An Obituary: Abok

Once, a long, long time ago in Imphal, my Abok had her tiny potfham, right beside the Shamu Makhong. It used to be a major landmark in the entire Khwairambandh Keithel, but not anymore.

Those potfhams were demolished to build a flyover and a new Ema Keithel. But to me it seems to have vandalized a memory land, forever and ever. The Keithel has so far changed its look and nature, pacing up with the matamgi echel. Though it wears a modern look, it lacks its quintessential feature. Perhaps, it is a personal observation because I see no more, my Abok’s potfham in that spot.

Last week when I was home to visit my Abok, I passed by Thong Nambonbi. For a while, I visualised the old scene of the then keithel but alas that was a surreal chimera. My Abok was no more around, nor was her potfham. She was then battling for her life in some smelly ward at a hospital.

My Abok led an ordinary life. Abandoned by her husband at an early age, she brought up her children single-handedly. She used to sell mangan-chana and heingaan ladoo at the keithel. She was just another ‘face’ among those struggling potfham fambi abok, ema and eney-endol in those days. But when it comes to all the good memories she had gifted us, she was more of a generous queen.

They say a grandmother is a buffer zone between parents and reality. But to me, my Abok had been more than a buffer zone. She used to be an angel in disguise for me and my siblings/cousins. She gifted us some of the most memorable moments when we were kids, simultaneously spoiling us all with oodles of ngamok and pocket money.

I spent a major slice of my childhood days at her place. Throughout her life, she had given away everything she had – sometimes for her children and other times, for her grandchildren. I can’t help wondering what had we gifted her back. A once or twice visit in a few months or a name-sake phone call asking about her wellbeing and that’s it.

All her life, she had been there showering us with all her love and affection. But in return, we gave her ‘nothing in specific’ and that eventually makes us realise our own selfishness.

Whether we admit it or not, we know that most of us are so engrossed in our own world that often we tend to forget our elders. Meanwhile, they get older and weaker. They would still not complain and that makes us more self-obsessed.

Like the ‘thao yaodaba keithelgi thaomei’, Abok’s life had extinguished forever a few days back. She is no more but has left behind all the good memories for all of us. Meanwhile, I am suffocated with a guilty feeling of abandoning her for all those years when she might have needed us.

I pity myself that this column is all that I can gift her back especially when she is no more around. She would not even bother to know about it had she been still alive. I should have spent some more time with her. I should have visited her more often in all these years.

Abok’s demise has made me learn another difficult lesson about life. This time, I will seriously stop wearing a ‘selfish badge’. Human’s never ending quest will never ever end. If we steal some moments away from life’s hustle-bustles for our loved ones, we will regret less in our future.

Well, if there is life after death, if one can pass on messages to human souls, I would leave no stone unturned to thank my beloved Abok for everything.

Soul messengers, if there is any, please convey my heartiest thanks for all the hardships she had to bear while bringing up my mom, emashi and mamoh on her own. Please thank her for all the achapot she used to buy for us, please thank her for all the chakoubagi dakhnia. And please thank her for being the best ever Abok I have ever known in my life. She will live in our memory forever. Please do convey her that I wish to have her as my Abok in each and every life time.

May her soul rest in peace forever.

This article was published on 4 Aug 2013

The Galloping Chariot of Time

A few days back, I read in one of the national dailies that the telegram service in India is going to close down forever. I know not why but I felt an upsurge of unrefined nostalgia while going through the news. I cannot help remembering about my early college days during which we were acquainted with the procedure of sending telegrams.

I have not been tricking myself with the ‘feel young factor’ but I don’t know why I suddenly feel old after going through that particular news. It seems to me as if we are in a transitional era stepping towards a brand new world.

I always have this confusion about technology and its influence in our lives. My confusion is still vague. Amid all these changes and evolutions that are happening across the world, I wonder if we have proceeded one step ahead towards civilization or remained miles backward in terms of culturing our age-old moors.

