Darjeeling History Club

A Note :

I was inspired to translate this story of Buddhasingh Lama, that was published in the local daily, Himalaya Darpan, on 5th of January, 2020. As i read through the article it painted a picture of Darjeeling, that our grandparents lived in. It was a different time then, and is a different time now. To know where one is headed in the future, it becomes important to know the past. I was not able to translate the nuances of the original article, so i encourage all to read the original as well ( i will share the link below )

The story is very old. I was a student at Ting Tea Estate Primary School. In those days Darjeeling used to be less crowded. There were not many shops around, no unplanned nor illegal encroachments, no traffic, nor reckless and careless throwing of wastes around. The post office area in the market had no roadside shops selling clothes, no umbrella repairing shops, nurseries, nor many other kinds of shops, that we see today.  Opposite post office, there were no Bhuja-dokan (Snack shops), Paper-dokan (dokan translates to shop) nor Sardarji’s Pen-dokan. The clothe seller would normally set their temporary shops by the side of the road, where they brought clothes in bags and would try to attract passerby by shouting “One Rupees Twenty Five Paise”.

Once me, my mother, her devrani, and devrani’s son, had gone to the market. Me and devrani’s son, we stayed back on the stairs of the post office, looking after the shopping bags, while my mother and devrani continued with their shopping. Whenever the shopping bags got heavy, it would be kept at the stairs of the post office, and then they would continue on with their shopping. During the first time, maili ama brought a bronze kharkunda, and kept it on the stairs, while giving us instructions to keep it safe. She then carried on with her shopping. Maybe her sole purpose for coming was to buy that bronze kharkunda. People then came and asked us whether the bronze kharkunda was for sale ? I find it funny and a little bit of shame while thinking about those days.

Behind the old meat shop, there were many momo restaurants. There were many Tibetan momo restaurants, and these momos were beef momos. The vegetable momos, that is a common item on the menu today, were unheard of then. My mother would take me to these restaurants to have momos. We used to have these momos only once a year and these were delicious. The more you had, the more you wanted. Sometimes we would beg our parents, specially our mothers, with our half pants and our bare feet, to take us to the market, just to have these momos. Then, we were not able to have double plate momos, only single plate or pela. For weeks, our hands smelled of these delicious momos. We would let others smell our hands. If we saw others going to bazaar or returning from bazaar, we would ask them “Mukh fernu gako” or “Mukh ferera aako”. These delicious single pela momos were only 50 paise then. I would like to share one such incident that happened to me in this restaurant.

In those days, whether there were thieves or murderers in Darjeeling, i do not know, but there was a rumor in our village, that in Darjeeling bazaar, there was an individual named Chor-maila, who would, as the name suggest, steal, kill, murder, or loot. But, we could not yet find any victim of Chor-maila. People dreaded going to bazaar, because of Chor-maila.

Once, after receiving the tea worker’s bonus, my father, mother, my uncle, aunt, and her brother and his wife, all decided to buy clothes for the kids, as it was dasai, and planned to go to the market. I followed my father and mother to bazaar. My uncle’s jethana was a lama. The lama addressed my uncle as Ma-paran. My uncle was talking about buying some clothes for him.

As usual, when the shopping bags got heavy, they kept it on the stairs of the post office, keeping me in charge of the bags. As they were about to continue with their shopping, my aunt stopped them. “I was not able to eat properly early in the morning, and i am hungry now. Let’s eat first”, she said. The women carried their bags. I was happy.

As we crossed the zebra crossing, and had hardly reached Kaluram’s shop, a lama called my uncle, “Ma-paran”. Beside the lama stood a man relatively bulky, and tall. He leaned in towards the lama and asked, “why did you call”.

“I was calling my jawai”, the lama replied, surprised.

“Why did you call him Ma-paran”, the man replied harshly.

“He is my maili sister’s husband. Hence, i call him Ma-paran”, the lama replied.

“I am Ma-paran”, said the man threateningly.

At this point all of us had reached the spot.

“What happened”, we asked. And the lama briefed us.

“Look, Ma-paran means maila jawai. I am his maila jawai. He was calling me, not you”, my uncle was now addressing the man.

“Yes, i understand”, replied the man. “But remember, i am maila”, he continued.

After a long threatening gaze to us all, he left. Whether, he was scared of three men, and three women or anything else, we do not know.

We reached the momo restaurant, besides the tailor or Darji line. We were still talking about the incident that had just happened. There were nobody else, but us, in the restaurant. My father leaned in and whispered, “wasn’t he Chor-maila”. These words felt like a heavy blast, right inside my ear. I was confused now. I did not know whether to eat, or to throw up. Everybody turned white knowing they had just met “Chor-maila”, and to top it all, had threatened. The womenfolk were on the verge of shedding tears. The extra momos we had asked for, we returned it quickly, and one of us paid the bill immediately. The pala at the counter was confused at the sight and watched us in awe, as we quickly entered and quickly left the restaurant. He did not ask why.

As soon as we got out, the lama stopped us from going towards the motor stand. “We should not go towards the motor stand. I saw him going towards the motor stand, maybe to gather more people”, he said. The women, with their half empty shopping bags, led the way through the daroga bazaar, while the men followed. Without uttering a word, we kept on walking. Through Chowrasta, Stepaside, Bhutia Busti, we reached Lebong, and now were very much relieved.

After walking for quite a while, my uncle stopped walking, abruptly. Everybody else was confused and scared. “What happened”, they asked. My uncle had forgotten the bag with paper, matchbox and many other items, at the restaurant. Nobody replied to this and quietly kept walking. I thought to myself, rarely do we go to the market, sometimes once a year or twice. This time we were not able to shop, as we were hoping for. I was not able to eat as much momos, as i was hoping for. I could not help, but be angry towards Chor-maila.

Time has taken such a long turn. Now and then, whenever i go through Kaluram’s shop, the incident keeps playing in my mind, like a cinema roll, and i think of my parents, my uncle and aunt, and cannot help myself, but yearn for their presence.

Some Terminologies :

1. Dokan – Shop.
2. Devrani – A husband’s, younger brother’s wife.
3. Maili – Refers to the birth order of a person in their family. So Maili is the second born. Jethi is the first born, Maili, the second born, Saili, the third born, and Kanchi, the youngest. Normally a male is referred to as Maila, while a female is referred to as Maili.
4. Bhuja / Bhujia – a snack.
5. Momo –  A type of South Asian dumpling, popular across Tibet, Nepal, Bhutan and India.
6. Pela – An eating plate.
7. Bazaar – A market.
8. Dasai – A five day nepali festival.
9. Kharkunda – A vessel for cooking and other purpose.
10. Jethana – Brother in law.
11. Lama – Monk.
12. Darji – Tailor.

Translated by ,

S.K.Ghising.

This is a translated work of Buddhasingh lama’s ‘Aauta Taswir Purano Darjeeling ko’ that was published in the local daily, Himalaya Darpan, on 5th of January, 2020.

Original link of the Article : http://epaperhimalayadarpan.com/ArticlePage/APpage.php?edn=Siliguri&articleid=HIMALAYADA_SIL_20200105_7_3