Stories of a Shillong boy Part 1: Hill Boy and the Desert
There is a little 10 year old boy in Shillong who has a funny way of looking at things. I call him “Ray” – A named derived from his Khasi first name. I am his mother and this is one of the many stories I have about him.
Now Ray had an intense hate for two subjects in school – science and geography. I’m still drawing nonsensical circles around science, but I think I’ve cracked geography and a geography lesson is one of the most fun things we do together now. I want to talk about a lesson we did a little while ago.
In this lesson, we read about the Thar Desert. The book said something really scary to Ray. It told him that the desert is expanding because we cut down forests and let our cattle eat away all our grasslands. This really worried him. Before we could go on with the lesson, he said, “But I don’t want the desert to reach the Meghalaya.”
I looked at him and said, “It won’t.”
“But the book says that it will.” He insists. “I don’t want to live in a desert.”
I had to think for a bit. See Ray has this way of getting fixated on something and then he dwells on it – a reason why I tutor him myself by redoing every chapter that his teachers have taught in school. His head is full of questions that he would never ask in a classroom kind of space, but he would demand an answer out of me.
“It will not happen tomorrow Ray.” I said, “We’ll all be dead and gone by then. There is no need to stress.”
This did not put him at ease at all. He was worried. “I don’t want to live in India anymore if the desert is growing mei. We have to leave India.”
“There are deserts everywhere.” I said.
“This can happen all over the world?” he asked sounding completely helpless.
“Yes.” I said thinking of Mad Max Fury Road. “But it won’t happen anytime soon. It will probably happen during the time of your great great great great grandchild so you have nothing to worry about.”
This calmed him down for a little while and I was able to finish the lesson. He had his dinner after that, brushed his teeth and got into bed.
As I was tucking him in he said softly, “But I want my great great great great grand son or daughter to live also.”
And it suddenly struck me that even I want my great great great great great grandchild to live.
(This piece has been written by Dalariti Nongpiur with illustrations by Hazel Kharkongor)
