Nostalgia

We were fifteen-year-old classmates. He was quiet, intelligent, and a good friend. My soon-to-be- best friend thought he was cute, and I had never really noticed him until then. Slowly we all became friends, a big group of friends (wonder where they are now?). We would hang out together, borrowing books and notebooks, taking long walks home and gathering at a friend’s house after classes. We were young, and looking back at our pictures I cannot believe how unbelievably young we were; I with my short hair and innocent face, he with his shy and innocent smile.

I liked him, but not in that girl-likes-boy kind of like. He was mad about music and books, and we were at that age where we first discovered the wonder of novels, and the freedom of reading non-study material. He would bring me his Sidney Sheldons and Jeffrey Archers, and I in turn let him borrow the textbooks I had.

On his sixteenth birthday we went for a class picnic. My best friend was mad about him then, and another friend and I followed him all day, essentially being pests. Maybe we thought we were spying on him, but he didn’t seem to mind it. I guess I must have harboured a crush on him all the time because I was just too happy to spy on my friend’s behalf. Nothing developed between him and my best friend, and we all remained good friends.

In the Physics and Chemistry labs we were divided into groups of four, and with a little manipulation we ended up in the same group. There was that one time we used potassium permanganate in one of our Chemistry experiments. We must have played around with the stuff, and I went home with a big purple stain on my shirt which didn’t wash off easily.

It’s been many years, and the memories are dim. College happened, we went our separate ways, and lost touch. I am not big on keeping in touch, and it was a nice surprise when we ran into each other on the streets some six years later. We said our hellos and how-have-you-beens and not much else. Life had taken over, and suddenly there were more important things, more important people.

A couple of years back another friend of our old group and I discovered each other on Facebook, and we talked about the good old times. Somehow the conversation turned to him and I asked if she had his phone number, to which she replied “He’s married.” I went “Oh, that’s nice!” and that was the end of it.

Catch a rainbow

The last perfect rainbow I saw was many many years ago, maybe 1999 or  2000, at the wedding of a friend's sister. It was the monsoon, and it was very cold. In the distance I saw the most perfect rainbow ever, and though it was quite far away I can still see in my mind's eye how it arched over the mountains, suspending itself in the crispy clear evening air, as if celebrating the joyous occasion with us.

It has been raining very sincerely the last few days, with news of landslides and road blockages filling the airwaves and television channels. But today the rain let down in the afternoon and around 4 the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the sky had turned blue, accompanied by a bright dazzling sunlight that blinds you. I immediately thought, wow there must be a rainbow somewhere, and peeked out the window, stretching my gaze to the horizon, as far as my myopic eyes would allow, looking for a rainbow. Alas, I did not find one, much to my disappointment. However, it turns out that a few rainbows had appeared in some parts of town, and below is one such rainbow photographed by fellow blogger Joseph. Beautiful, isn't it?

And then there is the song - Catch the Rainbow by Rainbow.

Forgetting English

I read recent blogposts of my blogger friends Mizohican and Kukui, and I was again amazed at the ease with which they write their posts in English, and of course their mastery of the language. I must admit I was a little envious.

It’s been two months since I quit my job and came home, which means I have been communicating in Mizo the whole time, except for the two weeks I spent in Guwahati where one has to communicate in Hindi and English.

Back in Hyderabad I had to use English five days of the week; and in the two days I was at home used Mizo and Hindi and English. I read English newspapers and books, watched English movies at home and at cinemas, and used English when I went shopping. My thoughts were in English, and my silent prayers were often a mix of Mizo and English. (God understands all languages and thoughts, right?)

Then I came home, and it felt good and easy to use one language all the time, with everyone, everywhere.  The newspapers are in Mizo, the TV programs are in Mizo, and there are numerous movies and serials (English, Hindi, Korean) dubbed in Mizo, but so far I haven’t watched any of them. Suddenly it seems there is no reason to use English anymore, unless your job requires it. But the thing is, except for the teaching profession there is hardly any job here which requires one to communicate in English. The only time I used English was when I went to the BSNL office and spoke to one official regarding the phone bill.

