20th November 1982. The harvest was plentiful that year. It was also the year a city bred teacher decided to settle down for the first time in their village unlike all the others who had gone before him. And the teacher happened to buy a plot of land from him to build his house, and he had never seen such a large amount of money at a single time when he handed him the agreed amount for the land. It was a good year indeed and it was fitting that a village headman had his barn full and his treasury to the fullest, a good example for all the village folks.
Every time the MLA came to their village, usually before the election, he came with a promise of building a road which he called ‘jeepable’ to the village. At the beginning of the new government term they would start the road project but it never did last long, and they have been waiting for the road forever.
When one had such a load of cash, it called for a trip to the city to get new clothes for the children and their mother, and new tools for the whole family for the shifting cultivation. Perhaps they could afford a new gun too. The trip to Aizawl usually takes eight hours straight on foot, through moors and hills; plains and valleys. He travelled with a few other villagers who were going for the same purpose of getting supplies.
In Aizawl he decided to stay at his old friend's, who moved to Aizawl many years ago and had struck it reach by becoming a government contractor and supplier. He left his bag at his friend’s and went out and shopped for the things he came for.
When he came back from the market at dusk his host looked genuinely happy to see him. They exchanged information about their families and they talked at length about the village and the abundant harvest of the year. They were sitting comfortably at the living room after supper and when the dishes were done his host’s younger son Sawmvela opened the sliding doors of a box on the table, and as he pressed one of the buttons, the box came to life with a noisy sound. He fiddled with some of the buttons and then there were moving pictures on the screen.
Mr. Changa watched the whole thing with utmost interest and he could not figure out what the box was all about. It was not a cinema which he had seen a few times in his village when some people from the government came to show them some films about health and other things. He could not keep quiet any longer and he inquired from his host what it was all about. And he was told that the box was called a TV. They were playing hockey on the box and his eyes got glued to the box. When he asked of the price of the box, his host’s reply made him gape, and he thought, “That is worth almost a whole year’s harvest!”
The neighbours started to pour in to watch what they call the Asian Games. And farmer Chang never moved nor flinched from his seat which was a much coveted place as the floor was full of people trying to get a good place.
He was trying to figure out why in the world they called the box a TV. Does it stand for Tukverh, which means ‘window’ in his native tongue? “It may well be so,” he thought “because it had a sort of a window frame at the front which could be closed when not in use.”
The electricity went out at 11 o’clock and he took a leak after everyone had left and slept, dreaming about the box, and how it would make his wife and children happy, and how they might entertain the whole village if he could just have one. Oh, yes, how wonderful it would be to have such a box. They would take it to the farm hut, and watch the moving pictures during a break in the rice fields. They would entertain all the folks who came out to help in the harvest, and what a prize asset it would be for him and his household. He tossed and turned on the bed and sleep was hard to come by even with his tired body after a whole day’s journey.
The next day he went to the big market and he was happy that he could get all his supplies and the clothes for his family. As he was walking down the street, a large crowd gathered at one place and he was obliged to join them and he could see at the front a display of the picture box again, and they were showing a hockey match between India and Malaysia.
That night, after a community gathering infront of the picture tube, he spent half the night in bed, turning and tossing, thinking and dreaming about the picture tube again. He had a troubled sleep that night.
The next day he left after the morning meal, and he said goodbye to his host and his family. On his way to the rendezvous with his village folks, he had to pass through the big market and there was a big crowd at the same place as the day before, watching the picture tube in the shop. And he could not help to go in and ask the price. He felt a sting in his stomach when he realized that the price was almost as much as a year's harvest. But he decided to forget a new gun, a verbal dressing down from his wife for buying such an idiot box for the joy that was set before him in possessing such a magnificient treasure. He perspired slightly when he made the decision to buy the tube, especially when he handed over the money. He smiled when the shopkeeper said, 'Neighbour's envy, owner's pride.' It made him proud already.
When he reached the rendezvous, Thana, the village youngman asked him, “U Chang [*meaning Big Brother Chang or frog], what in the world is that?”
