Besides, what?” Mimi asked.
“I don’t know,” Mimi laughed.
“I knew it, you like him too,” Mimi said with a wicked gleam in her eyes, and elbowed Marini.
“No I don’t,” Marini said, and lightly pushed Mimi.
“Oh yes you do, don’t think I don’t know you.”
The sound of their laughter filled the air, like a clear church bell on a quiet Sunday morning.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Gossip - 6
Siama was secretly worried. His business wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped it would, too many friends and relatives dumping their computers and laptops on him and nobody bothering to pay him. It wouldn’t hurt to get paid now and then, he thought, just because you’ve known me since I was in diapers does not justify receiving only gratified smiles and compliments from you as payment for your broken machinery. Man does not live on bread alone, or smiles, or compliments. And his friends were the worst. They all assumed he was a successful businessman with no worries about money, but they were all wrong. The trouble with him was he couldn’t say no to anyone. He simply wasn’t assertive enough.
On Saturdays he would open his shop as early as eight. His shop was located at a very busy section of town, bang in the middle of Dawrpui, and his window display of sleek laptops and computers and peripherals attracted many window-gazers. Saturday mornings were when lots of young rich fat housewives wandered into the shop, and they were always followed by houseboys carrying their bags. They would always talk about how their husbands were planning to buy new computers, always hinting that money was not a concern when it comes to buying gadgets. But they rarely came back to actually buy anything. On weekdays a lot of schoolboys visited, sometimes coming in and asking some questions, sometimes just looking from the outside and leaving hand prints on the glass window.
He hadn’t paid the rent in two months, and every time Marini came by he would be all tensed up and ill at ease. But she was a very sweet girl, she never mentioned money, instead she would stand in his doorway and look out at the road and whenever someone familiar walked by she would shout and ask them to come over, as if it was her shop. She was a very popular girl, and recently she had taken up introducing him to all kinds of people, her colleagues at Synod Press, her fellow choir members, her old school chums. Siama wondered what the motive behind all this was. Did she know he was having financial problems and hoped to help him out by introducing him to prospective customers? Or was it because she felt he needed to know more people, make more friends? Why this concern, all of a sudden? He had always liked her, secretly of course, and it was always a joy to see her. Her friends were decent religious people, and sometimes he felt uncomfortable knowing them.
His thoughts drifted towards her, the way she tilted her head whenever she spoke, and the mole on the back of her neck that was always hidden behind a curtain of glossy black hair (one day she thought there was an insect on her neck and had asked him to remove it, and he had seen the mole then; it was now forever etched in his memory). But he knew he didn’t stand a chance with her, she was almost a decade younger than him and pretty and popular. No doubt she would have a lot of admirers. And she probably thought he was an old bachelor, just look at the way she talked to him, almost like the way you speak to old people, deferential and carefully choosing her words, taking care not to use any slang. He had her phone number and many times had contemplated calling her, but what would he say then? They had never spoken on the phone, when it was time to collect the rent Marini would send him a text message saying when she would come, but that was the only telephonic contact they’d have until the next month when the rent was due again. What would she think? She might never come again, and that would be a tragedy he couldn’t bear to think of.
He looked at his watch, saw it was close to ten, and suddenly realized how hungry he was. He wondered if his mother had finished her Saturday morning shopping yet and if food would be ready now if he went home. Charlie had said he would come over and watch the store while he was away, and where was he? Probably sleeping late again, or helping out his mother. “My mother suddenly decided I'm her new daughter, now that Cecilia is married,” Charlie had said jokingly. Siama laughed aloud, imagining Charlie standing near the stove, wearing a pink apron and peering into a boiling pot. The poor boy couldn’t even make tea, what exactly could he do to ease his mother’s burdens?
He decided he would lock the shop, run home and come back fast. He could drop in at Charlie's house on the way home and give him the keys, but first he would call him. He opened the address book on his phone, and without thinking scrolled down to the M’s. When he saw Marini’s name, he smiled.
On Saturdays he would open his shop as early as eight. His shop was located at a very busy section of town, bang in the middle of Dawrpui, and his window display of sleek laptops and computers and peripherals attracted many window-gazers. Saturday mornings were when lots of young rich fat housewives wandered into the shop, and they were always followed by houseboys carrying their bags. They would always talk about how their husbands were planning to buy new computers, always hinting that money was not a concern when it comes to buying gadgets. But they rarely came back to actually buy anything. On weekdays a lot of schoolboys visited, sometimes coming in and asking some questions, sometimes just looking from the outside and leaving hand prints on the glass window.
He hadn’t paid the rent in two months, and every time Marini came by he would be all tensed up and ill at ease. But she was a very sweet girl, she never mentioned money, instead she would stand in his doorway and look out at the road and whenever someone familiar walked by she would shout and ask them to come over, as if it was her shop. She was a very popular girl, and recently she had taken up introducing him to all kinds of people, her colleagues at Synod Press, her fellow choir members, her old school chums. Siama wondered what the motive behind all this was. Did she know he was having financial problems and hoped to help him out by introducing him to prospective customers? Or was it because she felt he needed to know more people, make more friends? Why this concern, all of a sudden? He had always liked her, secretly of course, and it was always a joy to see her. Her friends were decent religious people, and sometimes he felt uncomfortable knowing them.
His thoughts drifted towards her, the way she tilted her head whenever she spoke, and the mole on the back of her neck that was always hidden behind a curtain of glossy black hair (one day she thought there was an insect on her neck and had asked him to remove it, and he had seen the mole then; it was now forever etched in his memory). But he knew he didn’t stand a chance with her, she was almost a decade younger than him and pretty and popular. No doubt she would have a lot of admirers. And she probably thought he was an old bachelor, just look at the way she talked to him, almost like the way you speak to old people, deferential and carefully choosing her words, taking care not to use any slang. He had her phone number and many times had contemplated calling her, but what would he say then? They had never spoken on the phone, when it was time to collect the rent Marini would send him a text message saying when she would come, but that was the only telephonic contact they’d have until the next month when the rent was due again. What would she think? She might never come again, and that would be a tragedy he couldn’t bear to think of.
He looked at his watch, saw it was close to ten, and suddenly realized how hungry he was. He wondered if his mother had finished her Saturday morning shopping yet and if food would be ready now if he went home. Charlie had said he would come over and watch the store while he was away, and where was he? Probably sleeping late again, or helping out his mother. “My mother suddenly decided I'm her new daughter, now that Cecilia is married,” Charlie had said jokingly. Siama laughed aloud, imagining Charlie standing near the stove, wearing a pink apron and peering into a boiling pot. The poor boy couldn’t even make tea, what exactly could he do to ease his mother’s burdens?
He decided he would lock the shop, run home and come back fast. He could drop in at Charlie's house on the way home and give him the keys, but first he would call him. He opened the address book on his phone, and without thinking scrolled down to the M’s. When he saw Marini’s name, he smiled.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Gossip - 5
The boy was about eight years old, and it was obvious from his shiny bicycle and the way he zigzagged every two seconds that it was a new cycle and that he had not yet mastered it. The plastic cover had not been removed from the seat and every time he moved it made a crunchy sound, and he looked like he was about to fall off any second. But miraculously he hung on and even managed to cover a few meters. The old man watched, amazed by the boy's energy and determination. Had he ever been that young? His memory was getting all hazy now. It was very long ago, another lifetime actually. And things were so different then.