What I'm trying to say here is, I think I'm slowly forgetting English. I know, I know, it’s been only two months, but in these two months I couldn’t write a single blogpost in  English. I tried, yes, even started a few, but got stuck after a few sentences. It’s been about 300 words so far, and I'm already scratching my head searching for thoughts and words. Could it be that I've lost all inspiration, or have been too busy doing nothing?

The Secret of the Nagas

Amish Tripathi doesn’t want us to read his book “The Secret of the Nagas”. He wants us to see the movie “The Secret of the Nagas” based on the bestselling book of the same name. Well, that’s how I felt while reading the book.

The second instalment of the Shiva Trilogy disappoints, but not as much as the first book, The Immortals of Meluha. The author has thought up a very interesting plot, action packed with plenty (way too plenty) of characters. But where it fails is in the narration (again!).

Shiva is now comfortable being the Lord Neelkanth, the much awaited saviour of India. He appears to have accepted his destiny and embarks upon, well, saving his people from evil, which we discover, is not evil at all. It’s really a manifestation of good in another form. “Two sides of the same coin”, as the book proclaims till the end. Nobody is evil in this book. Not the feared Nagas, not the arch enemies Chandravanshis, nor the notorious terrorist Parshuram. All the evil (?) deeds they had done had logical explanations, and they all submitted meekly to the Neelkanth once Shiva shows up at their territories.

In spite of such a powerful plot, what makes the book mediocre is the characters.  You are not sure what they want. Sure, they all follow Shiva on his search for evil, with a few love stories thrown in, and too much travelling.  The mother-son drama between Ganesh and Sati was very Bollywood-ish, if you ask me. I can almost picture the grown (erstwhile evil) son crying at his white haired mother‘s feet, while temple bells ring in the distance and close-ups of goddesses come into view.  What does Shiva really want in his heart? Did he accept the position of the Neelkanth because he truly believed he was The Awaited One, or because he wanted to gain the favour of Sati? You don’t find yourself rooting for him, no you don’t. The cursing has significantly reduced, but there we still see traces of crudeness in him.

An Amazing experience

At the advice of my fellow blogger NotGood I went and watched The Amazing Spiderman this morning. Alone. Yes sir, with only me and myself for company.

I have always been scared of solo movie outings. What if people think I’m a weirdo? What if I get strange looks at the refreshment counter and at the ladies washroom? What if I am late and have to grope my way in the dark all alone and sit down on the one empty seat in the already full theatre? What if I laugh out loud and there’s no one there to laugh with? What if this? What if that?

But the thing with what ifs is, they are unreal. They are, most of the time, worst possible outcomes we imagined in our heads. And most of the time they didn’t happen. Just like today. None of the things I was scared of, the strange looks, the getting lost in the dark, the laughing out loud, none of it happened. It was as easy as ABC.

So the moviegoing was a breeze. I booked my tickets online, went to the mall, loitered around for a bit, went to the theatre just in time to print my tickets and buy a bottle of water, and went inside just as the movie trailers began. I found my seat easily, sat down, put my feet up, laughed at the funny parts, and had a good time. Nobody cared if I was alone or with the entire colony, nobody stared, and there was nothing awkward about it. The only minus point was that I had to keep adjusting the 3D glasses over my glasses every two minutes. Oh, and I lost the plastic spoon and had to eat the American sweet corn (buttered, no masala) with my hands.

So, shall we talk a bit about the movie?

(Pic source: Comicbookmovie.com)

On being alone

I spend most of my time alone. At work, at home, on the streets. I go shopping alone, I go to beauty parlours alone, I go to outings and to church alone. I travel alone and go to restaurants alone (But so far I haven’t gathered the courage to watch a movie all by myself).

I like having friends as much as the next lazy bum, but somehow it seems I always end up alone. Maybe I repel people. Maybe I truly love being alone. Maybe I am my best friend and the best conversations I have are with my thoughts. Maybe I do less damage when I am my only companion. (I use a lot of “maybe” in my posts. Maybe I just love the word. Maybe I don’t know what I really want).

