“My Chromosome isn’t working,” my mother-in-law told my late father-in-law.
“Chromosome?” he had asked, looking up from his paper, a cup of tea in hand as he basked in the warm glow of the early morning sun on the terrace, overlooking the glorious hills of his hometown.
“Yes, it has stopped working,” she answered. “I’ll show you,” my other Amala had said.
She had gone into the house, fished out her laptop from the top drawer of the large study table in the Choe-khang, and had purposefully turned the screen toward her husband.
“See, my Google Chromosome isn’t working,” she had said, clicking repeatedly on the Google Chrome icon on her main screen, but to no avail.
Promptly, an hour later, my late father-in-law, a gem of a man in every sense of the word, had called my husband to share this latest episode of my mother-in-law speaking Tinglish or Tibetan English. (My mum also speaks Tinglish, as do most Tibetan mothers).
We all had a hearty laugh and my mother-in-law laughed the hardest.