Another Town, Another World

Comedy often gets lost in translation. So truly, I pity the people who won’t get the whip dry comedy of Pu Biaka as he talks about his hunting prowess. One hour straight of never cracking up as he drawls in this low, measured voice, recounting his many extraordinary experiences in the game? Transcendental experience.

I mean how in the world does someone talk about if all the monkeys I’ve killed came back to life, they’d fill up the football stadium for the World Cup finale and then top it off with but I don’t really consider monkey as game? Hilarious. Or, I don’t have much experience fishing but I guess the biggest fish I caught was the catfish I shared with 300 people and when it rained, we propped its mouth up and took shelter in the cave of the mouth? Hi-fucking-larious.

Of course, people seem to know him best for the wildly beautiful Lasi – nymphs, maybe, I don’t know; or elvenfolk in the manner of LOTR and not Harry Potter – he has supposedly known. Biblically. I’ve heard of many people who claim to have Lasi lovers but I’ve never heard of a Lasi college! Also I’ve never heard of castes of Lasi. That wit was blazing sharp.

In another world, another town, he could be famous. He could really cash in on this. When I met him, he told me people have indeed suggested he take up comedy as a vocation. That he could possibly earn decent money from this routine.

I agree. I think he has great potential. I am a fan of dry comedy. Always have been. My favourite authors have been known for their razor-sharp wit. Douglas Adams, Bill Bryson, KC, JK Rowling, Terry Pritchard, Neil Gaiman, Andrew Kaufman, Marian Keyes, Mindy Kaling, Jug Suraiya, Richard Ayoade, Khushwant Singh… all amazingly witty. I don’t know how rich they all are but going by how I have had access to them before the explosion of social media, I think they have a pretty penny each to their names. Assuming fame and fortune go hand in hand. And I’m guessing they do. To a certain point, at least.

This is a problem with living in a shitty economy. I know a senior in my service who would be aces as a CEO of a big-ass company but they’re not because we’re in Mizoram and as Mizoram economy goes, being MCS is stable, secure, decently-paid, powerful enough, in short, dream job. I’ve often thought about how it would be grand to do something else but in this economy, what I have is good. Which sucks. Because I think sometimes that if I were in a richer economy, I’d be trying out for something else than government service. I’m not saying I’d excel, but I’d try out. In Mizoram, it’s harder to be brave, career-wise. Especially when you know you lack tenacity.

Moving on.

There are Mizo people who are so witty they amaze me. I often watch youtube clips of Mastea (a current favourite) and earlier Mapuia (Zephyr/FTH, I guess), and earlier still listened to Thangkura and Leikhi Miss. Comedy changes with time. The people and material do, too. However, these people are usually of a different make than Pu Biaka, though. While a grand variety of the best of Mizo comedy is slap-stick or at least physical, Pu Biaka’s brand is bone dry, sedate and yet, this world-building he does on the spot is truly the mark of a sparkling wit, and proves he’s not just a dazzling wordsmith. For that, I’d marvelled and extolled. This was why while I have no real drive to meet any of the professional comedians, I’d wanted to meet Pu Biaka in person. I’d wanted to shake his hand, let him know his wit was appreciated. I’d wanted to sit and have tea with him and chat with him, listen to him chat in person. And thankfully, I did get to shake his hand and take a picture with him.

Which is a good story in itself! The day I got transferred to Hnahthial and I realized Pu Biaka was a resident of Hnahthial district and not far from the town at all, I was very excited. I made plans to locate and meet him. I eagerly waited for the first weekend so I could go look for him. I was fully prepared to use my office as a means to get to him. Which I did. I got the name and number of the village council leaders and asked around. Interestingly, his house was right across the village council president’s. And even though the monsoon road was not ideal for a weekend joyride (there were three major landslides and at one location, half the road have caved in), I went. He was not home.

I tried again the following weekend. He was again not home. But the third time I pestered the village council people over his whereabouts, they could locate him. But in the middle of nowhere on a jungle road. He was caked in mud, from cheeks to boots, I might add. Very fitting manner to meet a Great Hunter, I should have known.

They say you should not meet your heroes. Because they disappoint. Not Pu Biaka. That meeting was not disappointing. At all.