Never mind, welcome to modern times where people used smartphones but act like dumb asses. Welcome to a brand new world of technology where people can be remotely controlled and emotions play a minor role. Men, Money & Machine rule the roost.

Every single day, a new technology is introduced in the market. Technology is fascinating. It allures and grants us comfort and convenience that we never imagined about. But it equally prompts us to seek our own self amid the humdrums.

The chariot of time waits for none. And as the years pass by, we have come across many changes in terms of our lifestyle and mindset. It may though seem out fashioned but I often wish things had remained the same and that we had ceased to surrender to the dictatorship by the changing norms of technology.

When we were kids, we grew up listening to khonjel naachom, angaangi thouram and baro leela on the radio. We are now pampered with many choices of entertainment- MP3 player, laptops, mobile phones, tablets — you name it. Listening to a song of choice is but a matter of a few clicks. Except for some, it is now an out dated norm to listen to radio or watch the Doordarshan channel on the television.

At times, I have this feeling that modern kids are lucky and simultaneously unlucky. Lucky because they are pampered with many choices that we were not lucky enough to avail when we were kids and unlucky because they have missed the best part of technology-free days of childhood.

Well, call me a person from the past, but I miss those carefree days of childhood when life seemed easier and much fun. I miss those days when bread meant to us the Best Quality — the one-rupee worth dabooti. I miss those days when watching television meant staying glued in front of a black and white television set with siblings and cousins.

Sundays always used to be fun days. Besides, the Sunday morning serials on Doordarshan channel, the baro leela was a must listen. We still listen to the baro leela on every Sunday but the feel has gone.

As the saying goes, change is constant, we are supposed to adapt to all these changes. We won’t stop growing old. Memory may even start playing tricks with us anytime. However, I am pretty sure that there are some colorful memories that will always make us smile even when we don’t have any tooth left.

Well, it would be stupid to trade all our tomorrows for a single yesterday. So, it’s better to live in the present. Howsoever, I wish technology surprises us someday with a time machine through which we can travel back to those good old days. I do wish technology reinvents another telegram service in the near future, as we pay homage to the galloping chariot of our time.

This article was published on 16 June 2013

When Spring Arrives, Can Yaoshang Be Far Behind?

When the full-moon brightens up the sky of lamta, when spring is finally summoned by seasonal lairembi, we celebrate Yaoshang — the much awaited carnival of the year. From angaang-nubi to ahal-laman, the festival is meant for everyone. During Yaoshang, there is no rich or poor, every one celebrates the festival in high spirits.

Yaoshang is a sweetheart for every one for weather and various other reasons. The only sad part of Yaoshang month is that yongchaak starts dry-cleaning his black overcoat, ready to put it on and say goodbye for the whole year. Yes, dear Yongchaak, you will be badly missed in many chakhums in Manipuri. The akangba maru is no match for the fresh and energetic Yongchaak, who rocks every chakhum a season ago across the state.

Unlike in North India and other states, Yaoshang, in Manipur, is celebrated for five long days. I do not feel envious about the North Indian way of celebrating Holi. All my good memories about the festival (as I mentioned in one of my earlier columns) trace back to those childhood days. The norms of celebrating Yaoshang have changed over the years, but the essence still prevails. The very mention of Yaoshang triggers our taste bud for pafor, gulla macha, heiyaai, baraf and of course, the most cooked insaang — kobi (foon) saag.

When it comes to the Yaoshang related achapot, modern kids are luckier to relish branded ice creams and snacks of all sorts. Back in those days, ice cream meant to us that plain, white colour ice (sans cream) cupped inside a plain cone. We relished it with utter delight; licking the more of ice, less of cream yet to our heart’s content. I believe, even Baskin & Robbins cannot compare the branding strategy of that particular ice cream, eh!

