You'll never leave
Your best hope of escape is to book a return flight with no changes permitted.
Your best hope of escape is to book a return flight with no changes permitted.
Saturday, 18 March 2017
Friday, 17 March 2017
Death by hospitality
Sometimes the hospitality can be a little overbearing. I stay four days with one family, two parents and their five children. We can't communicate except by smiles and the occasional word. The wife does almost all of the housework, and seems to be my host, the husband runs the shop. As well as looking after the children, I'm provided with food and tea as a special guest. I mention I'm leaving for the forest, and a packed lunch appears. I try and wash my clothes and I am distracted with a cup of tea, which I can't refuse, and the clothes are washed. The meals are elaborate, much richer than I'm used to, and even one day meat in my honour.
It's slightly unnerving, that in amongst the hustle and bustle of a 3-day wake, a traveling doctors clinic, and the daily toil, this undeserving tourist is the honoured guest. True I seem to have found a village where no foreigner has ever visited before, but who am I.
I could get used to it, a cup of red (black) tea appearing whenever I step in the house (uncanny), a smile, warm water bucket showers... but I am a big white Cuckoo. I'm the 6th child, I'm a year older than the unstoppably energetic wife. I have to leave, but leave too soon, curse my nature, and walk on racked by British awkwardness.
It's slightly unnerving, that in amongst the hustle and bustle of a 3-day wake, a traveling doctors clinic, and the daily toil, this undeserving tourist is the honoured guest. True I seem to have found a village where no foreigner has ever visited before, but who am I.
I could get used to it, a cup of red (black) tea appearing whenever I step in the house (uncanny), a smile, warm water bucket showers... but I am a big white Cuckoo. I'm the 6th child, I'm a year older than the unstoppably energetic wife. I have to leave, but leave too soon, curse my nature, and walk on racked by British awkwardness.
The rice game
The paite hosts in the villages have a special game. Does anyone remember the 'East meets West, local knowledge' adverts from HSBC? The unfortunate banker finishes plate after plate of sushi while the host feels his generosity is being questioned and provides increasingly large fish. In Mizoram they play both parts, it's British wartime mindset meets overbearing hospitality. I've seen pained reactions on the faces of other local people in two different houses that confirm it is in fact a game of sorts.
The rules are as follows:
The host places some rice on your plate
You must finish your plate
The host may add more rice at any time, unless physically blocked by a ready hand, or intercepted by a correctly timed word. When local people feel that the host has fouled by placing rice in violation of these rules they can return the rice to the pot (it's big lumps of sticky rice) with their hand. Unfortunately this breaks my cultural hygiene rules and so I am denied this escape.
The objective is limiting the quantity of rice on your plate. To look away is to lose, especially towards the latter stages of the meal when you might be feeling distracted. If you need to leave the table for example to fetch a napkin you must accept that this will have a high rice penalty of anything up to a filled plate. It's not just looking away, you need to keep the hand ready, reaction time is a factor. If looking down at the plate keep your peripheral vision trained to spot any approaching scoop of rice.
To say it is a rice based diet is an understatement. The people eat rice, and rice. In the case of the poorer families the rice is only topped with the most sparing green leaf, or vegetable water. Often vegetables will be cooked with rice to bulk them out a bit, and then a small quantity of rice and vegetable is spooned onto the rice. If any meat is present, which isn't every meal, it's often cooked with rice. In general you start with rice, and add small spoonfuls of the 'curries' as you go (if they are curries imagine a hipster deconstructed curry, the blandest vegetables Britain never boiled and in one pot, and in another inedibly hot chilli chutney). Dal is quite common, it's mixed with the rice, but lentils cost about 8 times as much as rice by the kilo so go easy. Much as with the rice game, you must follow the rules. Never take too much curry, or fill your plate at the start, and don't take too little. Curries too can leap into an unattended mountain of rice.
The rules are as follows:
The host places some rice on your plate
You must finish your plate
The host may add more rice at any time, unless physically blocked by a ready hand, or intercepted by a correctly timed word. When local people feel that the host has fouled by placing rice in violation of these rules they can return the rice to the pot (it's big lumps of sticky rice) with their hand. Unfortunately this breaks my cultural hygiene rules and so I am denied this escape.
The objective is limiting the quantity of rice on your plate. To look away is to lose, especially towards the latter stages of the meal when you might be feeling distracted. If you need to leave the table for example to fetch a napkin you must accept that this will have a high rice penalty of anything up to a filled plate. It's not just looking away, you need to keep the hand ready, reaction time is a factor. If looking down at the plate keep your peripheral vision trained to spot any approaching scoop of rice.
To say it is a rice based diet is an understatement. The people eat rice, and rice. In the case of the poorer families the rice is only topped with the most sparing green leaf, or vegetable water. Often vegetables will be cooked with rice to bulk them out a bit, and then a small quantity of rice and vegetable is spooned onto the rice. If any meat is present, which isn't every meal, it's often cooked with rice. In general you start with rice, and add small spoonfuls of the 'curries' as you go (if they are curries imagine a hipster deconstructed curry, the blandest vegetables Britain never boiled and in one pot, and in another inedibly hot chilli chutney). Dal is quite common, it's mixed with the rice, but lentils cost about 8 times as much as rice by the kilo so go easy. Much as with the rice game, you must follow the rules. Never take too much curry, or fill your plate at the start, and don't take too little. Curries too can leap into an unattended mountain of rice.