When Lalringa was twelve years old his father took him out of school to work in the fields. Had it not been for his mother he would have worked there all his life. He looked at his left wrist and saw the faint scar where his uncle had accidentally cut him with a sickle during the harvesting season. There was a lot of blood, and he had fainted. His mother then insisted he was too young to work and sent him back to school, much to the chagrin of his father. Bless her old heart, she didn’t deserve to die so young, she would have loved to see her grandchildren. But his father was an old man when he died. No wait, his father was only fifty-seven, not old at all. But he had looked very old then, with his sunburned face and gnarled hands, and everyone in the community respected him and sought out his advice on everything. It was 1962, and Lalringa was twenty-eight and working at the Agriculture office in Aizawl, when Mizoram was still a district in the Assam government. His father had aged drastically since his mother's death five years before; it was almost like he had given up on life, on living. Lalringa and his brothers did their best to cheer him up, but their father was insistent on mourning his dead wife, he probably thought he was disrespecting her by being happy after she was gone. He worked from dusk till dawn in the fields, under the hottest sun, in the cold winter days, in the pouring rain, and smoked like a man possessed. Little wonder then that he developed lung cancer and died within a few months.
Pu Lalringa shook himself awake, telling himself not to live in the past anymore. Lately he had got into this habit of reliving his youth, remembering the days when he was young and carefree and life was waiting for him. He would remember the oddest things, for instance the stainless steel pocket knife his brother had taken away from him in 1946. Then there was Zolawmi, the quiet girl who had captured his heart in 1952, and the bright green puan she always wore on Sundays. Her family moved to Aizawl in 1954, and she got married very soon afterwards. Her husband was killed during the MNF insurgency, and Lalringa went to the funeral. Was that really forty years ago? He still had a vivid picture of her in his mind, her eyes puffy from crying, her children swarming around her, lost and confused. She was too overcome with grief that she didn’t even speak to him, and he had left quietly. It was 1967, and he was married and had a son. He never saw her again, but she was always with him, perched on the edges of his mind, never far from his thoughts. How did the years go by so fast, and where did they go? He wondered how she was doing, and if green was still her favourite colour.
It was evident now that the boy was showing off to his audience of one. He pushed down hard on the seats so that the crinkling sound was more pronounced, and every minute or so he would press the shiny metallic horn, and an annoying sound bleated out that reminded the old man of the bell used to summon the peon in his old office. The boy had not yet learned how to turn the corners, and after covering a few meters he would put his feet down and turn the cycle around, and would then continue with the show, the one-man show he was staging. The old man laughed indulgently, and remembered that his daughter's ten year old son had also asked for a cycle. His daughter had promised to buy one for him if he stood in the top three in the class in the just concluded first term exams. Results were due to come out in a couple of weeks, and the old man hoped his grandson would do well. Would his boy take time to learn the corners like this boy here did, or would he master it at once? Would he keep falling off, bruised and hurt? And would he need help to climb up and ride again, or would he proudly shake off any helping hands and do everything his way, by himself? Life was so unpredictable, Pu Lalringa thought, you never know how things are going to turn out, and you certainly couldn’t say where the next surprise is coming from. He was always so sure he and Zolawmi would get married and that they would live at his father's house, but how wrong he was. Anyway, he was only eighteen then, what did he know about life and its strange twists and turns?
Here came his wife now, laden with her shopping bags, clutching an armful of flowers. He made his way to her, still wondering how on earth he’d ended up marrying Hranghnuni, chatty little Hrangi with her sooty face and dirty hands. She was always a pesky kid, tagging behind her older brother Lianhnuna who was Lalringa’s best friend. He remembered her singing that popular song “Tlang tin leh mual tin ka thlir vel vawiin chu…” and following them everywhere they went. He still remembered the song, and started humming it.
“Why are you singing that old song? Take this bag. My shoulders are about to fall off,” said his wife.
He took the bag and walked behind her, still humming the song under his breath and wondering what colour bicycle his grandson would like.
When Lalringa was twelve years old his father took him out of school to work in the fields. Had it not been for his mother he would have worked there all his life. He looked at his left wrist and saw the faint scar where his uncle had accidentally cut him with a sickle during the harvesting season. There was a lot of blood, and he had fainted. His mother then insisted he was too young to work and sent him back to school, much to the chagrin of his father. Bless her old heart, she didn’t deserve to die so young, she would have loved to see her grandchildren. But his father was an old man when he died. No wait, his father was only fifty-seven, not old at all. But he had looked very old then, with his sunburned face and gnarled hands, and everyone in the community respected him and sought out his advice on everything. It was 1962, and Lalringa was twenty-eight and working at the Agriculture office in Aizawl, when Mizoram was still a district in the Assam government. His father had aged drastically since his mother's death five years before; it was almost like he had given up on life, on living. Lalringa and his brothers did their best to cheer him up, but their father was insistent on mourning his dead wife, he probably thought he was disrespecting her by being happy after she was gone. He worked from dusk till dawn in the fields, under the hottest sun, in the cold winter days, in the pouring rain, and smoked like a man possessed. Little wonder then that he developed lung cancer and died within a few months.
Pu Lalringa shook himself awake, telling himself not to live in the past anymore. Lately he had got into this habit of reliving his youth, remembering the days when he was young and carefree and life was waiting for him. He would remember the oddest things, for instance the stainless steel pocket knife his brother had taken away from him in 1946. Then there was Zolawmi, the quiet girl who had captured his heart in 1952, and the bright green puan she always wore on Sundays. Her family moved to Aizawl in 1954, and she got married very soon afterwards. Her husband was killed during the MNF insurgency, and Lalringa went to the funeral. Was that really forty years ago? He still had a vivid picture of her in his mind, her eyes puffy from crying, her children swarming around her, lost and confused. She was too overcome with grief that she didn’t even speak to him, and he had left quietly. It was 1967, and he was married and had a son. He never saw her again, but she was always with him, perched on the edges of his mind, never far from his thoughts. How did the years go by so fast, and where did they go? He wondered how she was doing, and if green was still her favourite colour.
It was evident now that the boy was showing off to his audience of one. He pushed down hard on the seats so that the crinkling sound was more pronounced, and every minute or so he would press the shiny metallic horn, and an annoying sound bleated out that reminded the old man of the bell used to summon the peon in his old office. The boy had not yet learned how to turn the corners, and after covering a few meters he would put his feet down and turn the cycle around, and would then continue with the show, the one-man show he was staging. The old man laughed indulgently, and remembered that his daughter's ten year old son had also asked for a cycle. His daughter had promised to buy one for him if he stood in the top three in the class in the just concluded first term exams. Results were due to come out in a couple of weeks, and the old man hoped his grandson would do well. Would his boy take time to learn the corners like this boy here did, or would he master it at once? Would he keep falling off, bruised and hurt? And would he need help to climb up and ride again, or would he proudly shake off any helping hands and do everything his way, by himself? Life was so unpredictable, Pu Lalringa thought, you never know how things are going to turn out, and you certainly couldn’t say where the next surprise is coming from. He was always so sure he and Zolawmi would get married and that they would live at his father's house, but how wrong he was. Anyway, he was only eighteen then, what did he know about life and its strange twists and turns?