The journey took them much longer than the normal time, all because of the box. But it was worth it, yes, every step of the way. So when they arrived at the village finally the word of the arrival of the wonderful picture box spread like wild fire and Mr. Changa’s house was full of the village folks in no time at all.
He remembered what the shopkeeper had told him. “Open the door, press this button,” he had said, “put up the aerial like this, and the picture may not appear at first. You must turn this knob to tune it, and soon you will have the picture stark clear.”
He slid open the door and sure enough the button was exactly where he remembered it. He pushed it in, and he waited for the screen to come on and he was as excited as the village folks who waited with bated breath to see what the picture box could show. Five seconds…one minute…two… “Why did nothing happen? Push the button again? Oh yeah, let me give it a try.” He pushed the button again, and this time he turned the tuner and all the knobs around both ways. Three seconds…two minutes…four…nothing’s happening. “What could have gone wrong? I am sure this is what the shopkeeper told me. Now what is wrong?” There was no ready answer.
Chhuma, his five year old came near to him, and he could see his reflection on the TV screen, and he declared happily, “Daddy, I can see myself on the screen!” At the declaration, the children at the inner circle of the crowd suddenly moved forward to see their reflections on the screen and it got too crowded for comfort in the end and he had to shoo them away instantly.
After a few more tries the proud owner of the picture box, the headman of the village had to admit defeat and he felt humbled and humiliated and he was ready to curse the shopkeeper who took his half year’s salary in exchange of the idiot box which was not working anyway. All his dreams of entertaining the farmers in his farm had come to nothing. Then a thought came to him. “Oh, yes, who but the teacher would know about such a sophisticated piece of equipment?” At the utterance of the teacher’s name, more than five children had already left the house to call him.
There was such a disappointment in the whole village when they learned that the teacher was away to the neighbouring village to negotiate the marriage of one of the villagers. After his humiliating failure, every villager had a good look at the moving picture machine. Some lifted it up, trying to figure out how much it weighed, some turned it upside down, some right side up, some sideways, and it entertained them not only for that night but for many nights to come as everyone talked about either the idiot box, or the idiot who bought the box. And they had more to talk about when the teacher revealed that the picture box needed what he called an electric current, a generator or a wet cell lead acid battery. When the ‘jeepable’ road construction was finally finished five years later, they turned on the picture tube briefly for a night by borrowing the battery from one of the first vehicles that arrived in their village.
As it turned out Mr. Changa was thinking eleven years ahead of his time as the village was electrified only eleven years after he bought the idiot box; long after he migrated to Aizawl, to become a government supplier and contractor with the help of his old friend. Since then he had done a lot of travelling to Assam and West Bengal, and sometimes as far as Amritsar, to get supplies for the government. The job paid well especially when he paid the government Babus well and soon he could afford to buy a car of his choice.
As his driver drove him out of Mizoram Run he reminisced about the past, of the idiot box and the village and it brought a smile on his face. “It’s been twenty five years already, hasn’t it?” he thought to himself and the driver sped off towards the beautiful hills, leaving a trail of dust behind, trying to run away from the heat and humidity of Silchar. “Run, to Mizoram run!” he cheered on from the back of his 2006 Mercedes-Benz B-Class, not realising that it rained the night before in the hills and a landslide near Kolasib had blocked the only road to Aizawl. As he fell asleep at the back of his chauffer driven car, he dreamt of Switzerland and it was beautiful and clean; best of all it was in the hills in the east. Soon he was awakened by the bumpy ride through the pot holes in a fool’s paradise in this west side of Myanmar. They got stranded for two nights and he waited for the road to be cleared, hungry and angry, at the back of his car.
Every time the MLA came to their village, usually before the election, he came with a promise of building a road which he called ‘jeepable’ to the village. At the beginning of the new government term they would start the road project but it never did last long, and they have been waiting for the road forever.
When one had such a load of cash, it called for a trip to the city to get new clothes for the children and their mother, and new tools for the whole family for the shifting cultivation. Perhaps they could afford a new gun too. The trip to Aizawl usually takes eight hours straight on foot, through moors and hills; plains and valleys. He travelled with a few other villagers who were going for the same purpose of getting supplies.
