Sunday, February 1, 2015

The Love of God

It was a Saturday evening. I was busy with the after-dinner cleanup and listening to music on my phone which I kept nearby. Suddenly out came this beautiful song (probably received via the many Whatsapp groups), which I instantly recognized as a song we often sang in church. I was surprised, not because there exists an English version of a Mizo hymn, but because it was so easily available, and in such a modern version too! I grabbed the phone with my dirty hands, and after fumbling with the buttons for a while found that the song was called Love of God, performed by Mercyme.

Later I opened the Kristian Hla Bu and found the song at No. 43 – Pathian hmangaihna ropuizia, written by one Frederick M. Lehman.  Then came a flurry of Googling and Youtube-ing and discovering that the song was written by Lehman in 1917; and that the third and last stanza was inspired by a poem written nearly 200 years ago by an insane man on the walls of an asylum, which was in turn originally composed by a Jewish Rabbi around the year 1050!

It is a beautiful song, simple yet profound. I cannot decide which lyrics I love more, the Mizo or the English version.

KHB #43

Pathian hmangaihna ropuizia,
Thu leh hlain a hril seng lo;
Van aia sang, aw a zauzia,
Sual hmun thim ber pawh a thleng zo.
Sual bawiha tang, lungngai, mangang,
A Fapa a pe a;
Boral fate muanna a pe,
An sual a ngaidam ta.

A va thuk em, a va na em,
Pathian hmangaihna chu!
Chatuan pawhin a chuai dawn nem,
Angel varte hla chu.

Ram ropui leh lei lalthutthleng,
An tlawm vek ang, hun a ral ang;
Tu pawh tawngtai duh lova ngeng
Chuan tlang leh lung an la phen ang.
A chuai lo vang, a lang zel ang,
Pathian hmangaihna chu;
Adama thlah tlanna a fah,
Angel varte hla chu.

Tuifinriat zawng hlotui chang se,
Ziakna atan thingzar tinreng;      
Lehkha phekan van khi chang se,
Ziaktu atan chuan mi tinreng.
A hmangaihna puang dawn ila,
A kang zo ngei ange;
A leng dawn lo, a hlai tawk lo,
A hril seng chuang lo’ng e.


The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.

Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

When hoary time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

Thursday, September 4, 2014


oh my god i've lost it. i cannot write anymore. this is maybe the fourth or fifth try (or maybe more) and i will not delete this no matter what. see, i've stopped using capital letters and typing directly on, that's how far gone i am (but i still use my apostrophes at the right place so i guess i am still redeemable).

blame facebook. blame whatsapp and those messaging apps. blame free wifi. blame too much to do everywhere i look. blame life for changing its course. blame all those people who surge into my life. blame torrent downloads and quiet nights.

blame all those people who stopped blogging. blame those beautiful songs on repeat. blame all those online shopping sites that let me window-shop without lifting a foot. blame those cute nieces who are still hyper-active at ten in the night. blame those social events that are compulsory. blame these eyes that close too early at night and open too early in the morning.

see it's only three paras gone and already i'm looking for people to text and friends to annoy and movie spoilers to reveal.

sometimes you have to stop worrying and do what feels right. yeah i know easier said than done.

i take back my words. i don't blame any of the aforementioned things/people. it's all me, me, me. 


do scars bleed, ed sheeran?

Wednesday, April 23, 2014


Sometimes you miss the bright lights. The cinema halls and the restaurants and the food courts, the late night shows and midnight buffets, the neighbourhood general stores that stay open till 10 pm for any emergency shopping, and the streets that quieten only after midnight. You miss the shopping malls and fancy brands and the back alleys where everyone goes to buy their clothes. The festival season and end-of-season sales where everyone has a competition on who offers the most discounts; and store cards and discount coupons, though you never used them. You miss the big bookstores and the fact that you can sit and read there for hours and nobody cares. The shopping area which turns into a second-hand book market on Sundays, and rare books that you discover at unbelievably cheap prices.  You miss having a lot of free time on weekends and holidays and going on unplanned trips with friends. The strange fact that even in such a big city there would be a familiar face to run into at almost every place, although you keep a very small circle of friends. The fact that you feel younger, never weighed down by the pressure that comes from all your friends being married and gone, and being an anonymous face in a city of millions. 

 Twenty months have passed since the relocation, and you begin to feel that things are quietening down a bit. People no longer stop you to ask when you arrived and give their verdict on your weight and looks. Questions about what you do for a living since coming here have stopped. You have met your old friends and are pleased to discover that the friendship is still there. Now you can somewhat match the names and faces of people, especially young people who you have to identify through their parents. You are shocked, however, to see that people from your generation are now beginning to look old, which brings a horrific realisation that you must look the same.  Random faces seen around town slowly stop resembling people from the old city. New friends slowly emerge, and a few old friends reappear.  You discover that you know more people than you are aware of, and find a familiar face or two in almost every place. It’s a small town, and everyone knows everyone else, so there is always a common link with any new person you meet; this however is comforting and frightening at the same time. You could roam about and nobody would care who you are and what you do, and it feels wonderful being anonymous in a city of thousands.