Here came his wife now, laden with her shopping bags, clutching an armful of flowers. He made his way to her, still wondering how on earth he’d ended up marrying Hranghnuni, chatty little Hrangi with her sooty face and dirty hands. She was always a pesky kid, tagging behind her older brother Lianhnuna who was Lalringa’s best friend. He remembered her singing that popular song “Tlang tin leh mual tin ka thlir vel vawiin chu…” and following them everywhere they went. He still remembered the song, and started humming it.
“Why are you singing that old song? Take this bag. My shoulders are about to fall off,” said his wife.
He took the bag and walked behind her, still humming the song under his breath and wondering what colour bicycle his grandson would like.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Gossip - 4
Saturdays were always Pi Parteii’s busiest day of the week. She was an accountant at the Department of Fisheries and worked five days a week. Even though all her sons were grown up and were able to take care of themselves it always looked like some disaster had struck their house and it was left to her to set everything right, and that meant a lot of running around on Saturday. It had been two weeks since Cecilia’s wedding, and the house was still a complete mess. Her three elder sons were as clueless, as hopeless as their father when it comes to household matters. Couldn’t even cook a single meal, didn’t even know how to operate the washing machine, and couldn’t be relied upon to do something as simple as sweeping the floors. Cecilia had helped with the cleaning and shopping, but now that she was married Pi Parteii would have to look for a maid again. It had been almost ten years since they’d last had a maid, and she dreaded the thought of some stranger coming and living with them. She’d heard enough stories about maids stealing and running off with the family’s valuables. Her husband, thickheaded as usual, had not seen the need for a maid. Did he think the house could run by itself? Trust men not to understand.
This morning she had got up at six, and after cooking the morning meal had set out for the Saturday morning market at Thakthing Bazar which was very crowded as usual. Some of the old women who were still carrying em, the traditional long conical hand woven basket, made moving very difficult. The narrow road was lined on both sides with vendors selling all kinds of vegetables, flowers, chicken, pork, beef, fish, makeup, secondhand clothes, bread and cakes; and she could see the blind man sitting at his usual spot singing a sad song about death.
She made her way to the corner where the doughnut lady always sits, and was not surprised to see Pi Hrangi there buying the doughnuts for her boy, Siama, who she heard was a big fan of the small little coconut doughnuts.
“Pi Hrang, you are early this morning,” she said cheerfully.
“Yes Parte, I like to do my shopping before it gets really crowded. I'm almost done now, I only have to buy some pork and then I can go home.”
“Let’s go together then. You always have the best judgment when it comes to buying meat,” Pi Parteii said, and started walking. They walked slowly, pausing every now and then to buy some vegetables, to say hello to neighbours and acquaintances, and looked at a few secondhand clothes.
“I am inviting Cecilia and Zotea for dinner on Monday. It’s Cecilia’s birthday, and her brothers wanted to celebrate,” Pi Parteii said, holding up a pair of garishly pink rubber slippers. The vendor had an amused look on her face, but on seeing that Pi Hrangi was watching her very closely, pretended to yawn.
“How is she coping at her new home? I was so worried about her, with so many people coming and going every day, and she is still just a baby,” Pi Hrangi said.
“She is not complaining, she said everyone is very good to her. But she still finds it hard to sleep at night; I think it’s the new bed, the new environment.”
“How is Zotea? Is he a good husband to her?”
“She said he’s very good to her, but she also said it gets a bit lonely during the day when he goes off to work.”
“Cecilia is very lucky getting a husband like him. Nice secure government job, a very active member of the church and community, doesn’t smoke or drink, and always very polite to elders.”
“I know, if it was anyone else we’d never have let her get married so soon. She’d always wanted to continue her studies but Zotea came along and suddenly all she wanted was to get married. And you know how her father is, saying yes to everything she asked for.”
They reached the meat vendors, and Pi Hrangi examined the pork carefully, asking the vendor a hundred questions before finally settling on a piece she liked. Pi Parteii immediately asked for the same.
“Parte, you must come for choir practice tomorrow. The Women’s Conference is coming up next month, and we need as many members as we could get. You know the young ladies would never come, they say it’s for old women.”
“I don’t know, Pi Hrang, you know I've never been good at singing.”
“Nonsense. I’ve sat beside you in church many times; I know you have a good voice.”
“Speaking of church, here comes the pastor,” Pi Parteii said,
The pastor was an elderly gentleman who looked as if he would be more at home working in the fields rather than preaching from the pulpit. He was wearing an old wrinkled shirt and a pair of faded old trousers. On his head he wore a khumbeu, the old men’s hat, and was carrying a polythene bag of chicken feed. You'd never have guessed he was a much learned man with an MA in Pastoral Theology from Cambridge.
“Good morning ladies, you look like you’ve been shopping for a while.”
“Good morning Pastor,” Pi Parteii said, “Are you done with your shopping?”
“Yes, actually this is my second trip; I forgot to buy the chicken feed the first time. I must be getting old.”
“Ha ha ha,” Pi Hrangi laughed dutifully, “Of course you are not old. I am the one who is old.”
“How is choir practice coming along? Are you ladies singing that favourite song of yours again?” the pastor said.
“It’s a surprise,” Pi Hrangi said, “This year we are coming out with something completely unexpected.”
“I guess that means we’ll just have to wait and see,” the pastor said, “I must be off then, my wife must be wondering why I took so long to buy a bag of chicken feed,” and he walked away.
“I heard the pastor’s daughter left her husband and came home. Can you believe that?” Pi Hrangi said, opening her purse to pay for the pork.
“Is that so? I thought she was a very God fearing religious woman, not the type to leave a husband of fifteen years.”
“They say her husband got some girl from his office pregnant, and she said she couldn’t live with him anymore,” Pi Hrangi said in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one had overheard her.
“That is so shameless of him,” Pi Parteii said in an equally low voice.
“I heard that he drinks a lot, and she’s been suffering quietly and overlooking his various affairs. This time he’s gone too far, getting someone pregnant,” Pi Hrangi said, “Parte, I must be going now, remember the choir practice is at four o’clock tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll try to come,” Pi Parteii said, and they went their separate ways.
This morning she had got up at six, and after cooking the morning meal had set out for the Saturday morning market at Thakthing Bazar which was very crowded as usual. Some of the old women who were still carrying em, the traditional long conical hand woven basket, made moving very difficult. The narrow road was lined on both sides with vendors selling all kinds of vegetables, flowers, chicken, pork, beef, fish, makeup, secondhand clothes, bread and cakes; and she could see the blind man sitting at his usual spot singing a sad song about death.
She made her way to the corner where the doughnut lady always sits, and was not surprised to see Pi Hrangi there buying the doughnuts for her boy, Siama, who she heard was a big fan of the small little coconut doughnuts.
“Pi Hrang, you are early this morning,” she said cheerfully.
“Yes Parte, I like to do my shopping before it gets really crowded. I'm almost done now, I only have to buy some pork and then I can go home.”
“Let’s go together then. You always have the best judgment when it comes to buying meat,” Pi Parteii said, and started walking. They walked slowly, pausing every now and then to buy some vegetables, to say hello to neighbours and acquaintances, and looked at a few secondhand clothes.
“I am inviting Cecilia and Zotea for dinner on Monday. It’s Cecilia’s birthday, and her brothers wanted to celebrate,” Pi Parteii said, holding up a pair of garishly pink rubber slippers. The vendor had an amused look on her face, but on seeing that Pi Hrangi was watching her very closely, pretended to yawn.
“How is she coping at her new home? I was so worried about her, with so many people coming and going every day, and she is still just a baby,” Pi Hrangi said.