Well, children have their own reason why Yaoshang is a favourite of all the festivals. They have the license to be notorious playing with water and peshkari. Yaoshang is also one such festival that provides the license to children to ask pocket money from anyone at the leikai. They visit homes humming their favourite slogan — ‘Nakadeng laak-ae paisa piyu’. Some of the kids keep on the legacy of ‘Yaoshang special chaak chaanaba’. Holding a thumok in their hands, they visit from home to home buzzing, ‘Cheng leire cheng piyu, paisa leire paisa piyu’ — one does not have a choice but to offer those kids why they are asking.

All these while, I have been writing this column with a deep longingness for the festival and its essence. However, I feel good in my heart for all my folks back at home who are eagerly waiting for this festival. For the theist in me, I cannot help thanking God that we at least have Yaoshang. Yes indeed “Thank You Lord — Ebudhou/Ebendhou /Jesus/Krishna/Alah (whosoever) for Yaoshang”. We can have this break from the ennui that has become a part and parcel of our lives.

We need many Yaoshang-like festivals in our state to cherish life and to fight back the chronic and nauseating issues. From the context of Hinduism, Holi is celebrated as a triumph of good over bad. I wish to live that day when all of us celebrate our typical Yaoshang with the same spirit. It would be like icing the cake and I am already starving for it.

This year’s Yaoshang festival is going to kick-start in a few days. I am sure everyone is on high-spirit to celebrate the festival. I, through this column, personally wish everyone ‘A Very Happy & Colourful Yaoshang’. I would love to see many colourful pictures of the celebration across the state. So, kindly jam my newsfeed on Facebook with pictures of Yaoshang during the festival. Once again, happy Yaoshang to everyone.


This article was published on 24 March 2013

A Stolen Page from High School Diary

Who does not miss school days? The very mention of school makes us nostalgic. It is not an abnormal wish for many of us to have a time machine, which would help us travel back to those amazing years of our lives.

Well, the invention of a time machine may take hundreds or thousands of years. So, it is not a smart idea to keep waiting for a time machine. The only possible option is to bicycle down the memory lane and recollect some of those wonderful moments of our school days, just as I am going to do through this column.

The more we remember those carefree school days, the more nostalgic we become. We, then, used to nag on many petty issues. Homework was the most boring thing next to the Employment News in between the weekend movies on Doorsarshan; class works were equally deadening. Exams made us sick. And the day the school management announced the peikha routine, we would start worrying about how much we are left to study. Who else had more to study?!

Presently, the hectic corporate schedules do not score higher mark than the then list of activities we used to indulge in. Morning and evening tuitions, reading together with friends (which indirectly refers to lesser study, more fun), mom’s braja-taarakpa like esou when you keep watching TV during exam time and of course, asking for more pocket money on the last day of exam to enjoy forbidden snacks or to go for a movie with friends, and the list goes on. The sad part is that there will not be a repeat telecast of all those moments. We can only thank memory lairembi for making us remember all these days. I hope this memory never ever fades away.

Well, many of us would not be reluctant to admit that we, the Manipuris, have this interesting habit of adding a local flavour to most of the Angrazi terms. Hence, we usually call a notebook as ‘boi’ and refer to an instrument box as ‘kompass’, so similar to ‘kompakk’. We even shorten a local term for school bag — ‘lairik khao’ to ‘laikhao’. I am sure this trend continues among the school kids these days.

We need not feign, though. Our typicality is something that makes us stand apart from others. When we say ‘hoten’ (instead of hotel) or ‘hospitaan’ (hospital), we must say it loud and with pride. For that matter, we had never seen the difference between ‘see’ and ‘she’. Alternatively, how would Pink Floyd even sing ‘We don’t need no education’, with a double negative? Grammar Nazis and language ‘oja’ might excuse my opinion in this regard, or take my view just as another opinionated brick in the wall of Manipur Masala.

It was right during our school days that we learned about the art of squandering. Does it sound so fancy a word?