In Aizawl he decided to stay at his old friend's, who moved to Aizawl many years ago and had struck it reach by becoming a government contractor and supplier. He left his bag at his friend’s and went out and shopped for the things he came for.
When he came back from the market at dusk his host looked genuinely happy to see him. They exchanged information about their families and they talked at length about the village and the abundant harvest of the year. They were sitting comfortably at the living room after supper and when the dishes were done his host’s younger son Sawmvela opened the sliding doors of a box on the table, and as he pressed one of the buttons, the box came to life with a noisy sound. He fiddled with some of the buttons and then there were moving pictures on the screen.
Mr. Changa watched the whole thing with utmost interest and he could not figure out what the box was all about. It was not a cinema which he had seen a few times in his village when some people from the government came to show them some films about health and other things. He could not keep quiet any longer and he inquired from his host what it was all about. And he was told that the box was called a TV. They were playing hockey on the box and his eyes got glued to the box. When he asked of the price of the box, his host’s reply made him gape, and he thought, “That is worth almost a whole year’s harvest!”
The neighbours started to pour in to watch what they call the Asian Games. And farmer Chang never moved nor flinched from his seat which was a much coveted place as the floor was full of people trying to get a good place.
He was trying to figure out why in the world they called the box a TV. Does it stand for Tukverh, which means ‘window’ in his native tongue? “It may well be so,” he thought “because it had a sort of a window frame at the front which could be closed when not in use.”
The electricity went out at 11 o’clock and he took a leak after everyone had left and slept, dreaming about the box, and how it would make his wife and children happy, and how they might entertain the whole village if he could just have one. Oh, yes, how wonderful it would be to have such a box. They would take it to the farm hut, and watch the moving pictures during a break in the rice fields. They would entertain all the folks who came out to help in the harvest, and what a prize asset it would be for him and his household. He tossed and turned on the bed and sleep was hard to come by even with his tired body after a whole day’s journey.
The next day he went to the big market and he was happy that he could get all his supplies and the clothes for his family. As he was walking down the street, a large crowd gathered at one place and he was obliged to join them and he could see at the front a display of the picture box again, and they were showing a hockey match between India and Malaysia.
That night, after a community gathering infront of the picture tube, he spent half the night in bed, turning and tossing, thinking and dreaming about the picture tube again. He had a troubled sleep that night.
The next day he left after the morning meal, and he said goodbye to his host and his family. On his way to the rendezvous with his village folks, he had to pass through the big market and there was a big crowd at the same place as the day before, watching the picture tube in the shop. And he could not help to go in and ask the price. He felt a sting in his stomach when he realized that the price was almost as much as a year's harvest. But he decided to forget a new gun, a verbal dressing down from his wife for buying such an idiot box for the joy that was set before him in possessing such a magnificient treasure. He perspired slightly when he made the decision to buy the tube, especially when he handed over the money. He smiled when the shopkeeper said, 'Neighbour's envy, owner's pride.' It made him proud already.
After the paper work was done he handed him the big box and Mr. Changa finally became the official owner of a picture box, the first ever in his village. Just wait till you see the envious and admiring faces of all the village folks!“I need to write your name here,” said the shopkeeper, “for the guarantee.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if the television set develops some problem within one year we will repair it for free or in case of a technical defect we can even give you a new one.”
“That sounds wonderful. Please write Mr. Changliana, headman, BPO Sakawrtui.”
When he reached the rendezvous, Thana, the village youngman asked him, “U Chang [*meaning Big Brother Chang or frog], what in the world is that?”
“Help me get this to the village, and you will have a free entry to my household to watch pictures all day long!”With that Thana did not ask any more questions. He lifted up the box, a strong young man that he was, and carried it on his shoulders. Better be quiet and do the hard labour and be in the good book of the village unofficial banker, so Thana had learned a long time ago.
The journey took them much longer than the normal time, all because of the box. But it was worth it, yes, every step of the way. So when they arrived at the village finally the word of the arrival of the wonderful picture box spread like wild fire and Mr. Changa’s house was full of the village folks in no time at all.