“She is not complaining, she said everyone is very good to her. But she still finds it hard to sleep at night; I think it’s the new bed, the new environment.”
“How is Zotea? Is he a good husband to her?”
“She said he’s very good to her, but she also said it gets a bit lonely during the day when he goes off to work.”
“Cecilia is very lucky getting a husband like him. Nice secure government job, a very active member of the church and community, doesn’t smoke or drink, and always very polite to elders.”
“I know, if it was anyone else we’d never have let her get married so soon. She’d always wanted to continue her studies but Zotea came along and suddenly all she wanted was to get married. And you know how her father is, saying yes to everything she asked for.”
They reached the meat vendors, and Pi Hrangi examined the pork carefully, asking the vendor a hundred questions before finally settling on a piece she liked. Pi Parteii immediately asked for the same.
“Parte, you must come for choir practice tomorrow. The Women’s Conference is coming up next month, and we need as many members as we could get. You know the young ladies would never come, they say it’s for old women.”
“I don’t know, Pi Hrang, you know I've never been good at singing.”
“Nonsense. I’ve sat beside you in church many times; I know you have a good voice.”
“Speaking of church, here comes the pastor,” Pi Parteii said,
The pastor was an elderly gentleman who looked as if he would be more at home working in the fields rather than preaching from the pulpit. He was wearing an old wrinkled shirt and a pair of faded old trousers. On his head he wore a khumbeu, the old men’s hat, and was carrying a polythene bag of chicken feed. You'd never have guessed he was a much learned man with an MA in Pastoral Theology from Cambridge.
“Good morning ladies, you look like you’ve been shopping for a while.”
“Good morning Pastor,” Pi Parteii said, “Are you done with your shopping?”
“Yes, actually this is my second trip; I forgot to buy the chicken feed the first time. I must be getting old.”
“Ha ha ha,” Pi Hrangi laughed dutifully, “Of course you are not old. I am the one who is old.”
“How is choir practice coming along? Are you ladies singing that favourite song of yours again?” the pastor said.
“It’s a surprise,” Pi Hrangi said, “This year we are coming out with something completely unexpected.”
“I guess that means we’ll just have to wait and see,” the pastor said, “I must be off then, my wife must be wondering why I took so long to buy a bag of chicken feed,” and he walked away.
“I heard the pastor’s daughter left her husband and came home. Can you believe that?” Pi Hrangi said, opening her purse to pay for the pork.
“Is that so? I thought she was a very God fearing religious woman, not the type to leave a husband of fifteen years.”
“They say her husband got some girl from his office pregnant, and she said she couldn’t live with him anymore,” Pi Hrangi said in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one had overheard her.
“That is so shameless of him,” Pi Parteii said in an equally low voice.
“I heard that he drinks a lot, and she’s been suffering quietly and overlooking his various affairs. This time he’s gone too far, getting someone pregnant,” Pi Hrangi said, “Parte, I must be going now, remember the choir practice is at four o’clock tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll try to come,” Pi Parteii said, and they went their separate ways.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Gossip - 3
The advantage of having a twin, Chris thought, was that you sometimes escape from sticky situations while your dearest twin brother gets caught, but again that could also work the other way round. Sometimes it feels weird looking at someone who looks exactly like you, well not completely like you but most people couldn’t tell. What irked him the most was people always saying how similar he and Charlie were, and he was fed up of having to always clarify who was who. How could they confuse him with Charlie? Look at him, lying on his bed, reading an X-Men comic book without a care in the world, while he, Christopher, even though he was younger by a good half an hour, had to think of his family’s welfare, had to live away from home and attend boring coaching classes so that he can hopefully become an IAS officer and take care of his parents in their old age. Their older brother Mazuala was a complete and utter waste of a human being, according to Chris. No job, no wife, no girlfriends, no ambition at all. What will he do when their parents were gone and everyone was left to fend for himself? Would he expect the twins to feed him and care for him? Charlie can do that if he wants to, but Christopher will not entertain such ideas. Look at Charlie now, he had closed his comic book and was opening the old family album, Cecilia’s album, to be precise; next thing you know he would say something about her.
“Do you know 16th is Cecilia’s birthday? “ Charlie said, as if on cue.
“Is it? I thought her birthday was somewhere in June. How old is she going to be? Nineteen? Twenty?”
Charlie slid out an old photo from its plastic pocket, looked at the date behind it, and said “It’s written here – Cecilia at 5 months, 16 September 1985. That means she would be twenty-two in a week.”
“I can’t believe it. Do you remember the day she was born? It was bright and sunny in the morning….”
“… and without a warning it suddenly poured. I don’t remember anything except that it rained,” Charlie said.
Chris took the album, and started taking out the photos one by one, making an untidy heap on the bed. “We were over at grandma’s place, and Ni Mateii was told to watch over us, I remember, and you cried because you wanted to go to the hospital, and Ni Mateii danced that funny dance and you laughed again,” he said.
“I don’t really remember.”
Chris got up, went to his parents’ bedroom, and came back with his arms full of old albums.
“Do you know that people born during a rainstorm never get hit by lightning?” he asked Charlie, who by now was back on his bed, reading his comic book again.
“Cecilia was always lucky,” Charlie said to his comic book.
“And that afternoon U Mama came home from school but nobody was at home, so he left his schoolbag near the door and went off to play. When he came home after dark completely wet and with a big hole in his school pants Dad didn’t say a thing, he was so happy to finally have a daughter. I bet if I had committed murder that day he would've just smiled and said “It’s all right.””
He made room for himself on the bed, pushing Charlie to the corner, and continued dislocating the photos from their albums. His intention was to rearrange every album, everything was so unorganized. What he would do was sort all the photos according to person, and then arrange them in chronological order. Look at this, his old album, and the first page was full of Mazuala’s school farewell party, a bunch of young boys in a classroom, “30 Nov 1992” written on the blackboard behind them. And on the second page, his parents on their wedding day, his dad with his long hair and moustache, and his mother with bangs that almost completely covered her eyes; he laughed out loud.
“What's so funny?” Charlie asked.
“Did you ever notice that Dad’s hair was longer than Mum’s on their wedding day?”
“What's so funny about that? It was the fashion back then, that’s all.”
“And look at Ni Mateii, she must have been just fifteen or so here.”
“Why are you at home tonight?” Charlie wanted to know, “By seven you are almost always out of the door, visiting one girl or the other.”
“It’s Monday night, and the girl I want to see will still be at church and she said she had to attend a committee afterwards. But tomorrow night she will be at home.”
“Who is this unfortunate girl, is it anyone I know?”
Chris collected all of Cecilia’s photos and was now arranging them in her official album.
“Marini from Mission Veng, works at Synod Press,” he said in reply to Charlie’s question.
“I know her; she is a member of Synod Choir, very decent, too good for a guy like you. But doesn’t she have a boyfriend, that guy from Ramhlun, the one with the red Pulsar bike?”
Chris put down the photos, snatched away Charlie’s comic book and threw it on the bed (Charlie didn’t even protest, the guy had no energy at all).
“How did you know so much about Marini?”
“She came to the wedding.”
“So? Did she even speak to you? If she did it was probably because she thought you were me.”
“She didn’t speak to me.”
Charlie sat up and tried to take back his comic book, but Chris quickly grabbed it and stuffed it inside his T-shirt. Charlie flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
“Then how did you know about her boyfriend and the colour of his bike?”Chris asked.