Well, on a positive note, squandering is not at all bad if you squander something that makes you happy. For example, the art of squandering the last page of Hindustan ‘boi’ or any boi was one of the best ever fun we had. That is the page where we would play zero konbi, word building, bingo, name-place and what not. At times, we would simply tear it to write messages to one another or to make a paper plane or boat out of it. That rocket never flew in the sky, that paper boat never sailed in the river but the memories still make us feel good. That’s their beauty!

Life would be a mistress of distress, if we had no good memories to cherish. Equally, films and novels have illustrated how life would be a disaster if we can remember every bit of it. I am thankful to all my classmates, senior and junior friends with whom I share my wonderful memories of school days. Surely, life is an unpredictable odyssey. It is but a part of our fate that we will land up somewhere we earlier expected or never expected before.

We move on loading sacks and sacks of memories in our hearts. Before being wavered amid the humdrums of mortality, we must remember and cherish all the good things and moments we have lived in the past. Long live memory lairembi!

This article was published on 17 March 2013

An Odd Ode to a Few Innocent Memories

Knowledge has its own pros and cons. Meanwhile ignorance is bliss. Ignorance and innocence, in my view, are almost synonymous. An ignorant fellow is unlikely to be found guilty on many aspects and hence his innocence remains intact.

At times, I do wish to be ignorant about many social, political and historical aspects about our society. What seemed so picture perfect in the past somehow becomes a reason for introspection at present. This introspection has many side effects. To relate a simple example, the ongoing festive season leaves many deliberations open on my mind.

When we were kids, Puja vacation was one of the most awaited breaks from school. We used to contribute our pocket money to adorn the Dol for Goddess Durga. We would also spend our last rupee buying bamboola of all sorts — Alu bomb, Kabok chaibi, Rocket paibi, Uru-ru ungbi and others. And on the Bali day (the third day of the celebration), we would relish a sumptuous curry together.

As for Wangkheilites, Durga Puja means one such festival that lasts for five days. Besides the worshipping part of the Goddess, Puja vacation also means five days of merry-making. Leela, cassette dance, tambola games etc. are events exclusively meant for late evenings. The best part is however the series of live Shumaang Leela played by as many parties.

We would rush to Puja Lampak with moraah in our hand eager enough to watch the plays. Everything seemed quite picture perfect then. We grew up with many memorable celebrations of Durga Puja and of many other festivals. I have missed this vacation for quite a long time and was eagerly looking forward to it until reality intervenes.

Here’s the part of my absence, where I would particularly prefer to be ignorant and innocent. It’s more or less like a transition of a colour television to a black-and-white set. What was once so flamboyant suddenly seems so unoriginal and plain now.

This mindset, regarding the change of heart, is perhaps because of a few results related to our history and origin. It’s like an absurd discovery — something one had never expected about but is accurately true. It would perhaps be not fallacious to state that we are standing at the threshold of an age of awakening ready to step out from the confused era. Once we step in, we have to pay odd odes to many flamboyant memories of those innocent days. And if we don’t, we are prone to become more restless and frustrated by our own choice and action in the near future.

We can never withstand the fact that we would be called the mindless generation without any root if we do not make this move now. And if we do, we are equally aware of what we are going to lose forever. The recoil has however many ill effects than demolishing a few memories. If things are meant to change in the future, this is perhaps the transitional phase. And if they are not meant to, everything will be the same as before. We will live with a false identity, follow a faith that we were forcibly lured to.

I do not abhor any particular religion. What I cannot digest is how we were forced to follow a faith that was never ours. I do not question the spirit of secularism but I have questions a many for abolishing an already established faith and culture that we once had. Perhaps one can say that colonialism found its new meanings then with religion as one of the easiest tools. We have been the dumb, moronic and mute spectators for all these decades. And when the age of awakening finally comes we find it tough to bid adieu to many precious memories and habits. Baah! What an absurd confusion indeed!

