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.
Hehehehe i blog hi chu a danger tawh e!! :-) Type loh tur type a an man che chuan i tan a hlaawm si a. Ti hian, i blog thar hi ka blog "Mizo directory" leh misual.com ah lo link chi a ni em?
ReplyDeletePs. Tuna i post hi chu a ngaihnawm hmel hle mai, mahse ka buai hrih a, thursday hian mumbai atangin delhi ah ka haw leh dawn a, delhi a chhiar a tan ka khek e.
Link a pawi lem love, a content ka thlak tawh alawm. Fimkhur tluk hi a awm love tih thil thuah hma ka han la kha a ni a. Tunah chuan tupawhin chhiar se, 'no cause for concern' a ni, ka him e.
ReplyDeleteHave a safe trip home
Thanks again for the pleasant read. The closing para was gnawingly surreal...reminded me of Rana Dasgupta's "Tokyo Cancelled". On a similar note, the first pressure cooker, amongst a peoples ive been with, got a sound thrashing with all sticks available as soon as it started whistling under pressure. Again, when the first airplane landed, they had to first clear the stray cows on the airstrip and then rein in the crowds who, when the plane tocuhed down, ran after it still puzzled over what had just fallen from the sky. I doubt their lot has changed radically as CHanga's but they definitely have been inextricably woven into the wave of 'modernity' since that first pressure cooker and airplane landing.
ReplyDeleteMy blogspot...well i dont have one. The GOOD reason is that im laconic at best and at worst-overly verbose and guild-limited when it comes to writing. The REAL reason however is im lazy and would rarely update it even if i had one. My writing rarely makes it beyond an extremely limited circle...not to tag its esoteric USP...but because it's based and limited to that circle. Moreover, I find it throroughly refreshing to read what you guys put up. So--thanks for your posts again.
What did you find so fitting about the pseudonym...just curious?
Ngaihnawm leh pek hle mai,Uncas:-)min tihlim ltk ka chhiar hian.
ReplyDeleteKan Tv neih ve hmasak ber min hriatchhuah tir..a kawngkhar pawhtawlh theih,black&white a la ni jui.Texla,brand a mo ni kha le...:))
ka ziah zawh hma in ka lo clik palh a..
ReplyDeleteAnd..fiamthu in a atawp mai dawn a amw ka tia,I finishing a tha kher mai, Arsenals stiker Henry ang mai a lom le..not like chealsea stikers..hahhaha
Folks, a whole para was missing from the post (was never written but was locked-up in the head somewhere). I have made ammends accordingly. Thanks for your patience.
ReplyDelete@Philo, re. your pseudonym, because you seem to be a very philosopical person from your comments, or even if the name means brotherly love, you seem to be a good brother with lots of love for your brothers since you always have kind words to say to a crappy blogger. SO thanks! Have never come across Tokyo Cancelled though. Should make an iteresting read.
@Sekibuhchhuak: Henry? Henry who? It seems like you were away somewhere in the solar system, perhaps a trip to Jupiter. So, lemme give you an update on planet earth! There is a a goal machine in the form of DROGBA, and he strikes for CHELSEA. He got goals after goals for Chelsea while Henry recovers from his injury. So, now you know. hehheh!
My take on the idiot box is Mike Tyson biting off Holyfield's earlobe in the boxing ring. Now that's an idiot box!! My curiosity re: the pseudonym was because it reminded Illusionaire of a paedo..haha! watch out kids...here i come! Was relieved you caught on to the 1century jewish thinker...although i aspire for the sharing of love (Luke 10:36,37).
ReplyDeleteFinally read it! :) What can I say, you're an amazing writer. I love the flow of your story and I especially love the subtle mix of Mizo-centric topics and english writing... This are the ingredients for the making of "Booker Award" kind of stories :)
ReplyDelete@ Philo: lolz :))))
@Thanks illusionaire. Booker Prize? Goodness :)). Have been too busy with saying adios, meeting old friends, shopping, and packing stuffs, couldn't respond earlier. Just saying hi from BKK on the way home to bharat. tempting?!
ReplyDeleteTry philonisma...am on a trial run!
ReplyDeleteU rem tluang tak in in thleng tawh ang chu mawww..Vawksa rep vel i ei hunah min lo hre chhuak duh miah suh auh..:))
ReplyDeleteIn ngaihawm tak zet zet.I Mizo hla min pek hote pawh ka ngai thla tlut tlut mai..lunga vanleng deuh veee..
Safe Journey back home. And looking forward to your next update.
ReplyDeleteThe way to Bharat was not tempting at all but for folks at home.
ReplyDelete@Thanks illusionaire, we are safely home now. Things are a bit basic here and I will need sometime to get myself together, to get through the reverse culture shock and to pin down these ever wandering thoughts till I can get myself in the position to write a sensible post.
@John, thanks for taking good care of us. Bangkok was a bit hot but pretty enjoyable. We had a wonderful time to relax and refresh ourselves before we head home. Now we are safely home and the hills are green here! Cheers!
Hey hey.. i'm new to ur blog. I should stumble on this blog long time ago... why hadn't i???
ReplyDeleteA good write-up, a scroll-turner(as a page-turner:P cos i'm reading it through my browser hehe).
As kima had said... You should write a book... and hell... then i'd be one of those ppl out there who will book it from the very moment u penned down ur very first word.
I'm linking you.. do lemme know if you mind and thanks for the good read.
I wonder when you will be back :)
ReplyDeletePlease visit:
Mizo Bloggers Directory
and register there. You can enter what you like about yourself :) I am planning to make a Directory of all the Mizo bloggers.
Thanx.