“Her family owns the building where U Siama’s shop is, and she goes there every month to collect the rent. They are good friends, U Siama and she.”
“I didn’t know U Siama knew any girls, “Chris laughed at his own joke, “But so what even if she has ten boyfriends? She said it’s okay to visit, so visit I will. Hey you and U Siama can come along; it will make the situation less awkward.” He pulled out the comic book and gave it to Charlie.
“I don’t think so. U Siama’s getting a new computer game from his friend tomorrow and we were planning to play it tomorrow night,” Charlie said, looking for the page where he was before he was rudely interrupted.
“Oh come on, you can play it any other night. You know very well my return ticket has been booked for the 24th of this month. I don’t have much time.”
“What’s the point in seeing her then? You will go back to Delhi and she will forget you, you are just wasting your time.”
“I like to think of it as an investment of my time; I will get good returns on it someday.”
“That I would love to see. Anyway, how did you know Marini?”
“I have my ways and means.”
Now it was Charlie’s turn to be curious. “Did she speak to you on the wedding day?”
“Sort of, she was with that friend of hers, Mimi, if you remember, but they left immediately after the service.”
“I heard Mimi was Zotea’s ex-girlfriend,” Charlie said rather passively.
“She is everybody’s ex-girlfriend. If that girl tries to come in between my sister and her husband she will have to answer to me. For that matter, if anybody tries to harm my sister in any way they’d better think long and hard, because I will not take it lightly, believe me.”
“Well, Cecilia’s got herself a husband now, one she is totally crazy about. And I'm sure Zotea can defend his castle very well.”
The album was almost done, and Chris was starting to get bored.
“Hey when will U Siama be done repairing your computer? I need to get online and get in touch with my coaching buddies.”
“He said another day or two, but you know that means a week. He is a very busy man, you know, and his assistant quit last week.” Charlie said.
Chris went over to Charlie’s closet, opened it and looked inside. It was total chaos; everything was stuffed together and wrinkled, and the empty cloth hangers made clanking sounds every time you made a slight movement. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and closed the door.
“Hey let’s go watch TV.”
“Dad is watching the local news. We’ll go a bit later.”
Chris went back to Cecilia’s album, and looked at her baby photos. She was a very cute baby, but it seemed she was forever wrapped in that yellow blanket. And here she was on her 5th birthday, wearing that princess dress which she refused to take off for three days. She was a very sweet and precocious child, and always got what she wanted.
“What do you think we should give Cecilia for her birthday? Is it still appropriate to give your married baby sister a birthday gift?” he said.
Charlie had finally finished his comic book and was now sitting at his table, trying to sketch the X-men characters from memory but he kept on getting stuck. He opened the comic book for reference. “I was thinking of giving her a hair straightening iron, you know her hair iron got burned on the wedding day,” he said.
Chris shook his head in disgust. “Oh come on don’t be boring! We’ll give her something exciting, something she’ll never forget. Hey how about condoms?”
“That is crude and inappropriate. She will be embarrassed having a brother like you.”
“I know! Let’s order for her one of those Oriflame perfumes,” Chris was all excited, new projects and new things always excited him.
“She might not like it,” Charlie said. He’d decided he would copy the whole comic book, change the dialogue completely, make them say something funny, and he would put it up on his wall. That meant he would have to take down his Calvin and Hobbes sketches, but he can always put them back up later.
“How about a nice dress, then?” Chris would not give up, he never gave up on anything.
“She has more clothes than any girl I know.”
“Is that so?” Chris was surprised that Charlie knew about girls and their clothes. “And how many girls do you know? Four? Five? Seven?”
“A thousand and one.”
“No, tell me, how many?”
“I live with fifty teenagers for the good part of the year, I know what people wear.”
“Ah yes, Sir Charlie, the fearsome hostel warden with his comic books and sketch books.”
“Make fun of me all you want, but those kids like me well enough.”
“Nail polish! We’ll give her nail polish in every colour, she will like it very much.”
“I still think the hair straightening iron is a good idea. I know someone who can give it to me very cheap, on his cost price no less. A very good bargain. It’s something Cecilia needs, and she will always remember it,” Charlie could be very adamant when he decided to.
“Look, let’s sleep on this tonight, tomorrow we’ll discuss it again,” Chris said. He pulled a chair over to the table and sat next to Charlie.
“Here, let me help you with that. I know the funniest dialogues ever.”
“Do you know 16th is Cecilia’s birthday? “ Charlie said, as if on cue.
“Is it? I thought her birthday was somewhere in June. How old is she going to be? Nineteen? Twenty?”
Charlie slid out an old photo from its plastic pocket, looked at the date behind it, and said “It’s written here – Cecilia at 5 months, 16 September 1985. That means she would be twenty-two in a week.”
“I can’t believe it. Do you remember the day she was born? It was bright and sunny in the morning….”
“… and without a warning it suddenly poured. I don’t remember anything except that it rained,” Charlie said.
Chris took the album, and started taking out the photos one by one, making an untidy heap on the bed. “We were over at grandma’s place, and Ni Mateii was told to watch over us, I remember, and you cried because you wanted to go to the hospital, and Ni Mateii danced that funny dance and you laughed again,” he said.
“I don’t really remember.”
Chris got up, went to his parents’ bedroom, and came back with his arms full of old albums.
“Do you know that people born during a rainstorm never get hit by lightning?” he asked Charlie, who by now was back on his bed, reading his comic book again.
“Cecilia was always lucky,” Charlie said to his comic book.
“And that afternoon U Mama came home from school but nobody was at home, so he left his schoolbag near the door and went off to play. When he came home after dark completely wet and with a big hole in his school pants Dad didn’t say a thing, he was so happy to finally have a daughter. I bet if I had committed murder that day he would've just smiled and said “It’s all right.””
He made room for himself on the bed, pushing Charlie to the corner, and continued dislocating the photos from their albums. His intention was to rearrange every album, everything was so unorganized. What he would do was sort all the photos according to person, and then arrange them in chronological order. Look at this, his old album, and the first page was full of Mazuala’s school farewell party, a bunch of young boys in a classroom, “30 Nov 1992” written on the blackboard behind them. And on the second page, his parents on their wedding day, his dad with his long hair and moustache, and his mother with bangs that almost completely covered her eyes; he laughed out loud.
“What's so funny?” Charlie asked.
“Did you ever notice that Dad’s hair was longer than Mum’s on their wedding day?”
“What's so funny about that? It was the fashion back then, that’s all.”
“And look at Ni Mateii, she must have been just fifteen or so here.”
“Why are you at home tonight?” Charlie wanted to know, “By seven you are almost always out of the door, visiting one girl or the other.”
“It’s Monday night, and the girl I want to see will still be at church and she said she had to attend a committee afterwards. But tomorrow night she will be at home.”
“Who is this unfortunate girl, is it anyone I know?”
Chris collected all of Cecilia’s photos and was now arranging them in her official album.
“Marini from Mission Veng, works at Synod Press,” he said in reply to Charlie’s question.
“I know her; she is a member of Synod Choir, very decent, too good for a guy like you. But doesn’t she have a boyfriend, that guy from Ramhlun, the one with the red Pulsar bike?”
Chris put down the photos, snatched away Charlie’s comic book and threw it on the bed (Charlie didn’t even protest, the guy had no energy at all).
“How did you know so much about Marini?”
