By Tenzin Nyinjey
I have always looked for the opportunity to practice His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s advice that there should be more people-to-people contact between Tibetans in and outside Tibet and between Tibetans and Chinese-a piece of advice that has the potential to help re-establish the friendly and cordial relations enjoyed between Tibetan and Chinese for centuries, till Mao’s red army “liberated” the Land of Snows in 1949-50.
The rare opportunity to practice this advice finally knocked my doors when, on way to Phuntsokling Tibetan settlement for my winter holidays, I made a brief stopover in Rourkela, a city in south eastern Indian state of Orissa renowned for its larger-than-life steel plants and a safe haven for countless of Tibetan refugees, including my family, catering woollen clothes to the local Indian population.
As I touched my feet upon the city’s railway station, the first query I asked my brother, who was there to pick me up, was whether I shall find a dentist who could fix my ailing tooth that has caused me innumerable sleepless nights for the past few days.
My brother’s response was immediate and terse. He said, “We have a Chinese dentist in Rourkela, a guy called Liu who has become a household brand amongst the local Indians seeking liberation from hellish tooth aches.”
Thrilled and animated with the prospect of coming across a Chinese, the very next morning I went straightaway to see the dentist, whose clinic was located in the downtown city.
To my pleasant surprise and against my expectations, Liu turned out to be quite a chubby young man, probably around in his early 30s, and possessed a killing smile that would even put the legendary Mona Lisa to shame.
After exchanging the usual greetings and handshakes, I started shooting my comments:
“Hello Doctor Liu, I am Tenzin from Xizang. I want to replace my rotten tooth with a brand new one. How much does it cost?”
“The silver one costs Rupees 2500, and the porcelain one which is made from China costs around 3000”.
Taken aback by the enormous fee he was charging, I retorted, “As a fellow overseas Chinese, living together in an alien land far away from China, I am sure you will provide me some concessions.”
Pushed on the back foot, Liu did not find any words to respond and gave me his trade mark smile that could become an asset to any aspiring Chinese diplomat.
As Liu started working on my tooth, I asked him how he landed up in such an obscure city like Rourkela and why he did not return to China, now that the economy of the Middle Kingdom is booming, so much so that it is set to overtake the US as the world’s biggest economy in the near future.
Liu answered saying, “I was born in India and have never been to China.
My taste is basically Indian and it would be too difficult for me to adapt in a country I have been estranged from since I opened my eyes.”, a comment that would convince even the most sceptical of persons, seeing how his TV was tuned to the second cricket test match between India and Sri Lanka.
Liu continued, “My parents hail from a place some where near the capital city Beijing. They were forced to flee China to avoid the horrors of a famine occurred in the mid 1950s.”
Liu perhaps does not know that famine was not caused by a natural calamity, as usually the case, but was a result of Chairman Mao’s disastrous “Great Leap Forward Movement” of the mid 50s, a campaign aimed to overtake Britain as the world’s largest steel producer within 15 years and in which millions of Chinese starved to death.
Liu, too, was interested to know about me, so I told him, “My parents were from Xizang. They were forced into exile in India following the communist revolution and the subsequent establishment of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) in 1949. Unlike you, however, we are not allowed to go back to Xizang, as we are persona non grata in the eyes of the Chinese authorities. The Chinese government considers us as tools of anti-China international forces, bent upon splitting China and destroying the great unity of the Chinese people.”
Liu seemed sympathetic with my side of the story, although he was searching for the appropriate words to console me. Or perhaps he was embarrassed that one of China’s “greatest” leaders had meted out such
treatment to us.
As Liu finished fixing my tooth, I invited him to visit Dharamsala, a city in North India where the exiled Tibetan government has established its base and His Holiness the Dalai Lama has been residing in for
decades.
Like most of the expatriate Chinese Liu too knew His Holiness very well and was eager to seek an audience with him.
Finally the moment arrived when I had to pay for Liu’s work, an enormous bill of Rupees 3500. In a last attempt to coax Liu to toe my line, I evoked him the idea that as a fellow overseas Chinese he should provide me a little concession.
Liu, however, was adamant and tenacious with his decision to charge me full or probably more than what he usually charges his local Indian patients!
Disappointed, I bid Liu adieu but only after shooting my last question, “By the way, are there any other Chinese in the town apart from you?”
“No, I am the only Chinese in Rourkela”, replied Liu.
“Then what about those from Xizang who are selling woollen clothes at the Bisra Maidan.”
“Oh, they are..”
Embarrassed Liu once again tried to play it cool with his trade mark smile, but, unfortunately, this time it was a wry one.!
Disclaimer: The views expressed are entirely personal. The author works at the Department of Information and International Relations, CTA, Dharamsala.