He remembered what the shopkeeper had told him. “Open the door, press this button,” he had said, “put up the aerial like this, and the picture may not appear at first. You must turn this knob to tune it, and soon you will have the picture stark clear.”
He slid open the door and sure enough the button was exactly where he remembered it. He pushed it in, and he waited for the screen to come on and he was as excited as the village folks who waited with bated breath to see what the picture box could show. Five seconds…one minute…two… “Why did nothing happen? Push the button again? Oh yeah, let me give it a try.” He pushed the button again, and this time he turned the tuner and all the knobs around both ways. Three seconds…two minutes…four…nothing’s happening. “What could have gone wrong? I am sure this is what the shopkeeper told me. Now what is wrong?” There was no ready answer.
Chhuma, his five year old came near to him, and he could see his reflection on the TV screen, and he declared happily, “Daddy, I can see myself on the screen!” At the declaration, the children at the inner circle of the crowd suddenly moved forward to see their reflections on the screen and it got too crowded for comfort in the end and he had to shoo them away instantly.
After a few more tries the proud owner of the picture box, the headman of the village had to admit defeat and he felt humbled and humiliated and he was ready to curse the shopkeeper who took his half year’s salary in exchange of the idiot box which was not working anyway. All his dreams of entertaining the farmers in his farm had come to nothing. Then a thought came to him. “Oh, yes, who but the teacher would know about such a sophisticated piece of equipment?” At the utterance of the teacher’s name, more than five children had already left the house to call him.
There was such a disappointment in the whole village when they learned that the teacher was away to the neighbouring village to negotiate the marriage of one of the villagers. After his humiliating failure, every villager had a good look at the moving picture machine. Some lifted it up, trying to figure out how much it weighed, some turned it upside down, some right side up, some sideways, and it entertained them not only for that night but for many nights to come as everyone talked about either the idiot box, or the idiot who bought the box. And they had more to talk about when the teacher revealed that the picture box needed what he called an electric current, a generator or a wet cell lead acid battery. When the ‘jeepable’ road construction was finally finished five years later, they turned on the picture tube briefly for a night by borrowing the battery from one of the first vehicles that arrived in their village.
As it turned out Mr. Changa was thinking eleven years ahead of his time as the village was electrified only eleven years after he bought the idiot box; long after he migrated to Aizawl, to become a government supplier and contractor with the help of his old friend. Since then he had done a lot of travelling to Assam and West Bengal, and sometimes as far as Amritsar, to get supplies for the government. The job paid well especially when he paid the government Babus well and soon he could afford to buy a car of his choice.
As his driver drove him out of Mizoram Run he reminisced about the past, of the idiot box and the village and it brought a smile on his face. “It’s been twenty five years already, hasn’t it?” he thought to himself and the driver sped off towards the beautiful hills, leaving a trail of dust behind, trying to run away from the heat and humidity of Silchar. “Run, to Mizoram run!” he cheered on from the back of his 2006 Mercedes-Benz B-Class, not realising that it rained the night before in the hills and a landslide near Kolasib had blocked the only road to Aizawl. As he fell asleep at the back of his chauffer driven car, he dreamt of Switzerland and it was beautiful and clean; best of all it was in the hills in the east. Soon he was awakened by the bumpy ride through the pot holes in a fool’s paradise in this west side of Myanmar. They got stranded for two nights and he waited for the road to be cleared, hungry and angry, at the back of his car.
Once you get used to the place you'd never want to leave again. There was one English bloke who came to Tlabung in 1872 and established the township right then and there. He made his home right at the centre of the town (it was the centre because there was no other housing then until more people settled there sometime later). He had to live there because the place had such a wonderful charm where the air, the soil and the river were rife with life and life-breeding things. Little things bring great pleasure, and you get closer to mother nature in such a place. Little things like a gentle breeze that cools your forehead when you sweat would bring you great pleasure and satisfaction in such a place. It's no wonder why a bloke like Lt. T.H. Lewin chose to settle there, and why a bloke like me had to come from there.