“She came to the wedding.”
“So? Did she even speak to you? If she did it was probably because she thought you were me.”
“She didn’t speak to me.”
Charlie sat up and tried to take back his comic book, but Chris quickly grabbed it and stuffed it inside his T-shirt. Charlie flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
“Then how did you know about her boyfriend and the colour of his bike?”Chris asked.
“Her family owns the building where U Siama’s shop is, and she goes there every month to collect the rent. They are good friends, U Siama and she.”
“I didn’t know U Siama knew any girls, “Chris laughed at his own joke, “But so what even if she has ten boyfriends? She said it’s okay to visit, so visit I will. Hey you and U Siama can come along; it will make the situation less awkward.” He pulled out the comic book and gave it to Charlie.
“I don’t think so. U Siama’s getting a new computer game from his friend tomorrow and we were planning to play it tomorrow night,” Charlie said, looking for the page where he was before he was rudely interrupted.
“Oh come on, you can play it any other night. You know very well my return ticket has been booked for the 24th of this month. I don’t have much time.”
“What’s the point in seeing her then? You will go back to Delhi and she will forget you, you are just wasting your time.”
“I like to think of it as an investment of my time; I will get good returns on it someday.”
“That I would love to see. Anyway, how did you know Marini?”
“I have my ways and means.”
Now it was Charlie’s turn to be curious. “Did she speak to you on the wedding day?”
“Sort of, she was with that friend of hers, Mimi, if you remember, but they left immediately after the service.”
“I heard Mimi was Zotea’s ex-girlfriend,” Charlie said rather passively.
“She is everybody’s ex-girlfriend. If that girl tries to come in between my sister and her husband she will have to answer to me. For that matter, if anybody tries to harm my sister in any way they’d better think long and hard, because I will not take it lightly, believe me.”
“Well, Cecilia’s got herself a husband now, one she is totally crazy about. And I'm sure Zotea can defend his castle very well.”
The album was almost done, and Chris was starting to get bored.
“Hey when will U Siama be done repairing your computer? I need to get online and get in touch with my coaching buddies.”
“He said another day or two, but you know that means a week. He is a very busy man, you know, and his assistant quit last week.” Charlie said.
Chris went over to Charlie’s closet, opened it and looked inside. It was total chaos; everything was stuffed together and wrinkled, and the empty cloth hangers made clanking sounds every time you made a slight movement. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and closed the door.
“Hey let’s go watch TV.”
“Dad is watching the local news. We’ll go a bit later.”
Chris went back to Cecilia’s album, and looked at her baby photos. She was a very cute baby, but it seemed she was forever wrapped in that yellow blanket. And here she was on her 5th birthday, wearing that princess dress which she refused to take off for three days. She was a very sweet and precocious child, and always got what she wanted.
“What do you think we should give Cecilia for her birthday? Is it still appropriate to give your married baby sister a birthday gift?” he said.
Charlie had finally finished his comic book and was now sitting at his table, trying to sketch the X-men characters from memory but he kept on getting stuck. He opened the comic book for reference. “I was thinking of giving her a hair straightening iron, you know her hair iron got burned on the wedding day,” he said.
Chris shook his head in disgust. “Oh come on don’t be boring! We’ll give her something exciting, something she’ll never forget. Hey how about condoms?”
“That is crude and inappropriate. She will be embarrassed having a brother like you.”
“I know! Let’s order for her one of those Oriflame perfumes,” Chris was all excited, new projects and new things always excited him.
“She might not like it,” Charlie said. He’d decided he would copy the whole comic book, change the dialogue completely, make them say something funny, and he would put it up on his wall. That meant he would have to take down his Calvin and Hobbes sketches, but he can always put them back up later.
“How about a nice dress, then?” Chris would not give up, he never gave up on anything.
“She has more clothes than any girl I know.”
“Is that so?” Chris was surprised that Charlie knew about girls and their clothes. “And how many girls do you know? Four? Five? Seven?”
“A thousand and one.”
“No, tell me, how many?”
“I live with fifty teenagers for the good part of the year, I know what people wear.”
“Ah yes, Sir Charlie, the fearsome hostel warden with his comic books and sketch books.”
“Make fun of me all you want, but those kids like me well enough.”
“Nail polish! We’ll give her nail polish in every colour, she will like it very much.”
“I still think the hair straightening iron is a good idea. I know someone who can give it to me very cheap, on his cost price no less. A very good bargain. It’s something Cecilia needs, and she will always remember it,” Charlie could be very adamant when he decided to.
“Look, let’s sleep on this tonight, tomorrow we’ll discuss it again,” Chris said. He pulled a chair over to the table and sat next to Charlie.
“Here, let me help you with that. I know the funniest dialogues ever.”
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Gossip - 2
To an onlooker he might have looked like an old man. After all, he was over 70 years old, was retired, and devoted most of his time to the Upa Pawl, the elderly citizen's association, of which he was the secretary. But he didn’t think of himself as old at all. Agreed his hair was graying on all sides, he couldn’t walk as fast as he used to, had to struggle a bit to remember facts, all his children were grown up, and there were a bunch of grandchildren. But he was still the same person, still felt as good as he did in the 70’s. His eldest son who was posted in Kolasib had recently built a big house for him where he now lived with his wife and their youngest son. He willed himself not to think about where the money came from.
It was a very good house, three stories, big balconies on each floor, and three bedrooms on each floor. His divorced daughter and her two children lived on the topmost floor, and the ground floor was converted into a row of shops which gave him some income apart from his pension. Siama, his youngest son, well, he was thirty five years old now but still behaved like a twenty year old, and the old man secretly wondered if Siama was planning to stay unmarried the rest of his life. Siama was a good catch all right, not bad looking, owned a business selling and repairing computers, although the old man couldn’t still figure out what computers do. He thought about the girls Siama used to see, and realized they were all married now and with children; he wondered where they went wrong with this one.
“Siama-pa, did you remember to take home a piece of the wedding cake for Siama?”
That was his wife calling from the kitchen, a tiny sprightly woman, always fussing over her grown-up son, whom she still treated like a baby. “No wonder he never got married,” the old man thought, “who could measure up to his dear old mother?”
“Siama-pa, did you hear what I said?”
He still didn’t answer. Sometimes he wondered why he’d married her in the first place. She was a very talkative girl, always running after him and asking him endless questions. He guessed he’d married her just to shut her up, but no, she kept on talking, and had been talking for the last forty-five years.
“Oh you're such a useless old man, can’t even remember to take home a cake for your child. The poor boy spends all his waking hours in that shop of his, and you wouldn’t take the time to ask for a single piece of cake. Cecilia’s mother would have been very pleased to give you one; she has always looked on us as family ever since they moved into our neighbourhood.”
He was sick of hearing about Cecilia’s mother. It seems his wife had nothing to do but gossip all day with that neighbour of theirs. Cecilia was also the youngest child, a much pampered kid. The old man thought his wife and Cecilia’s mother were always engaged in a competition, “Who pampers her baby more” as he called it. Siama was much older than Cecilia, why, he was almost a man when Cecilia was born, but still their mothers compared them as if they had been born on the same day, at the same exact hour.
He went into the kitchen where his wife was making tea.
“Didn’t Cecilia look lovely today? Do you know her dress was made by one of the top tailors in Delhi?” his wife said without looking at him.
“You mean fashion designer.”
