Little Conversation
By Tshering Chekii - August 13, 2014
“If I waited till I felt like
writing, I’d never write at all.” Anne Tyler.
“Tshering, hung ancha?” Karma’s voice announced her arrival before she enters my room.
“Chowa cha thab thob thur de ne wai.” I replied without looking at her, continuing to write what I started.
“Awoo…mala na nan ta. Laptop kam rang hung ancha mo mastong?” she openly revealed her displeasure for always staying glued with laptop. I closed my laptop and gave her my undivided attention with guilty smile asking her to understand.
Meanwhile, we imposed a judgment on world through our lengthy conversation; I brewed a lemon tea for both of us. With an ease, we drank it in between the talk. We created a harmony with her variant talk and my laughter.
She asked me with boredom in her eyes “Why do you always write?”
Though ‘always’ was little exaggerated “That’s because I love to write. You must be having something you love doing, for me its reading and writing. It’s my stress reliever and my playmate. It’s my passion. ” I grinned.
“Tshering, hung ancha?” Karma’s voice announced her arrival before she enters my room.
“Chowa cha thab thob thur de ne wai.” I replied without looking at her, continuing to write what I started.
“Awoo…mala na nan ta. Laptop kam rang hung ancha mo mastong?” she openly revealed her displeasure for always staying glued with laptop. I closed my laptop and gave her my undivided attention with guilty smile asking her to understand.
Meanwhile, we imposed a judgment on world through our lengthy conversation; I brewed a lemon tea for both of us. With an ease, we drank it in between the talk. We created a harmony with her variant talk and my laughter.
She asked me with boredom in her eyes “Why do you always write?”
Though ‘always’ was little exaggerated “That’s because I love to write. You must be having something you love doing, for me its reading and writing. It’s my stress reliever and my playmate. It’s my passion. ” I grinned.
“Were your parents involved in domestic violence?” I spilled tea on table with u-turn of question.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to ask a personal question. Forget that I asked you.” She passed me a tissue paper transparently wearing guilt on her face.
I didn’t know what was going inside her mind but I was clearly amazed with the conclusion she drew. She thought I was offended with her question when my thought was running wild with ‘what gave her idea that I was part of domestic violence?’
I decided to continue the game she started, “You shouldn’t ask if you don’t know the full story.” I acted as if I was hit on my Achilles’ heel. From an empowering redness of her cheek and avoidance of eye contact, I knew I acted well to deserve an award.
Mercy! She was melting
with guilt and start blabbering apologies “I
am so sorry. I didn’t know it is sensitive subject for you. Never mind…..“
I couldn’t continue with the play as I roared with laughter. I laughed for few good minutes enough to hold my tummy with both hands as it hurts from continuous laughing. I juggled the words between laughter and asked why did she ask that question?
The color returned to her face as she stared at my face for a while. “Awoo thub thai nan ta.” she was little irritated, I guess.
“Yeg cho lae.” I playfully nudged her shoulder with mine demanding the reason and tightly clamping my lips with each other to stop embarrassing her.
I insisted her to tell the reason ‘You wrote couple of articles on domestic violence in your blog and noticed you are always sensitive when someone talks about domestic abuses. Then I thought may be your father abuses mother and you might be bottling up your emotion and suffering alone. I thought if you can find someone to talk with, you’ll be relieved.”
Her simple gestures touched me and I felt bad for scaring her with the prank. I explained honestly that I have never witnessed domestic violence in my house though there is an exchange of arguments sometimes; in fact I said that I am in love with the way my parents are in love with each other. No doubt their marriage was a love marriage. I got carried away with the past as I narrated how my father’s leg was almost paralyzed with the fatigue when I was in class 4. Our financial situation crumbled in his medication, relatives turned their back to us and everything got exhausted except their love which binds us together. That ‘love’ lights our path of distress. When everyone thought he wouldn’t survive a year, my mother refused to believe them and fought till she won over his illness. It’s more than a decade and my father is in a perfect health and walks without slightest limp.
However, I explained her that I have seen domestic violence in neighborhood and society. Next door woman would show with the swollen and blue eyes after quarreling with husband for whole night. When asked her to leave her husband, she would say “If I was alone, I would have left him long time back but I have children to think about.” That’s every wife’s excuses to bear yet another blow from husband. It’s sad to see that women accept it as usual things between husband and wife. I said that I am against it and real men don’t hit woman. I wish those men can stop talking with hands. I don’t know their inside story still violence is not the way to deal with.
As time dragged long, my stomach growled with hunger
demanding a break from our little conversation. We looked at each other,
laughed and got up to dine in the mess.
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