A BITTER CHRISTMAS

Christmas is here once again to heralds -from many other things, the coming new year. Once again, it is time for introspection –and that is the part I hated the most. I hated it because I know it well how I’ve wasted the year, I hated it because I know it well there were many things that I could and should have done, and I hated it because –because I had the best Christmas gift last year and it was taken back.

This year, I got all the time I needed to continue my education but I didn’t, I got the chance to travel around the world (well, at least half the continents) but I let it go, I got some offers which I should have not declined and there are many more that will be and should be lost in the pages of my diary only.

But the year also gives me few things to cheers for, moments and memories that will linger on for the rest of my life. I don’t want to confine those memories to my diary alone, I’d love to remind myself of those moments when I’m down. But, alas, since those moments were blotted by as much bad moments, they will hardly lift my spirit –for optimism is not one of the qualities usually associated with me.

For I am born a pessimist –sarcasms and ironies are the words that I live by. Loneliness is my constant companion and I hate that. But it is a lonely world here and if you ask me, I think your life is as lonely as mine. At least I know what I am talking about –that my senses are intact.

Life in a city has always been lonely. But I never felt as lonely when Christmas approaches. It is the time of the year I missed home the most –with emphasis on home and the things associated with it.

I have a home here in Delhi and most of my close family members are here in Delhi only. We often have a family gathering during the festival seasons including Christmas, still I longed for home and I don’t know, why?

May be life in a city has become so complicated that it is not easy to have some simple and pure fun. One has to go through nightmares just to have some fun and that fun always comes with a price tag. I missed the days when I had pure and honest fun doing the simplest things and those very things that I cannot afford here in the city.

May be the chasms between the privileged and the under-privileged has become so wide that we the under-privileged failed to savour our time and surroundings as we are constantly engrossed with our contempt and envy of the privileged.

Maybe life in itself has become complicated, for, a few years ago, I spent a Christmas back home and still found something missing. May be it’s the price I paid for growing–up, or may be, it got to do with my feeling of belonging neither here nor there.

I don’t want answer for all my questions, for I know I’ll not be willing to accept the answer. But one this is clear that I am a bitter person right now, for Christmas is the time I look back at the harsh reality of my life and it's not easy to be constantly reminded of your failure and missed chances. And this Christmas, I’m especially bitter for I was cheated with a gift last Christmas, which was the best gift that I ever got. It was taken back a few months later and now, tomorrow is Christmas and there’s no chances that I’ll get it back.

Well, may be I should try what a true optimist would do in this situation by saying “Well, at least, I can savour the memories!”

Merry Christmas!

Tags: mizo, zomi, zogam

The Waiting Room

Ironic as it may sounds, American Hospital of Paris is one of the best hospital in Paris. Apart from that it is the only one where ‘most’ of the staffs speak English –or to put it more aptly –‘don’t hesitate to use English’! It seems the butch of Americans who started the hospital a century ago were much more desperate than me when it comes to the language barrier!

It is not the average hospital where every sick man/woman who are conscious enough to think of ‘bills and payments’ wants the ambulance to take them to. But I suppose at least a few of them are there to make maximum use of their insurance –like I do!

It was in the waiting room of the MRI Section where I met the two well-dressed ‘Frenchmen’. They were engaged in an animated talk when one of the turned toward me and asked me in English, ‘Filipinos?’ ‘Cambodian?’

I shook my head and said, ‘Indian’. They looked surprised but not as surprised as the British couple sitting across me who were visibly surprised. Then as if some sort of realization dawned on him, the younger of the Frenchmen raised his index finger and said, ‘Nepali?’

God! I wanted to cry out. With due respect to our Himalayan brethrens, I don’t usually respond to that ‘name’ very well.

I shook my head and told him that I was a tribal from the north-east of India. He barely let me finish my sentence when he started spilling-out ‘the amazing time’ he had in India when his Nepali guide ‘duped’ him and left him ‘bare’ in his hotel room.

He was speaking so furiously and rather loudly –of everything he saw or heard, from the people, the place, the food, the film –he seemed to have one thing or the other for everyone as I noticed everyone from the old American couple to the heavily accented Scandinavian to the nurses in the counter were totally mesmerized while I tried to recall if I had ever heard of anyone dying from frothing but had to conclude that whatever was his problem, his mouth definitely was not the one!

And, of course, he finished with saying that his experience was one of a kind and he wished to visit the northeast when he came round the next time. I nodded my head rapidly to look agreeable and managed a wry ghastly grimace when I actually intended it to be a beatific saintly smile!

Just then a nurse called-out for a certain ‘Monsieur el-Bashir.’ I looked around the room looking for any Arab but I saw none. The plump British couple were as surprised as me to see the young Frenchman stood-up and follow the nurse to one of the rooms.

Shortly after, another nurse called-out my name, or rather, something that vaguely sounded like my name. I noticed all eyes turned on me, as it was pretty obvious I could be the only one with a name that sounded like that. I stood-up and followed the nurse to one of the room. Just as I entered the room, I heard the Scandinavian said, ‘seems like these Chinese are everywhere!’

Tags: identity, relationship