The first memories of me meeting him was way back in the late 80's. Though he had already finished his matriculation, further studies were apparently not his forte. He hung on to that CBSE certificate. Hoping one day something will turn up. Something did turn up. Back then was a Church at Appollo Veng run by the EAC- which is still there. He had just married and since he was a member of the church - he got a job at the EAC run school as a Teacher-cum-Chowkidar. As the Church and the primary school shares the same compound. Pay. Rs.400 per month. Imagine.
He maintained the compound of the school and the Church while teaching under privileged students at the EAC school - then known as T.E. Paul School. His quarter was like a a small hut inside of the compound which he shared with his wife and son. You enter into a kitchen and dining area, and the other half is their bedroom. That's where I first met him. Through my wife Thangie Thomte. Who'd also used to volunteer and work at the school. I had went there for an ocassion or something..I do not remember. But I still rememberered the hospitality, warmth and love I felt at that small hut like cabin. I felt at home.
They had, inspite of their situation and hardships, prepared 'bawngke rawt' and food to eat. I went there with my then girlfriend, now my wife. But I did come prepared with a bottle of whiskey. We drank, we talked we ate.. and I realised that he was very closely related to Thangie... and it was like I was with a family who do not say no to drinking, but more so to enjoying, get togethers and having fun. With no barriers. Remember I was still a known drug-addict then. Very. We rarely keep in touch. I should have. I did not. He has his responsibilities and I'd had my pre-occupations. And somehow we lost contact.
The next time I met him was in the 90's. In Delhi where he had now joined the MOD. When I’d found myself that I had wrote myself into the IFS Grade V/VI?.. don't remember... I had to report for duty at the MEA in New Delhi. I knew many people in Delhi, by name or mostly known to my father. But I did not know anyone really. I also knew the people I was supposed to know or call on - may not very well be accomodating considering my chequered past. So I’d arrived in Delhi, spent a night at a seedy Hotel in Paharganj. Then moved to Manipur Bhawan. I did dot get a room there. I stayed with the Manipur Rifles. Slept in their barracks in the basement.
That's when I looked into a small piece of paper. And his name. And number. Given to me the night before I left Lamka. I’d never called him. But somehow I found myself into his address a few days into Delhi. In Munirka. A 6x12 room. With now 2 of their children. Their rented accomodation was just a space, to eat and sleep. Cook. Eat. Clear up. Lay the mats. Sleep. Wake up. Roll up. Eat. And I threw myself in there. And they never complaint, said or more so... he never said that I was not welcome. Even when I have to share the floor aka bedroom 5-10 inches close to comfort. I stayed with them until I could find myself an accomodation of my own. They bore me for almost 4 months.He was a person who is the most unpretentious, unassuming, down to earth and as simple as they come that I’d ever known. He was polite, has a good word for everyone and even though his rented one room apartment was packed to the gills with 3 adults and 2 small kids, visitors would drop by almost every single day.
He was never serious about anything and if he was, he never showed it. Outside of his family. A couple of drinks would bring out the best in him and thats how we normally spent our evenings. And thats how I will now remember him. Him cooking dinner while I poured the drinks. Laughing. Joking. Life, taken the easy way. Worries. None. Future, in hands better than us mere mortals.
One thing I cannot forget about his character is his patience which I’d experienced it real close up. There was a time when a kind of revival in his Church in Delhi spawned some new young born agains into the faith. They were in full swing among their community, to counsel and preach the word of God to who they believed needed it. It was a weekly affair and he was a prime target. What with his drinking and all that. He had to be counselled and preached. He never said no. So, 2-3 of the new born would visit him regularly. He sat with them every single time into the wee hours of the morning while they tried to convince him. He would agree to everything they said. That he is a sinner. Yes. So true. He never disagreed with their interpretation of their faith.
But they never got the better of him. He would sit with them as long as they are prepared to stay. He would never argue a point or even put forward his opinions for debate even though he knew the Bible as much, if not more then them. It was a test of patience, endurance and persistence. And as I slept on the floor near to their counselling sessions I’d used to think -’Oh guys give up - you will never get him - he got you where he wants you. You will never win’. And I was right. After a few weeks of the late night counselling sessions, the new borns finally gave up. He was a tough nut to crack. Not that he did not believe in the faith. But more so he has a personality and character, defined back then when these kids were not even born.
Other than the phone conversations I had, I met him twice after I moved to Denmark. Once in 1999 before Christmas. And in 2007. He was the same person. Now, I relished the conversations I had with him over the past years when I called him at his now residence at Vasant Vihar. We’d talk about our days in Munirka and how we have to deal with the Tokas. How many times we’d have to move in a year, the crampy conditions. The heat. How we’d get our supply of drinks on Dry Days. The number of dogs we’d killed together. And even the time, and for the first time in Delhi - where we sold cooked dog meat to families from Lamka/NE. And we’d always laugh, made jokes of the hardships and turmoil we faced in the past. Very often, together. He never complaint.
And now as he lay six feet under - I knew I’d lost someone close to my heart. As he lay sick, back a few months ago I used to talk to him. Advise him to take this and that. Rest. What to eat. The importance of a good diet etc. He agreed to all my suggestions. But at the back of my mind I knew he will only do what he is programmed to do. Live life on his own terms. His own understanding and interpretation of it. I think he knew he was dying. But I also believed that he will go peacefully. With no regrets. For I know too well, that for a person like him to reach this far is but an accomplishment that I and many cannot contest. And the day before he passed on - me and my wife called yet again. He had slept. We asked his family to treat him real well and even suggested a new regiment of diet for him.The new diet - died with him the next day. Untried
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