Today we’re very pleased to share an extract from Moachiba Jamir’s #Bestofthenet nominated story ‘Kindred’. Moa’s confident storytelling quickly draws the boundaries of the world inhabited by Mangyangba, a ninety-year-old man who has learnt to settle into the ‘uncomfortable but familiar’. Moa and our other fantastic mentees look forward to sharing their writing and their journey with you at our showcase on 6th November – less than a week to go!
Kindred
Moachiba Jamir
She sat there nameless. Mangyangba’s ninety-year-old bones creaked with every step he took towards her—this crippled woman sitting beside the fire. She looked up at him with a face toughened by the harshness of time.
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
The woman sighed as she took some rice from the pot beside her and placed it on his wooden plate. Funny how she knew that was his plate, Mangyangba thought.
The village was waking up to the calls of morning as Mangyangba made his way towards the wooden chair in front of his thatch house. He was never sure about anything these days, but sitting on this chair was something he definitely knew to be routine.
The old chair creaked under his measly weight and his bones creaked as if in response. As he settled down into his uncomfortable but familiar position, he began searching and diving into the depths of his mind—a nautical cartography. He liked to let his mind wander as he sat on his chair. He wouldn’t let it go very far for he was not sure what lay beneath the depth of his ocean, but just enough to help him stay connected with himself, his past, and maybe his future. The morning light was bathing his crumpled old skin with its golden rays and he felt contented with his place in the world. As the day progressed though, the harshness of the sunlight started to prick his already dry skin, kneading it to its demands, but he did not want to move. He found he was more likely to bear something painful as opposed to something unlikeable.
Now who were these people walking by his old house? Mangyangba stared at their blurry faces. These young people walk too fast, he thought. How could he possibly recognize their faces? But Ayah! There was old Meren’s nephew speeding by. Mangyangba had accompanied his uncle fishing once, and had almost drowned during the ordeal. Yes, yes he remembered.
And there was—Semermayang—yes… that was his name…Semermayang. He remembered of course. Mangyangba had worked on his grandfather’s field with his age-mates way back when. Yes. He remembered. Semermayang gave him a wave as he passed by, “Going to the fields grandfather. I hope everything is well?” Mangyangba—happy to have been noticed—replied with a raised hand as he croaked out a genial “Hauhau” in confirmation. Everything was well.
“You’re burning yourself,” the crippled woman announced her presence from behind the door.
“Mmm,” said Mangyangba. It was a beautiful day, what problem did she have with him sitting out here. “I’m not moving from here,” he resolved in his mind.
The crippled woman familiar with his obstinacy hobbled forward and placed a shawl on the clothesline in front of him. Its shadow covered the man, but it also obstructed his view of the street beyond. As she made to go back inside, Mangyangba moved the shawl away so that he could see the streets again. Much better, he thought.
“You’ll burn your skin I said, you stupid oaf!” She put the shawl back in place.
“I can’t see them!” His voice sounded like smoke, a wisp appearing one second and gone the next.
“Who?”
“The people, the villagers… I can’t see them,” He seemed to plead.
She looked at the people walking by and wondered how they looked to his hazy old eyes. She herself could hardly recognise any of these young folks hurrying about their lives. She wondered who he saw when he looked out at the streets, his mind clouded by its own deceit.
The crippled woman slowly trudged back to the clothesline and fixed the shawl’s shadow to cover Mangyangba’s upper half. He could still see the streets but wouldn’t get the brunt of the harsh sun. She hurried back inside the kitchen.
(Read the rest of Moa’s story ‘Kindred’ in Inverted Syntax.)
Moachiba Jamir is currently doing his Masters in Linguistics from The English and Foreign Languages University, Hyderabad. He aims for his writings to explore class disparity and inter-tribal tension in Nagaland, and contemporary Naga existence.
Moa says: I think what WBB gave me beyond the craft lessons and a writing community (which are both really dear to my heart) is the allowance and validation to keep on writing. With our three amazing coordinators at the helm, nine of the most empathetic and talented fellow mentees (beyond borders), one perfectly paired mentor (Catherine Menon has been so supportive and I don’t think my compliments would do her justice. Perhaps consider buying her stunning debut novel: Fragile Monsters?) and week-upon-week of eye-opening masterclasses on the craft of writing (and beyond!), my WBB experience has been enriching, in every good sense of that word.
As I near the end of my WBB journey, I take with me the words (powerful and exciting) shared within our small (borderless) world. The laughter and memories, I snuggle under my pillowcase for my head to rest on and dream of, a bittersweet reminiscence (of kidneys and PhD Hats?). But in the end, I also look forward to all the more connections, collaborations and writings that will come out because of the platform that this project provided and for that I consider myself truly blessed. Cheers for the days that were and the days to come!
You can connect with Moa on Twitter @MoachibaJ
Write Beyond Borders 