The Fine Art Of Lubyang

In the drizzle at Barapani _ the large lake just outside Shillong that every visitor is taken to _ at the water's edge, a couple of fishermen are indifferent to the downpour. For that matter, we've learned to take the rain quite rapidly in our stride too because in the five days since we've been here, it hasn't let up. One of our first purchases has been a couple of umbrellas. But in Barapani, we're only bothered about the rain diluting our gimlets or - as my aunt and our hostess in Shillong prefers to call it - our "good mood".

 

We've had more than our fair share of "good mood" since the start of our holiday. In fact, there's a Khasi word that describes the state we're in more accurately - lubyang : it's an all-in-one phrase that means good times, very good, excellent.

Whether it's my aunt hurrying back from the high court where she's an advocate, to my uncle who seems to have given up the ghost of work, at least while we're around, lubyang seems to describe our particular state of nirvana.

It doesn't take us long to notice that the discussion at their house seems to always revolve around food. In fact, take away food from the topic of conversation, and there doesn't seem to be much else left to talk about.

The day begins with a heated discussion over early breakfast on what should be had for lunch, the merits of fish, prawns, mince, and the method of preparation. Because everyone from my aunt and uncle to the maid is an expert on the subject and has strong opinions, this can provide a great deal of amusement to such bystanders as us. After the matter is resolved to everyone's satisfaction, it's time to pay a visit to the booze shops - and Shillong has a lot of them - to start collecting the ingredients that will ensure the "good mood" for which such elaborate plans are being made.

There may, of course, be a reason for all this: since it's raining all the time, there's little else to do but cook, mix cocktails, and get ourselves some lubyang. And what better way to enjoy the rain then look out at it from large windows with a bloody mary or screwdriver or beer in hand? Over lunch, it's time, already, to start enthusing about what is required to warm up the evening - beginning, again, with the alcohol, including an elaborate menu for snacks, followed by a spread for dinner. Any time at all that is left over, in between talking about, and then consuming, the food is spent in visits to the vegetable and meat shops in town.

By day two, we've eaten so much, the thought of any more chicken on the plate - in whatever form - is something to dread, and the kids have running stomachs. They're fed medicines by my aunt -- and more food. Serious matters of the stomach are not to be trifled over by such minor matters as a virus in the gastric juices. By day three, we're getting the hang of eating almost as passionately as our relatives. By the time we leave, we may turn into food monsters.

But it's not a state that is unknown in Shillong. At Barapani, the fishermen have kept their catches tied to lines in the water. My daughter, excited at seeing fish being reeled in, pleads to buy some, but the anglers say they do not sell the fish. This seems strange for they have spent all of their working day at Barapani. Surely they do their catch? "No," explains one fisherman, "I come here every day to catch fish for myself. "Every day?" I ask. "Why?" "Oh," he says, surprised anyone should ask, "It's lubyang."