The eloquence of silence: A lesson from the "edge of the world"

Standing at the edge of Lungtian, a remote village, high up in the hills of the Lawngtlai district of Mizoram, with the Myanmar border reportedly not so far away, I find it hard to imagine any existence beyond the visual of endless hill ranges. This truly feels like the edge of the world, if ever there was one. While I experience the full force of Tlawmngaihna - the unique Mizo spirit of selfless hospitality, putting the needs of the guest above one’s own, I find myself in a peculiar predicament.

As an individual, curious by nature and as a ethnographer by profession, my "tools" are usually questions and conversations. But here, in a place where time seems to have stopped, neither my English nor any of the regional Indian languages I speak, finds a home. My vocabulary seems useless; words feel bulky and intimidating in a space where they find no resonance. The melodic 'Mizo' language remains a mystery to me. I experience the full weight of being 'cut off'- not just geographically, but linguistically as well. I am effectively left 'linguistically stranded'.

I spent my first few days as a friendly but mute observer. I could smile, but I couldn't ask; I could watch, but I couldn't truly participate.

That was until today, when I met Zoliani.

Zoliani, a local lady who has apparently been mute from birth, all so suddenly has become my most eloquent companion. While the rest of the village and I struggle with 'failed attempts' of translating words that don’t exist in each other's vocabularies, Zoliani and I have established an instant connection. We have managed to skip the verbal gymnastics entirely. We have found a comfort that is almost rhythmic, without the 'intimidating' presence of a formal language.

A tilt of the head, specific gestures of the hands, a shared laugh over a misinterpreted effort - body language has become our bridge. I all so suddenly realize that my handicap, till now, wasn’t my inability to speak; it was instead the heavy reliance on speech itself. Body language isn’t just a substitute for speech; it is in many ways a superior form of connection. Our interactions have become a masterclass in the 'Art of the unsaid'. It reminds me that while words are often used to define ourselves; our movements, eyes, and gestures are what truly connects us.

The village folk find it hilarious. There is a wonderful irony in the fact that the woman who 'cannot speak' is the only one who can truly communicate with this 'stranger'. They watch us with amused grins, that often break into spontaneous chuckles and loud laughter.

Ka lawm e ('Thank you' in Mizo) Zoliani.

In the heart of 'the land of the rolling hills', a lady who had never spoken a word has taught me more about communication than those with a voice could possibly ever do.

While language is looked upon as a barrier to be broken, Zoliani shows me that it’s often just the noise that gets in the way of a 'perfectly good conversation'.