This article was published on 21 Oct 2012

A Crumbling Memory of 'Shamu Makhong'

My granny had her tiny ‘potpham’ right beside Shamu Makhong, the most well-known landmark in the entire Kwairambandh Keithel. She used to sell mangal, chana, heingaan ladoo, heimaang matum and so on. As a child, visiting Kwairambandh Keithel with my mother was such an exciting experience, especially with this very anticipation of having ‘mayoms’ of mangal/ chana and my favourite heingaan-ladoo, often offered by ‘Keisampatki Abok’(my granny).

The nearer I would follow Mumma towards the Shamu Makhong to pay her a visit, the thuds in my heart would continuously grow with exhilaration. The crowd at Shamu Makhong used to excite me further. The ‘kwa mana’ selling non-Manipuris, the various wholesale shops of varieties of commodities, my granny’s fellow potpham fambi eney, endon and abok-like ladies, the hustle-bustles of the thronging crowd around those potphams — these are some vivid memories I often recall about the surroundings at Shamu Makhong. Sometimes, it would be yet another experience taking a close look at the unattended statue of Meidingu Bhagyachandra and his pitiable Shamu, and of course, the various posters blatantly pasted on it. My elders used to tell tales about how the great king caught the wild elephant and how in honour of his bravery the statue was created there, but I was least interested to find out the historical connotations. For me, that was one favourite spot for me in the entire Kwairambandh Keithel because that’s the very landmark, beside which my skinny granny had her ‘potpham’.

Last time, when I visited home and went to Kwairambandh Keithel, the nostalgia was inevitable. I saw the flyover, saw the renovated Shamu Makhong, the statue of Bhagyachandra was infact wearing a new paint, and his shamu was also repaired — though it has lost its charm. Now it is in such a pathetic state, there is no aesthetic value as such; possibly because of the flyover and in the increase in the level of the road. It looks just like another unremarkable construction, like a wall, rather than a landmark with historical importance. Needless to say, I felt no envy or happiness to see the renovated statue out there. I was also quite sad not to see my granny or her fellow potpham fambis around. I am not sure about others but to me this crumbling memory of Shamu Makhong somehow means a lot. The nostalgic nuance is perhaps playing its trick.

Well, there is now this newly built Ema Keithel. I did visit it once or twice during my last home trip. I don’t know why but I badly missed the essence of the same old Keithel. The women vendors looked more prosperous and swanky to me. It’s not that I wanted to see a distressed look on their faces, worried over poverty and shortage of monetary assistance. But as far as I remember the then Ema Keithel, I have vivid pictures on my mind of wrinkled faces beside dimly-lit podons/candles, who were in a hurry to head back home but were equally worried to find a discerned customer for the last mayom of maroi nakuppi.

The modern Ema Keithel flanks Kwairambandh Keithel and the view of the very Keithel from the flyover is quite endearing. I found out that the present Ema Keithel, with its East-Asian-inspired architecture is pretty decent. For the convenience of the potpham-fambi ladies, tubelights have replaced podons. There are also ceiling fans installed on the roofs. I really feel glad to know that those eney, endon or ema-like ladies will be protected from adverse weather conditions. But whenever I came across Shamu Makhong there was an agony in my heart. I kept glaring at the renovated statue. If I remember, the earlier unattended Shamu had a broken tail while this renovated one looks quite healthy, though with little value as a whole. And I just could not believe how much I missed the earlier statue at Shamu Makhong. Perhaps, it’s because a memory lane was almost demolished only to create a place that is less familiar with me for reasons more than one.

My granny is bedridden, and god knows, how long she will be among us. The last time I paid her a visit she showed signs of lost memory. It is ironical how with every ounce of her fading memory, my fondness for a place at Kwairambandh seems to fade away day by day. I will be homebound soon but I know I have lesser reasons to visit Kwairambandh Keithel, precisely because that’s not the same old place it used to be. I remember a quote by Sigmund Freud, the founding father of psychoanalysis, ‘A civilization which leaves so large a number of its participants unsatisfied and drives them into revolt neither has nor deserves the prospect of a lasting existence’. I partially agree with Freud though my perspective is confined to a particular spot at Imphal Sehar.

