The Hiyangei Diary — A Reconciliation!

Like a haiba inbi daughter of my palem, I packed my bags and took a flight back home from Delhi, relieving myself from the hectic schedules of big city life. There is no comparison to the feeling of relocating back at home, mingling among my folks and sharing a relaxed smile with them.

I love waking up listening to the chirps of uchek-waya here rather than pricking my ears to the kabari waala or sabji waala yakairol back in Delhi. Paneer masala or chicken kadhai does not score a yummier mark than mom’s kaangsoi or eronba. A chance meeting with an old friend and the accompanying chit-chats make my day. Walking beneath the starlit night of hiyangei sky, the never ending heegatpa session with siblings and cousins, the smell of insaang ahaoba from one of the leikaigi chakhum and the accompanying ‘chaak laambagi’ expression on our faces not to forget mom’s culinary skill that has now been upgraded to bubok’s-Ah! It’s indeed good to be at home. I want to cherish this feeling forever provided I have enough courage to ignore or endure hypocrisy, mindlessness and the laid-back attitude that are most often observed among our folks.

Well, I must not forget to mention about the yumfam yaodaba rumours that have become a favourite nga-mok for us. We generally love relishing any tok-nga with utter delicacy (as if it’s some scrumptious achapot). The latest one being the thoom fangdabagi tok-nga.

A busy afternoon for all of us, the wedding preparation for my cousin was in full swing on that day. Amid the nupamayumgi thouraang and hobey-hobey chenaba hours, I overheard some leikaigi eney-endol worriedly telling each other about one of the (apparently) paakhatningai oiba situations they ever have to face i.e. unavailability of salt. Quite a khayaaknaba experience for many, it eventually turned out to be a rumour but the series of thoom-thiba missions that happened during the day were beyond my thajabagi waangmada.

Panicked by the possible shortage of thoom, the most important ingredient of every chakhum, there was a frantic search for thoom packet everywhere across the city. ‘Packet ta lupa chaama youhoure hai, Mani dukandadi packet amtabu yaohoudre hai kamai touni tourisidi’. I overheard all these real-time dialogues among my folks and wanted to believe them as some funny dialogues from a Manipuri movie but I could not any more. The salty rumour kept on spreading like a wildfire. The rich and the poor were flaunting their purchasing ability of thoom khwaidei yaamna leisinba.

Meanwhile, it was a lucrative business opportunity for all those dukandaars who earlier stocked up sacks of salt packets of all brands. A packet of salt worth just seven bucks was sold at the price of hundred. And the funniest (read stupid) part was that people in deed bought thoom packets at a skyrocketing price sans any negotiation. I badly wanted to scream at the height of stupidity of our folks. Yet, I simultaneously felt sorry for their paakhatchaoba nature when it comes to the prospect of scarcity of any consumer item- be it thoom, cooking gas or petrol.

‘Oh Hello? This is Manipur. Just keep calm if you want to stay back here’- the interior monologue in my mind ultimately helped me pacify. Perhaps, reconciliation is the one and only solution. After all I made my own decision to come back here. Bomb blast, general strikes, yumfam yaodaba tok-nga or the ufool-waifool at the lambi sorok are just some oh-so-Manipur factors. We shall overcome them someday. Oh deep in my heart I do believe, we shall overcome someday (perhaps on 32nd December).

This article was published on 17 Nov 2013

The Return of the Native

There is not a slightest intention to plagiarise Thomas Hardy’s characters or plots through my column. It’s just a name of his work that I have borrowed otherwise the entire content is but a narrowed version of my own views about returning home after several years of a self-imposed exile.

Well, many of us know not the reason(s) why we are not reluctant to decide on something that has a close connection with our heart. We just make the decision sans any second thought about how or what its impact would be. I did make one such decision — to return home, leaving many lucrative career opportunities and amenities of the capital city. Many ask me if I have found a decent job back in Imphal; many also ask me if I am finally tying the knots. I find it funny yet appreciate their intention to know my relocation plan at home.

Life in a metropolitan city like Delhi is perhaps something that many people, especially from small towns, fancy about. When you have time and money you can buy ‘fun’ in a big city. Yes I mean it. I am not sure about happiness but fun comes at an affordable rate. The night life or day life, there is always something for someone in this city. From the gardens to the various historical monuments, from a gamut of eating outlets to clubs and pubs, one has a plethora of choices when it comes to unwinding a good time. And if that’s not enough, fairs and festivals are frequently held throughout the year. People can choose and select their own menu of having fun. I must admit that people lead a vibrant lifestyle here.

The twist of the entire tale is in the irony of staying here. Despite all the facilities and technologies we are availed of, most of us end up with an empty feeling at the end of the day in the metro. We feel as if we are on a paid-exile that only accentuates the nostalgia of home. It is also a matter of luck to find good friends or companions in the city. People whom you have known for quite a long time change their colour like chameleons. And mind me, telling this, that it is true that if you have the dough, friends swarm around you. Let me put it this way: ‘Feeraal mamai chumlingei marup waatey meeramlenda (khoiradi khangde)”.

The scenario back in our state is a complete contrast to the one in Delhi. Life starts at 4 AM and ends almost at 4 PM. During weekends or on special occasions, there is hardly any place where friends and families can have a good time. Besides the special premiere shows at BOAT, for example, there isn’t any nice movie theatre that screens evening shows. We know clearly, for there are only a few ways, how we can plan to spend quality time, such as feasting, sightseeing and visits to the new-fangled eco-parks; otherwise, there isn’t a life back in our hometown.

Compare and contrast the life in a metropolitan city and the life in Manipur. Even if there are glaring issues that make life so dull, the latter has got the better edge for the time being and that’s why I am relocating away from Delhi. However, I am not really sure how long this decision is going to last. I may get pestered by my own plans and may head for some other city or country in the near future. I may get used to everything and even become immune to the ennui or brouhaha, which marks our life at home. It’s like a test drive of a new vehicle. If I like the test drive, I will plan to stay forever. If not, I will pack my bags and leave for some other destination.

Come rain or shine, I am mentally prepared for everything in store for me in Kangleipak that includes load shedding, long queues at petrol pumps, the accident-prone potholes, untimely flood, cheap bomb blasts etc. As I earlier mentioned, I don’t know why I am no more reluctant to be a part of the ennui or dismantled sense of happiness at home. I am, at times, tempted to give up the relocation plan. But my temptation has been conquered; I have already packed my bags. My last word for Delhi (in a typical manner) is that I have miles to go before I sleep.

PS: Adios Delhi and Hola Kangleipak!

This article was published on 30 September 2012