Some of us are born to be alone, is my theory. I must have been a difficult child. When I first went to school I wanted to sit next to only one girl, no one else would do. I never responded to the roll call, and the teacher marked me “Absent” for a very long time. (He suggested I was “behind” the other students but was silenced when I stood first in the exam :P)

Growing up was tough. I had friends, girls of my own age from my neighbourhood. But at school, and then in college, I was the most introverted, shyest person you ever know. I still am. I was the lost girl who couldn’t make friends, who was always picked last for games, and who never joined in the group games and activities (many instances spring to mind). Being in unfamiliar territory just scares the living daylights out of me. Proximity and attachment scares me too. I think I just want to watch from a safe distance.

Alone again, naturally

A very familiar sense of déjà vu is in the air.  One of my childhood friends is getting married this week, to a man I have never ever heard of, that too in another town. Yes, we are friends, but not the share everything types, so it’s very likely that our paths may not cross again that very often in the future.

I am at that awkward age where everyone is getting married and having children (I’m forever buying wedding and baby gifts), and those same people in later communications would urge me to get married soon because I was turning so old. Aaaaaggghh! Is there no end to this? Will there ever be an end to this? You know what would be cool? Being 45 or so and everyone giving up hopes of you ever getting married and finally, finally being able to relax.

Does that mean I want to stay single the rest of my life? Of course not! So does that mean I am in a predatory mode? Far from it. Am I looking to trap some hapless innocent man into marriage? God forbid. But sometimes I despair, yes I despair that I will never find a man stupid enough to accept me just the way I am and want to jump off a cliff with me. I despair that I will be that old unmarried aunt who gets passed around from family to family, sleeping in some small corner and depending on charity. I despair that I will have to live with rude nieces and nephews (and their children) who show me no respect. I despair that I will live a terribly lonely life.

What I’m really afraid of, I guess, is the thought of having to listen to “When are you getting married” “You too should get married” and such related questions. Ho-hum. The living alone part I can handle, being an old unmarried aunt is something I’ve excelled at since birth, and I am confident I can earn a living to feed myself.

So what’s this post really about then? I don’t know, maybe just a little something to help overcome this too familiar feeling of loss and despair and gloom. Maybe I’m fishing for your sympathy. Maybe the thought of going home and finding all my friends gone is frightening. Maybe I felt the need to write something new after bombarding you with picture posts the last few days.

Click click click

Picture of Yours Truly clicked on a quiet Saturday evening (Location: My room). A few clicks at Photoshop followed.


The original:

Lens flare effect:

Sketch:

Five years on Facebook

Five years ago yesterday I signed up on Facebook. It was 2007, and back then everyone, including your mother, your old crush, your classmate from 20 years ago, your neighbour’s cat, every person with a mobile phone was not on Facebook as they do today. Orkut was the place to be, at least here in India. (By the way whatever happened to that guy Orkut, that founder guy? We used to hear rumours that for every click, for every scrap, for every friend added he earned this much dollars. Was that true?)

Well, back to Facebook, it was a bit confusing at first. What is a Wall? And where is my profile? How do I navigate? So many questions. I wasn’t active for a very long time, around two years. I started adding friends and whatnot in 2009. Then I started playing games, mainly Farm Town, Mafia Wars, Poker and that-word-game. I played Farm Town so much so that every tree, every bush, every flower reminded me of my “plants”.

I am not going to tell you every little thing I did, because you are also on Facebook (who isn’t?) and know full well the things we do out there.

The question now is, can we live without Facebook? There are some groups like Quit Facebook Day whose slogan is “Sick of Facebook's lack of respect for your data? Tell others that you're quitting too!” Their website recorded over 40 thousand FB quitters, not a very impressive number. But then every person who quit did not necessarily go and register there, so the number is probably much higher.

Six habits of watermelon seeds

What can one do with watermelon seeds?

1. Soak them in water until the water turns yellow.

2. Spell out words.

It's a beautiful day

Sometimes I think I might have OCD. I obsessively check the time, and the temperature. The worst of summer is behind us, and I'm glad because I was always checking the temperature and the forecast. I would check it before I go to sleep, as soon as I get up, if I wake up in the middle of the night, at any random time during the day. Yes, temperatures soared to 42 degrees, and never went below 30 even at night, even at 3 in the morning. And I would constantly compare the weather in our city with that of other cities around the world. It was always raining in Seattle, Tokyo was much colder than I imagined, Paris was always warmer than London, and Aizawl was warmer than both cities.