This article was published on 26 Aug 2012

From Wankhei, With Love!

Home is a place where you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to. 

–– John Ed Pearce.

I cannot agree more on the above quote. When we were teens we thought it was a trend to leave home to pursue our studies and later to shape our career, staying outside Manipur. The lucrative career opportunities, the glitz of big city life, the big fat salary we would earn every month and most importantly, an escapade from the ennui of restlessness and hoo-hah in the state — all of these are a few accountable reasons why most of us prefer to stay out of home for all the years. ‘Yumda leiba bheebhula chudro... toufam chaafam keim khangdabani, meisuu suklaak laakte amambaduda matha sai...’: these are some of the most heard comments from those of us who prefer to stay out of home. We pretend to sound so cool while telling all these but deep in our hearts we know what we are craving for; we know what we want but since there is a big gap between our wants and means, we console ourselves with such make belief melodramatic dialogues.

But for an insane fellow, no one wants to leave home and settle outside Manipur. It has become a drift among most of the Manipuris to stay out of home, either to pursue higher studies or to settle with some lucrative careers. In pursuit of success, most of us reconcile with almost everything that we come across. We often miss everything about our home yet seldom admit it because we the outsourced lots are expected to be strong-hearted creatures. We are expected to be rational most of the time. Emotion should be always checked as it ruins our logic. All these are nonetheless not true as I have mentioned earlier too. The truth as I understand is that we miss home every single day right from dawn to dusk. From a very personal experience, at the outbreak of dawn, when the chirps of morning birds wake me up, I miss the sound of numberless sendrang. Come numidangwairam, I cannot help missing the similar chirps of sembrang and when it is lai-dhoop time, I miss the sight of that dimly-lit lantern (read laaten) at our maangon and the fragrance of burning mekruuk that spreads across the home, making us feel more blessed and pious.

Well, it does not matter whether you live in a big mansion or a thatched khaangpoksung, home is home and it is the best place on the earth, not just because it’s the place where our heart is, but also because it’s where our root belongs to. We cherish everything about our home and its surroundings. From a local perspective, the mundane of the most mundane things are found sweet or nostalgic when it comes to our very leikai. The lamjao sorok, the pukhri beside the road, the pan dukan or Potfham where we buy singju or achapot (it could also be a kwa matap), the hotel where one enjoys ideal chit-chats with leikai friends, the community hall, the leikai lampak etc. — all of these evoke nostalgia on our mind. Taking a golden chance of homesickness, I am filling up the remaining part of this column today with the same homely recipe. It’s about a very special penchant for a place in Manipur where most of my memorable childhood days were spent. So here is a bicycling trip down a memory lane through my lens that justifies the title of my column—‘From Wangkhei, With Love’

The beautiful ruins of Sana Konung, the sacred Govindaji Temple, the vast spreading Ningthem Pukhri, not to forget the quaint presence of Ramji Prabhu, the hub of hockey and football: the Eastern Ground, once a mini market: Keithel Asangbi, the famous Panthoibi and Durga Puja Lampak, one of the Government run schools for Girls in Imphal: Wangkhei Girls’, and of course Kaka Chaoba’s Pork Vendor at Thangapat, Rani Handloom at Lourembam Leirak, the faklaang segaiba school: Wangkhei Boys’ High School, one of the most happening clubs in the city: Lizard Library at Meihoupham Lampak, one of the mission schools in Imphal East: St George High School and one of the popular caterers: ACGRU tent house — these are some of the vivid pictures that continuously strike my mind whenever I remember Wangkhei, the very place where I was born and brought up, the place where most of my friends, family and saagei natei live. Nostalgia is a seasoned disease in my heart when it comes to Wangkhei and anything associated with the place. Call it the ‘frog in the well mentality’ or anything, but I am a typical Wangkhei Ningol who loves to flaunt as much as she can about this very place in Manipur.