“Whatever. Her mother told me it cost thirty five thousand rupees, and Zotea’s family couldn’t pay for it, and it was Cecilia’s father who ended up paying for it. Not that he minded, but you know Zotea’s family had said they would pay for the wedding dress. But I'm not surprised. After all, Zotea’s mother is dying of cancer; all that hospital bills must have eaten up a huge chunk of their money.”
She handed him a cup of tea, and then opened the fridge and inspected the vegetables.
“Poor Pi Hlimi, she doesn’t deserve it. She has such good faith in the Lord. I’ll never understand why bad things happen to good people,” her husband said.
“Cecilia’s mother said the reason they got married so soon was because Pi Hlimi didn’t have much time, and did you see that Pi Hlimi sat throughout the ceremony and went straight home afterwards? I heard that the doctors said there was nothing more that could be done. That’s why they never go for checkups anymore.”
“We should pay her a visit after the wedding commotion settles down.”
“Yes we must do that.” She sat down beside him, and blew on her tea to cool it down. “We must also see how Cecilia is doing, how well she is adjusting. Poor child, barely twenty and all that responsibility thrust on her, taking care of a sick old woman, running a household, oh I'm not sure if her parents did the right thing, letting her go.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Zotea’s sisters are quite efficient, Cecilia wouldn’t have to do a thing except sit and look pretty.”
“They are efficient all right, but they are not, what do you say, normal? Did you know the elder sister is having an affair with her boss, a married man? And the other sister, never going to church, never going to any community do, never going anywhere, sometimes I think that one is not quite right in the head. And I hear she doesn’t have any friends either. “
“But Senteii is the one who always receives me whenever I visit Pi Hlimi, always making tea for all the visitors and always smiling although she never makes any small talk. Her family completely depends on her for all the cooking and cleaning, she runs the house very efficiently.”
The old woman left her unfinished tea, got up and opened her cupboard, measured out a cup of lentils and started cleaning it, removing the little stones and sticks.
“Siama-nu, did the newspaper man come today? I couldn’t find Vanglaini anywhere,” the old man said, rummaging through a stack of newspapers and magazines kept on the lowest shelf of the kitchen cupboard.
“Siama took it to his shop.”
“When will that boy subscribe to his own newspaper? Every time I want to read the newspaper it’s always at his shop. I didn’t know he was so interested in the news. I've never seen him read at home, all he ever does is hang around with teenagers and play computer games.”
He walked away, still grumbling, and changed into his work clothes - an old T-shirt splotched with paint, and one of Siama’s old track pants which his daughter had forbidden him to wear. (It’s not like you don’t have your own pants, she had said). But this one was comfortable, the elastic waist made movement easy, and the pockets were deep.
He had almost reached the door when his wife called out, “And where are you going, so dressed up?”
“I thought I’ll go and see how my tomatoes are doing.”
“Your tomatoes are fine. What did your doctor say about working outdoors?”
He went back to the kitchen.
“My doctor doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”
“Oh yes he does. He said so yesterday.”
“And when did you find the time to speak to my doctor? I thought you were busy helping out Cecilia’s mother.”
“I met his wife, she told me he said you should not work outside so much, or else you’ll get sunstroke again.”
“Sunstroke? I wouldn’t worry about that. The temperature is only 25 degrees, it’s not like we are living in the equator or something. “
“In the where?”
“I mean Africa.”
“Why would I want to go and live in Africa? It’s so hot out there, and I hear they eat people.”
“Not anymore. They are much more civilized than you.”
“But it’s still hotter than Aizawl, isn’t it?
“My point exactly.”
He walked out of the door into the warm afternoon sun,and was surprised to feel a surge of happiness suddenly rising from somewhere inside him. Humming his favourite tune, with his hands tucked safely inside his pockets, he made his way towards the little patch of land on his backyard he called his garden.
It was a very good house, three stories, big balconies on each floor, and three bedrooms on each floor. His divorced daughter and her two children lived on the topmost floor, and the ground floor was converted into a row of shops which gave him some income apart from his pension. Siama, his youngest son, well, he was thirty five years old now but still behaved like a twenty year old, and the old man secretly wondered if Siama was planning to stay unmarried the rest of his life. Siama was a good catch all right, not bad looking, owned a business selling and repairing computers, although the old man couldn’t still figure out what computers do. He thought about the girls Siama used to see, and realized they were all married now and with children; he wondered where they went wrong with this one.
“Siama-pa, did you remember to take home a piece of the wedding cake for Siama?”
That was his wife calling from the kitchen, a tiny sprightly woman, always fussing over her grown-up son, whom she still treated like a baby. “No wonder he never got married,” the old man thought, “who could measure up to his dear old mother?”
“Siama-pa, did you hear what I said?”
He still didn’t answer. Sometimes he wondered why he’d married her in the first place. She was a very talkative girl, always running after him and asking him endless questions. He guessed he’d married her just to shut her up, but no, she kept on talking, and had been talking for the last forty-five years.
“Oh you're such a useless old man, can’t even remember to take home a cake for your child. The poor boy spends all his waking hours in that shop of his, and you wouldn’t take the time to ask for a single piece of cake. Cecilia’s mother would have been very pleased to give you one; she has always looked on us as family ever since they moved into our neighbourhood.”
He was sick of hearing about Cecilia’s mother. It seems his wife had nothing to do but gossip all day with that neighbour of theirs. Cecilia was also the youngest child, a much pampered kid. The old man thought his wife and Cecilia’s mother were always engaged in a competition, “Who pampers her baby more” as he called it. Siama was much older than Cecilia, why, he was almost a man when Cecilia was born, but still their mothers compared them as if they had been born on the same day, at the same exact hour.
He went into the kitchen where his wife was making tea.
“Didn’t Cecilia look lovely today? Do you know her dress was made by one of the top tailors in Delhi?” his wife said without looking at him.
“You mean fashion designer.”
“Whatever. Her mother told me it cost thirty five thousand rupees, and Zotea’s family couldn’t pay for it, and it was Cecilia’s father who ended up paying for it. Not that he minded, but you know Zotea’s family had said they would pay for the wedding dress. But I'm not surprised. After all, Zotea’s mother is dying of cancer; all that hospital bills must have eaten up a huge chunk of their money.”
She handed him a cup of tea, and then opened the fridge and inspected the vegetables.
“Poor Pi Hlimi, she doesn’t deserve it. She has such good faith in the Lord. I’ll never understand why bad things happen to good people,” her husband said.
“Cecilia’s mother said the reason they got married so soon was because Pi Hlimi didn’t have much time, and did you see that Pi Hlimi sat throughout the ceremony and went straight home afterwards? I heard that the doctors said there was nothing more that could be done. That’s why they never go for checkups anymore.”
“We should pay her a visit after the wedding commotion settles down.”
“Yes we must do that.” She sat down beside him, and blew on her tea to cool it down. “We must also see how Cecilia is doing, how well she is adjusting. Poor child, barely twenty and all that responsibility thrust on her, taking care of a sick old woman, running a household, oh I'm not sure if her parents did the right thing, letting her go.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Zotea’s sisters are quite efficient, Cecilia wouldn’t have to do a thing except sit and look pretty.”
“They are efficient all right, but they are not, what do you say, normal? Did you know the elder sister is having an affair with her boss, a married man? And the other sister, never going to church, never going to any community do, never going anywhere, sometimes I think that one is not quite right in the head. And I hear she doesn’t have any friends either. “
“But Senteii is the one who always receives me whenever I visit Pi Hlimi, always making tea for all the visitors and always smiling although she never makes any small talk. Her family completely depends on her for all the cooking and cleaning, she runs the house very efficiently.”
