The Poinu Diary — Of Cold Evenings and Warm Memories

‘Hawai uri mapaan’ mightily blossoms amid the frigid chill and the icy grip of Poinu. Drenched in the ingtham ullen, Hungaam also offers its authentic flavour by this time of the year. Manipur Masala today presents The Poinu Diary—Of cold evenings and warm memories.

Poinu marks the main harvest season in Manipur. Blessed by Phou-Oibi, sacks of rice are delivered at our homes by the village folks who have toiled the entire year for a bountiful harvest.

Cold Poinu evenings are fondled by warm memories of good old childhood days. Sacks of rice laden bullock carts used to be quite a sight during those days. As kids, we had mischievously wanted to hop on those dragging carts and enjoy the ride down the street. The sight of the flickering lantern lit up on the san-gaari and the accompanying sound of sanarik still rings the memory bells.

Along came charoo with those huge sacks. Evenings were never the same for us. Una-waana, utek-waatek were collected to lit up a bonfire. As we enjoyed the evening bonfire after a full-fledged day playing games, we were never exhausted to learn the art of kabok pokpa out of those bundles of charoo.

The pre-dinner funga waari narrating session by our beloved abok or edhou made us super happy. Ah! Those were the days indeed.

Things are completely different in today’s Manipur. And as the evening transcends, life comes to a standstill here. It is not a surprising discovery that modern homes now have a temporary funga. Induction cookers, ovens, grillers, toasters etc. have adorned most of the kitchens nowadays. All thanks to technology, life has become much easier like never before in modern Manipur. The only recipe that is missing in modern Manipur’s menu, in this context, is a proper night life for our folks.

Night life is but a luxury that cannot be afforded by anyone here. Technology which has favoured our lives in many ways cannot even cure an ounce of fear that most of us have. Yes, it is but an open secret to all of us that fear comes along with darkness. I am completely numb to describe the nature of this fear. It does not mean I cannot cite down a number of reasons that have tinctured an incurable fear on our mind.

Earlier, when we were kids, the nature of fear was different. The fear of Churan-Thaaba was perhaps the only of its kind then. Elders used to scare us that Churaan-Thaaba would come carrying a big borakhao to pick up kids and would slice them into pieces and gorge on as their food. The irony is, such a thing never ever happened. As we grow up, the fear of that fabled Churan-Thaaba ultimately became mami-sami while we started encountering the real ones. In modern Manipur, there are different types of Churan-Thaaba — some are uniformed and some are not.

Defining the nature of a modern Churan-Thaaba is not a tough task in modern Manipur. Even a pre-nursery kid would easily sing a rhyme about him.

We at least, share a loving memory of that fabled Churan-Thaaba whose fear gripped us during our childhood days. The sight of a modern Churan-Thaaba not only makes us scared but nauseated too. And the saddest part is there are too many of them almost everywhere.

By the way, kumsi’s Poinu has been quite a quiet month as compared to last year’s. I wish Waakching, Phairen and Lamtaa also pass on in the same manner. As we fondle warm memories of cold Poinu evenings, let us also pray for the wellbeing of all the Churan-Thaaba. May they get well soon. May our state become at least a leiheiba lamdam!

This article was published on 22 Dec 2013

Tradition: A Go-Getter Champ in the Manipur Syllabus!

Tradition is a guide and not a jailer.
- W. Somerset Maugham

Mr. Langban has bidden adieu for the year passing on the duties to the Ministress of Seasonal Affairs – Mera Tha.

A pleasant season, the return of hungaam and yongchaak in the chakhum and of course the festivals that queue up for their turn one after another, mark the advent of Mera. Fatso Langban relished all the tarpon feasts and offerings that we prepared for the departed souls of our ahal laman and saagei-naatei. He needs at least a year to digest everything that he had gorged on during his stay. The last time I saw him, he was buying Enzyme and lots of Hajmola sachets.

Meanwhile, Mera Ministress cannot wait to flaunt herself. She has impeccably donned herself with the Fall-Winter collection from some wannabe designers. Cajoled by her elegance, she gracefully makes her seasonal entry imbued with the right hues.

As bamboola sounds mingle in the festive air, the young and the old are bracing up for the coming days in high spirits. I pressed F5 on my mind for a few memories of festivals that we ardently enjoyed during our childhood days. One of the reloaded memories is that of the Durga Puja festival. Five days of fun and frolicking, lots of bamboola to crack and lots of esei-leela to indulge in. Puja vacations had always been a second Yaoshang coming for us. The festival is still celebrated with great pomp and show at present (especially in my leikai).

Beat Yaoshang or Durga Puja, we love celebrating every festival with great pomp and show. The only difference I have personally observed over the years is how we now celebrate a festival. The same old excitement or jovial spirit seems faded. Perhaps, it’s the years playing tricks with us or it’s the continuous mayhems that have stuffed our attention around the whole year.

Well, I suppose we need a break from the depression throughout the year. Which is why, the major festivals – Duga Puja, Diwali, Ningol Chakouba, Christmas to name a few – mark the ending of every year.

However, from the murky side, it seems nothing changes in our state except the dates and the festivals that mark their annual return. It’s the same old ugly brouhaha, the primitive laid-back attitude of our people, the sycophancy of the system and the list goes on.

Wait, wait. We have seen a few additions in the syllabus over the last few years. In the last couple of years, reports of rapes and molestations plus cases of missing housewives have added a few more. Once these used to be nauseating news from the metropolis, but not anymore.

In the midst, I am at least glad that we still nurture the tradition of celebrating festivals.

Possibly, it’s time we admit that it is only tradition that always scores letter mark in the Manipur Syllabus. It is something that revives us from depression and restlessness that engulf us the whole year.

Tradition inculcates belongingness in our heart to the blood soaked land we call our home. It still makes us yearn to go back and mingle up again with our forlorn friends, brothers and sisters. It provides us an original identity of our own that the rest of the world would not even care.

Que sera sera, we should be glad that the guns and bombs cannot destroy the tradition that we have been religiously following all these decades. Tradition is a go-getter champ in the Manipur Syllabus. Let’s hope it scores a Gold Medal someday provided time and technology do not play a trick with it.

Long live tradition. Happy festivals, everyone!

This article was published on 6 Oct 2013