Eagam Khaling
In the 1980s, the hill people of Darjeeling were having a very disturbing time, due to a series of agitations. The environment our village was not the same that it used to be. We the children of the village had no schools and free outings.
We also had more than 12 families taking shelter in our village as victims of the agitation. When, for the first time, I came across a group of new boys in our village, I tried to communicate with one of them: “What’s your name, Bro?”
“Luwang,” replied the younger boy.
I was quite surprised to hear about a person named after a spice. I again asked him to make myself clear: “Bro, I am asking your good name not the name of a spice!”
“Marich.”
Again, that was the name of another spice. I also told them that we get all of them in a garam-masala (hot spices) pack. I thought those boys knew only the names of spices. The names that I was hearing were different from their gestures.
After asking for the third time, I was unable to tame my anger. In the meantime, I was quite disappointed with my conversation with them. They were overacting and were trying to bully me, but they did not know how much pride there was in my heart on account of being a native resident of the village they had taken refuge in. I also had the prejudice that they had to be loyal to me in any way.
I started scolding them randomly: “Are you all savages? Cannot you guys understand what I am asking?”
The elder one from the group gave a reply in the same way I did but with a challenge: “Khorsani!”
Once again, I did not understand the reply but thought they were planning to put some hot chilly powders in my eyes. I decided to fight with one, but when they surrounded me, I cleverly escaped from them.
Next day, however, I dared to go to the victims’ camp. There, I saw a beautiful girl silently sitting behind her mother near an open-air kitchen. She was a bit younger than me. I had some raw guavas in my pullover’s pocket. When others were busy in their works, I went directly to the girl and asked, “Would you love to eat some fresh guavas?”
“Luwang,” she rudely replied, widening her eyes. I threw a few guava fruits on her head. Only the next morning, I came to know that she had a wound on her forehead. After that incident, I was noted as a naughty boy by many. After that, I could not dare to go to the camp to play with my friends. That is why I had no other way but to stay home. Whenever I was alone, a question ate the entire peace of my mind: “Why do they tell the names of spices instead of their real names?”
When I was in the college, I began to realize and understand that sometimes, some words can be used in different meanings as per the application and recognition of a community. Those words used negatively by them had some utility in their group or community. That was the recognition and acceptance made by a group of people. They frequently used words for different purposes.
After three years, the refugees returned to their village and became our close comrades—brother, sisters and relatives. Even today, when I meet anyone of them, I request them to say, ‘Luwang’, ‘Marich’, ‘Khorsani’, ‘Kalo Jira’, etc. And we laugh together. Whenever I buy some garam masala, I remember them. However, those spice names were used for expressing different moods. Today, I wonder how much of a word or name of a thing can be used, for a different sense (mood). Not only that, I still find people using such invented words in our villages quite often.
[Eagam Khaling hails from Darjeeling. He has published an anthology of poems in 2001. Since then he has been publishing his poems in local, national and international journals (and e-sites). He is a teacher and also a research scholar at the Department of Philosophy of North Bengal University.]