The old woman left her unfinished tea, got up and opened her cupboard, measured out a cup of lentils and started cleaning it, removing the little stones and sticks.
“Siama-nu, did the newspaper man come today? I couldn’t find Vanglaini anywhere,” the old man said, rummaging through a stack of newspapers and magazines kept on the lowest shelf of the kitchen cupboard.
“Siama took it to his shop.”
“When will that boy subscribe to his own newspaper? Every time I want to read the newspaper it’s always at his shop. I didn’t know he was so interested in the news. I've never seen him read at home, all he ever does is hang around with teenagers and play computer games.”
He walked away, still grumbling, and changed into his work clothes - an old T-shirt splotched with paint, and one of Siama’s old track pants which his daughter had forbidden him to wear. (It’s not like you don’t have your own pants, she had said). But this one was comfortable, the elastic waist made movement easy, and the pockets were deep.
He had almost reached the door when his wife called out, “And where are you going, so dressed up?”
“I thought I’ll go and see how my tomatoes are doing.”
“Your tomatoes are fine. What did your doctor say about working outdoors?”
He went back to the kitchen.
“My doctor doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”
“Oh yes he does. He said so yesterday.”
“And when did you find the time to speak to my doctor? I thought you were busy helping out Cecilia’s mother.”
“I met his wife, she told me he said you should not work outside so much, or else you’ll get sunstroke again.”
“Sunstroke? I wouldn’t worry about that. The temperature is only 25 degrees, it’s not like we are living in the equator or something. “
“In the where?”
“I mean Africa.”
“Why would I want to go and live in Africa? It’s so hot out there, and I hear they eat people.”
“Not anymore. They are much more civilized than you.”
“But it’s still hotter than Aizawl, isn’t it?
“My point exactly.”
He walked out of the door into the warm afternoon sun,and was surprised to feel a surge of happiness suddenly rising from somewhere inside him. Humming his favourite tune, with his hands tucked safely inside his pockets, he made his way towards the little patch of land on his backyard he called his garden.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Gossip - 1
“My feet hurt.”
“Well, I asked you to wear the red shoes but you insisted on the silver ones when you knew perfectly well they were going to hurt you.”
Mimi bent down, loosened a shoe strap and pushed her red painted toes as far out as they would go.
“But this pair goes very well with my bag.”
“Who cares about your bag,” Marini snorted. “Did you honestly think he’d be looking?”
“Who?”
“You know very well who.”
“I don’t. Seriously Mar, I don’t.”
“He only had eyes for his bride, as you might have observed.”
“You call that a bride? She looked like a Sunday School kid acting the part of an angel. Did you see her makeup? Too heavy for a girl her age. And did you see her fake smile?”
“Don’t tell me you are jealous.”
“Of course I am jealous.”
“I don’t understand you. You ditched him years ago and even went around for a while with his older brother, and now you're acting as if he’s the one leaving you and breaking your heart.”
“But my heart is broken.”
“I know. Your heart will break if your neighbor’s cat dies.”
“Why don’t you believe me? He was my first love, and you know what they say about first loves.”
“No, I don’t know what they say about first loves.”
“Well, it goes like this, they say no matter what happens to you in life, no matter how many boyfriends and husbands you have in life, you always…..”
“You know, Mim, sometimes you should think before you speak.”
“Stop calling me Mim. I hate it when you call me Mim. I hate it when anybody calls me Mim.”
“Tell me one good reason why.”
“It reminds me of him. He used to call me Vaimim.”
“Vaimim? Ha ha ha, that’s precious. Vaimim Vaimim….. Come to think of it, you look somewhat like the corn my mother used to buy when I was a kid, with your pointy chin and your silky hair that changes colour every fortnight. But when did he call you that? He’s always called you Mimi.”
“Oh it was a long time ago. I guess we were in class 4 or 5, we used to sit together in class, and I remember he once wrote Vaimim on all my notebooks and I reported him to Miss Malsawmi, and she made him erase everything. I made a face at him afterwards and he hit me on the head.”
“Precious memories.”
"And I still haven’t forgiven him for hitting me on the head.”
“And will you forgive his getting married?”
“Never. He’s betrayed me completely.”
“Stop the drama, will you? I saw you flirting with that cousin of his, what’s his name, RK-a?
“Yes, I also gave him my phone number.”
“I'm not surprised; you never were one to miss an opportunity.”
“But that doesn’t mean I've forgiven Zotea for leaving me and getting married to that girl, what's her name again?”
“Cecilia.”
“Phuh.. what a fake sounding name. Do you think she looks like a Cecilia? I think she looks like a …”
“Hold it, my phone’s ringing. Hello….”
“Well, I asked you to wear the red shoes but you insisted on the silver ones when you knew perfectly well they were going to hurt you.”
Mimi bent down, loosened a shoe strap and pushed her red painted toes as far out as they would go.
“But this pair goes very well with my bag.”
“Who cares about your bag,” Marini snorted. “Did you honestly think he’d be looking?”
“Who?”
“You know very well who.”
“I don’t. Seriously Mar, I don’t.”
“He only had eyes for his bride, as you might have observed.”
“You call that a bride? She looked like a Sunday School kid acting the part of an angel. Did you see her makeup? Too heavy for a girl her age. And did you see her fake smile?”
“Don’t tell me you are jealous.”
“Of course I am jealous.”
“I don’t understand you. You ditched him years ago and even went around for a while with his older brother, and now you're acting as if he’s the one leaving you and breaking your heart.”
“But my heart is broken.”
“I know. Your heart will break if your neighbor’s cat dies.”
“Why don’t you believe me? He was my first love, and you know what they say about first loves.”
“No, I don’t know what they say about first loves.”
“Well, it goes like this, they say no matter what happens to you in life, no matter how many boyfriends and husbands you have in life, you always…..”
“You know, Mim, sometimes you should think before you speak.”
“Stop calling me Mim. I hate it when you call me Mim. I hate it when anybody calls me Mim.”
“Tell me one good reason why.”
“It reminds me of him. He used to call me Vaimim.”
“Vaimim? Ha ha ha, that’s precious. Vaimim Vaimim….. Come to think of it, you look somewhat like the corn my mother used to buy when I was a kid, with your pointy chin and your silky hair that changes colour every fortnight. But when did he call you that? He’s always called you Mimi.”
“Oh it was a long time ago. I guess we were in class 4 or 5, we used to sit together in class, and I remember he once wrote Vaimim on all my notebooks and I reported him to Miss Malsawmi, and she made him erase everything. I made a face at him afterwards and he hit me on the head.”
“Precious memories.”
"And I still haven’t forgiven him for hitting me on the head.”
“And will you forgive his getting married?”
“Never. He’s betrayed me completely.”
“Stop the drama, will you? I saw you flirting with that cousin of his, what’s his name, RK-a?
“Yes, I also gave him my phone number.”
“I'm not surprised; you never were one to miss an opportunity.”
“But that doesn’t mean I've forgiven Zotea for leaving me and getting married to that girl, what's her name again?”
“Cecilia.”
“Phuh.. what a fake sounding name. Do you think she looks like a Cecilia? I think she looks like a …”
“Hold it, my phone’s ringing. Hello….”
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