A little privacy
Mizo traditional houses are constructed from wood, on stilts over the sloping hillside. The design is centered around a large room with partition walls for the toilet and sleeping area. There is also a small square of concrete for the open fireplace, which is the center of evening activities. The bathroom is often awkwardly close to the kitchen or fireplace, and after a long days trek this is one of the first places I have in mind to visit. Foreigners are not common in this region (less than one a year) and a small crowd has often gathered by the time I have found a house to sleep in. This audience makes the whole squatting experience distinctly uncomfortable. I'm not sure what the locals make of my bid for privacy, but you may hear the rolling stones.
It's a funny old world
In Mizoram they eat snails and bees.
It's too friendly there. Half an hour of pleasantries later and you still haven't made your way out of a 1km long village. It's rather awkward turning down offers of places to sleep and eat without being able to communicate.
In Mizoram English is not widely spoken. The British did however give one parting gift, which you will hear when something is dropped. The words 'sorry' and 'excuse me'. Perhaps it was slightly shorter than 'min ngaidam roh' (formal: please forgive me) or 'ka tihpailh'. It's not just the word, it's apologising for everything which makes it.
Mizo people use feet and inches, at least for height. Maybe the USA and traditional Brits are not quite so alone. Myanmar (still Burma here) is or was also stuck in this ancient system. I'm six feet which makes me a certified giant. People take souvenir photos.
My friend tells me "if you're in the forest by yourself, best to keep murmuring. So many hunters, so many mistakes".
The wildlife sanctuary is the place people go hunting, no eyebrows are raised. Nobody quite understands why I don't want my guide to bring his gun. Unfortunately I am the one in danger of irony, for the first wildlife sanctuaries in India were created by the British... to preserve animals for hunting.
Mobile phone signal is a bit patchy in the villages, one man leads me to the signal point, the top of a hillock among the houses. On this side airtel, on the other side aircel. There is a wooden mobile phone stand on the airtel side, calls are best placed hands free.
Khawnge I kaldawn (where are you going). You must learn this, it's the question of Mizoram, from one mizo to another. These are the most frequent words you will hear.
About 5 years previously they finally demolished the town's inspection bungalow. I'm not sure quite why India kept these relics so long, some 60 years just in case the British came back? I can't say for sure if this was a colonial era inspection bungalow or something more modern. If anything now Mizoram is part of the Indian empire. It's one of my regrets that when I visited just a few years before I didn't get to stay in one of these bungalows. To drink tea and then opine to my heart's content about just how the country should be run.
Mizoram is a small state to have its own language, not much more than a million people. But of course, that's only the state language. I end up in a region where the people are paitae, who just about recognise the Mizo words I have been learning... as if it wasn't small enough. These 'Zomi' (hill people) assure me that the language has little in common with Mizo (people of the hills).
Mr. drinking problem, the hotel staff, suggests I try the local alcohol. Grape wine? I ask. No grape wine bad for health, rice wine. Stay tuned for more alcoholic words of wisdom.
In a first for India, the 'wine shop' has wine. It's filled with three local varieties of red wine, not a whiskey in sight!
It's too friendly there. Half an hour of pleasantries later and you still haven't made your way out of a 1km long village. It's rather awkward turning down offers of places to sleep and eat without being able to communicate.
In Mizoram English is not widely spoken. The British did however give one parting gift, which you will hear when something is dropped. The words 'sorry' and 'excuse me'. Perhaps it was slightly shorter than 'min ngaidam roh' (formal: please forgive me) or 'ka tihpailh'. It's not just the word, it's apologising for everything which makes it.
Mizo people use feet and inches, at least for height. Maybe the USA and traditional Brits are not quite so alone. Myanmar (still Burma here) is or was also stuck in this ancient system. I'm six feet which makes me a certified giant. People take souvenir photos.
My friend tells me "if you're in the forest by yourself, best to keep murmuring. So many hunters, so many mistakes".
The wildlife sanctuary is the place people go hunting, no eyebrows are raised. Nobody quite understands why I don't want my guide to bring his gun. Unfortunately I am the one in danger of irony, for the first wildlife sanctuaries in India were created by the British... to preserve animals for hunting.
Mobile phone signal is a bit patchy in the villages, one man leads me to the signal point, the top of a hillock among the houses. On this side airtel, on the other side aircel. There is a wooden mobile phone stand on the airtel side, calls are best placed hands free.
Khawnge I kaldawn (where are you going). You must learn this, it's the question of Mizoram, from one mizo to another. These are the most frequent words you will hear.
About 5 years previously they finally demolished the town's inspection bungalow. I'm not sure quite why India kept these relics so long, some 60 years just in case the British came back? I can't say for sure if this was a colonial era inspection bungalow or something more modern. If anything now Mizoram is part of the Indian empire. It's one of my regrets that when I visited just a few years before I didn't get to stay in one of these bungalows. To drink tea and then opine to my heart's content about just how the country should be run.
Mizoram is a small state to have its own language, not much more than a million people. But of course, that's only the state language. I end up in a region where the people are paitae, who just about recognise the Mizo words I have been learning... as if it wasn't small enough. These 'Zomi' (hill people) assure me that the language has little in common with Mizo (people of the hills).
Mr. drinking problem, the hotel staff, suggests I try the local alcohol. Grape wine? I ask. No grape wine bad for health, rice wine. Stay tuned for more alcoholic words of wisdom.
In a first for India, the 'wine shop' has wine. It's filled with three local varieties of red wine, not a whiskey in sight!
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