I must not forget to mention that Wangkhei is also the place which is authentically associated with the origin of Wangkhei Phee. Small-scale handloom industry is a booming sector in this area at Imphal East district. Wangkhei maidens are always famous for their hard work and diligence. I have come across a very funny local saying ‘Wangkhei Nupada Leirunu, Wangkhei Ningol di Louba yai’. I am not sure if this random saying reflects the ideal image of a Wangkhei Ningol as if she is the epitome of all womanly virtues or otherwise it’s just a saying.

By the way, I am extremely sorry to hear about the news of (Late) Chungkham Rani. She was the one, who created a signature brand in Manipur handloom industry commonly known as Rani-Phee. Earlier known as the ‘Engineer-Phee’, Rani-Phee is an exclusive collection for every Manipuri woman. Thanks to that great lady who set her own trend in handloom industry in the state, she will always be remembered. She had been and will always be one of the ‘Prides of Wangkhei’. It’s a great loss that she is no more. May many innovators join her league in the future and make the place proud. And may God bless her soul to rest in peace!

Before I conclude this write up, I heartily want to thank all those individuals from Wangkhei from different fields who had made me proud in the past and who make me proud at present. This is to all the ‘Prides of Wangkhei’. Cheers!

This article was published on 2 June 2012

Memory Chips — Of Past and Present!

Remember those ‘Doordarshan’ days? The early morning Rangoli programs on every Sunday, the Mahabharata episodes, Chandrakanta series, Jungle Book and others, and not to forget the regional movie telecast at 1 PM plus the several evening musical programs—all those fun and frolic moments of watching television with siblings and cousins were unique. Watching television has always been a favourite hobby among us. From kids to age-old aboks or edhous, we have always enjoyed cuddling together before the television set just to watch our favourite programs on Doordarshan. Most of us love recalling those days because we all know that they score a better mark in our hearts as compared to today’s technologically advanced world. Cable television has provided a gamut of options for audiences. However, it is confusing to choose from the list of channels to watch a particular programme or show.

Life seemed so easy, carefree and was, in fact, more enjoyable than watching Doordarshan those days. With just five bucks, we could relish as many varieties of achapots we could. During abok’s times, achapots were much cheaper. I still remember how my bubok used to tell me that an ‘anna’ was more than enough for anyone’s pocket money. Achapot was commonly known as ‘ngamok’ then. It had been almost a custom for kids to stand at the ‘thongaal’ and ‘konthong’ waiting for abok or edhou who would bring home an ‘ngabongkhao’ of ngamok (flavoured with love and affection). I do have a long cherished memory of achapot or ngamok. A distant relative from Lamlai once stayed with us for quite some time. She used to sell vegetables at a local market at Wangkhei commonly, known as Khongnaang Makhong. Every evening, I and my siblings would wait eagerly for Neney Tombi. Packets of snacks brought and kept back at home by Mumma or Baba were so uninteresting to us. It was that particular ngamok Neney would bring home. Once in a while, when she didn’t bring any achapot, it seemed as though my heart was broken and I was on the verge of crying—I had the first ever HEART BREAK of my life. Neney is no more and bubok has been relocated to heaven since a long time ago but whenever I unlock the memory bank of those good old days, I feel so proud and rich in my heart to have such precious memories.

The times, they are a-changin’. It is indeed a world of fast-food, fast-communication and fast-fad.

Sharing a joke or story with a friend is just one SMS away. Communication has no more got a gap but relationships sure do have that unbridgeable breach (if I have to say so). To cite an example, the other day I had a word with a long lost childhood friend. She was almost complaining about how she had lost one of our mutual friends’ mobile number because of which she is not able to keep in touch with her. I was a little taken aback and my thoughts were somersaulting here and there with questions like—when and how have we started relying on that ten-digit number to get in touch with a friend?