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Masi Bazar

Naupan laia Krismas kan nghahhlelh em em nachhan chu kawr thar neih kha a ni. December thla a lo thlen chuan Krismas card in thawn leh kawr thar inensak reng reng hian hun kan hmang a. Bawng talh tur en leh chaw pek sek pawh a la awm tak! Kan la naupan zual lai kha chuan tlang thing phurh kha an la ti thin a, naupang ho kha kan kal ve ringawt zel a, kan lo ninawm thei ngawt ang.

Aizawl Masi bazar tih sawi a rilru a lo lang hmasa ber chu bazar tawt hi a ni, kha i mitthla in i hmuh nghal ringawt kha... lu hliiir lu hliiir a ni mai tiraw? A tawt lutuk hi kan duhzawng pawh kan lei hlei thei lo a, mipui hian min nekna lam lamah kan kal vel mai mai a; pheikhawk lei tum kha a chang leh theiden kan lei a, kawrlum lei tum khan ringworm leh thek damdawi kan lei a, secondhand thin tum khan chow artui chhipchhuan te kan han ei leh ang lawp lawp a, chutih laiin kawnghren lei dawn lai laiin SIM card nung sa kan han lei leh ang bawk a. Chutiang vel chu a ni.

Pickpocket te hi an lo tam tawh khawp a ni awm a, fimkhur tur hian Market thuneitute an au dup dup reng a. TV news ah khan kumin chhung ringawt ah cheng nuai riat chuang bo angin an lo report tawh a ni awm e. Kal pah hian bag hi kan veng run mai a, ka bag zipper hi an lo hawng ru palh ang tih hlau reng reng hian kan dap ruk ruk reng bawk a. Chutih lai in a tlangpuiin mi hi kan la rinawm niin ka hria a, dawr neituten an dawrtute phone theihnghilh pe tura um vau vau te ka hmu nawk mai. Millenium Centre ah pawh loudspeaker ah dawra an thil lei an theihnghilh thu an au lauh lauh.

Kum la rei vaklo ah kha chuan thil zuar te au hi a nuihzatthlak thei hle thin. A then an lo zai thul, kal pah hian kan nui vur thin. Zion Street chhuk thla cassette dawr velah te khan hla thar hrang hrang hi an play chuah chuah bawk thin a, tunah chuan chutiang chu hriat tur a awm ta meuh lo. Sumdawng te pawh an au peih tawhlo a, an aw an record a an play tawh mai a ni. Dawr pakhat chuan tlangval pakhat hi mic in an autir lauh lauh a, tlai lam a lo nih kha chuan a thiante nen khan uluk lutuk te khan an zai tawh vel a; nuam chu kan ti tlang e.

Krismas tih leh thil thar neih tih hi a inzawm tlat tawh a. Thla a sik dek dek tawh hi chuan secondhand thin tur te hi a tam nghal em em ringawt mai a, kawngsir hmun tinah a inbang kur lek luk a, veng kil tinah hmuh tur a awm a, mamawh lem loh hi kan lei leh chiam thin. December thla tir lamah bungraw hlui tihral duh sale an han nei a, thil tha lei tur a awmlo duk a. Thil tha duh chuan sumdawng ho bazar lo haw nghah a ngai a, a man a to dawn tih kan hre reng si, han lei mai tur awm thin si lo, a buaithlak thei teh e. Krismas a lo hnai a mamawh hi kan ngah thar ta thut emaw tih tur hian kan bazar vak vak a, a Krismas ni tak chu a rei lovin kan hman dan leh kan inbuatsaih dan chu a inmil leh em em lawi si lo. Kan inlei vak vak a, in kan chei a, khawlai kan chei a, a hnu lawkah "Krismas hi a ho tawh e" tiin kan phun kan phun leh a. A ti ho tu chu keimahni lek hi kan ni si a. Kan hman dan hi kumtin a ngai a, kumtin a ho kan ti a, hman dan thlak chu kan tum der si lo.

A ho tih sawi takah chuan, mi tupawhin kan sawi vek chu kan naupan laia Krismas nawm theih bik zia kha a nia, mahse khatih laia upa deuh te khan nuam kan tih em em kha ho an lo ti viau maithei a. Tuna ho kan tih em em te hi naupang te chuan nuam an lo ti viau maithei bawk a. Chutiang mai mai chu a ni khawvel chu.