Living Left Unlabelled

Vapours from the brimming bowl of Tengtuk soup placed in front of me add moisture to the humid air in the six-table teashop. I adjust my knees so they aren’t bumping against the underside of the low Indian table, casting broth onto yellowed vinyl.

“Tuchayjay”, finds its way out - a Tibetan Thank You. The shopkeeper, burly and broad, returns his gaze to me, ducks his head to fit through the doorway, and comes back to my table. His towering stature holds me in my seat, my knee pressed against the table to steady it, and my sudden nerves.

Flat-lidded eyes regard each other. Tibetan exile meets Chinese ex-national. I am guilty by proxy. Will I be told to leave? Or worse? He inclines his head, speaks hesitantly to me in Tibetan. Seems relieved when I am unable to respond. Slapping mosquitoes, my salwar spotted with sweat in the cooking Keralan coast, I sheepishly speak to him in English. A few simple exchanges and he crouches to sit sideways at my tiny table - his legs do not fit under.

When Mandarin begins flowing from his lips, I forget my knee is holding the shaky table in place and it thumps to the ground. More broth on vinyl. He whispers excitedly of how my presence is a welcome reminder of his youth spent studying Chinese. With neatly trimmed moustache on a wide and earnest face, Tenzin begins his story 20 years ago in Lhasa, on a day he attended an anti-occupation rally. Once home, he found he had narrowly escaped capture by Chinese officials. He had now the choice to flee, or go to prison. Head hunched forward, he speaks of leaving that same night with a group of dissidents. 45 days to cross Everest. 17 who left their bones to stone. Arrival in Nepal, only to be jailed for lack of papers. Migration to India four years later followed by abduction by transgendered Hijra entertainers who forced him to strip and -

I am startled by the sound of my name. Two figures in baseball caps and quick-dry T-shirts appear and pull up chairs. Travellers I met a few days ago. The brusque introduction of English ["How hard can it be to find a tennis court around here?"] births a brain-bifurcation as I nurture both conversations at once. Within minutes Tenzin’s world becomes quieter in my mind, and so does he. His departure from the table goes as unnoticed as his departure from the conversation. But, as he brings Coke with lime for the new guests, he insists I return as often as possible for Tengtuk soup.
No hard feelings between friends.