Earlier, the road to a friend’s home was never long. We would barge in at our best friend’s home and shamelessly eat anything offered by his/her mom. With the introduction of mobile phones, I suppose, one needs to decide the particular time and place to catch up a long lost friend these days. Whatever! It’s just one hell of a yawning topic to exaggerate on.

When it comes to fashion talks, it’s pretty amusing to notice an upsurge of Korean fashion especially in Imphal sehar. With the fast spreading Korean flu that has infected the modern generation of kids and even adults to copycat anything about Korea, I guess the day won’t be far when there will be a Korea Fan Club in the vicinity of Imphal sehar. Some are wannabe fans of emo fad. I wasn’t aware about the very term ‘emo’ until I saw a cousin of mine on Facebook changing his new profile picture. He coloured his hair in terrific yellow colour. Tell you what, wearing an ‘emo’ look is not an easy task. A long list of accessories such as colourful bangles, hair-bands, and metal jewelries for piercing eyes or noses are needed to have an emo look.

Another interesting observation among modern kids is their lingo which is simply fantabulous. The use of any F lettered word is universally approved and Manipuri kids are not far behind any other race in the usage of this very F lettered word. The more F lettered word one uses, the cooler he or she sounds among his or her friends. A fast spreading flu, I guess the day won’t be far when the nursery kids would even spell ‘F for F### instead of F for Fish. This topic is anyway a turn-off for many ‘F’ fans.

Last but not the least; early marriage is another rampant practice among modern generation of youngsters. It is not surprising to find out an eighth standard girl getting married to a ninth standard boy. With ‘nupi chenba’ almost a cultural trait among Manipuris, most of the kids can’t wait to get married. The irony here is that the eligible Pakhangs and Leisabis are reluctant to tie the knot while the kids can’t wait to get married forsaking their studies, career and what not?

Que Sera Sera! Any of these has got nothing to do with me. My memory-chip from the past is virus-free (sighs). And as for the present one, I think I need to download the strongest anti-virus software. IT-cian friends, any suggestion?

This article was published on 8 Jan 2012

Bloodstained Memories of 1 August 2011

Two young girls never reached home on the fateful afternoon of 1st August. They left their school for the day and were heading towards home innocently and quite unaware of the impending death ahead. The place was Sangakpham Bazaar; time was around 1:40 pm. A bomb suddenly exploded out of nowhere claiming the lives of the two young girls along with three more lives…is it an exciting story for our grandchildren from the future to listen?

Not really I know. The first of August 2011 has imprinted in our hearts and minds an unforgettable ghastly memory that will keep haunting us for the rest of our lives. This bloodstained memory of 1st August 2011 will be hard to wipe away. Forming a Joint Action Committee (JAC), calling bandhs or strikes, organising protest rallies—all these cannot compensate the pain that has inflicted in our hearts with the loss of those innocent lives during the blast. What is lost is lost (read ‘asibana maangjarey’)—this is the most observed trend in our State. Sadly but aptly true!

After some chaotic weeks or months, people will gradually forget the incident. But for the annual ‘lei katpa’ or probable bandh/general strike on every 1st August in the State, people will start worrying more about their personal lives and day to day chores. These norms have been continuously happening in Manipur for all these years and everyone is uncomfortably numb and also dumb to react or act against the ‘ferociously treacherous satans’ who in the bloody name of patriotism kill innocent people and create chaos in the society. These people loiter around us. 

We might have seen them at a local hotel enjoying a cup of tea, we might have seen them shopping at Kwairambandh Keithel, we might have seen them everywhere. I call them ‘contemporary churanthaabas’ who indulge in deceitful acts that are against the ethics of humanity. No court in any country should frame merciful laws for these people. They should be tortured in such a manner that even if they wish death, they are not blessed to die. While extending my heartfelt prayers for the innocent souls to rest in peace and also for the injured victims for a steady recovery, I equally curse the ‘monstrous churanthaabas to rot in hell as soon as possible.’

This article was published on 6 Aug 2011