Yesterday I went out during the day, and it was a most beautiful day. Blue skies, the likes of which you haven’t seen in a long long time, perfectly clear sky, and big white fluffy clouds. I took a few pictures, here’s one:

Selling old newspapers

Newspapers accumulated over many months

Sold to a man who came in a bicycle

Ui chanchin

Kan ui hmasa ber Emi kha eng rawng nge a nih ka hre miahlo a nih chu. A uk niin ka hria a, a dum niin ka hre bawk a, ka chiang lo. Tunge a hming kha phuah a, khawi atanga kan neih nge lah hre hek suh; kan kawl rei lo em a ni tih hi ka insawifiahna ah min lo pawmsak mai teh un. Balu a hai lai chiah hi ka mitthla ah zuk awm a. Ka nu bazar a zui a, a bo daih a, miin an ru a nih kan ring ringawt.

A pahnihna atan Nancy kha kan nei leh a, khawia mi nge kan neih ka la hre chuang lo! Ani kha chu a buang a ni a, a hmul pawh a sei lutuk lo mahse kawng mut em chu a ni lo a, a lei hi a vei seh tet zel . Mi um hi a peih em em a, inchhungah hian kan inum kual vak vak a, thutthleng leh dawhkanah hian kan lawn chhuk chho zut mai a ni. Thutthleng te kha a lo bal duh awm e ka ti, ka nu khan min hau ngai lem hlei lo a. Nancy kan neih lai kha 1989 ni ta in ka hria. A dam rei lo, ui ke natna an tih ang mai kha a vei a, a ke hnung lam hi a zeng tlat a, kal pawh kal hleithei lo khan a awm a. A thihdawn lamah phei kha chuan a mu tawp a, eitur leh intur kan pek pawh hi a ei peih tha mang lo a ni. A thihni chuan ka nu hovin kan tap tliar tliar a, inhnuaiah kan phum a. Kan la naupang bawk a, a thlan te khan pangpar in kan chei a, kan theihnghilh leh thuai a.

Niggy erawh hi chu kan ui neih rei ber leh ngainat ber, a chanchin kan sawi ban theihloh a ni thung. Republic Venga ka ni te ui note kan lak a ni a, 20 March 1991 khan a piang a, kan lak ni kha May 15 a ni ta in hria. Ka nau mipa hian zingkarah a va la a, a rawn pawm haw a. Dum tereuhte, cher deuh, nghawng rek ngit nget deuh mai hi a nia, a va han chhe reuh tak em! A hmul tawi chi kha a ni bawk sia, duhawmna reng hi a nei lo. Mahse ui kan awhna kha a rei tawh em avang khan kan duat em em a. Mami hian a hming hi a lo phuah a, Niggy tih hi. Khatih hun lai khan cowboy Sudden-a thawnthu chhiar kan hrat lai kha a ni a, Sudden-a sakawr dum kha Nigger tih a ni a, khami zulzui khan "A nu a ni sia, Niggy ni rawh se" a ti a, a pu hlen ta a ni.

Mi in ui chanchin an sawi tawh hi chuan Niggy hi rilru ah a lo lang lo theilo, a chanchin engemaw tal lo sawi ve hi a nuam a. Zualtea (Read his blog! He's a single eligible bachelor!) nen Facebook ah ui chanchin kan sawi a, blog tur hian min inspire a nih ber chu.

The Immortals of Meluha

I had heard stories about the book and the author, Amish Tripathi. About how no publishing house would take his book and he released a free online copy of the first chapter. Actually what I heard was that he printed the first chapter and distributed it for free at bookstores which triggered curiosity and resulted in the massive success of the book. I thought, wow that was one big risk, but what a winning gamble it was!

So I borrowed the book, and as I write this only a few minutes have passed since I read the last word of “The Immortals of Meluha”, the first book in the Shiva Trilogy.

Where to begin? The cover. Which totally won me over. A muscular barebodied man with long dreadlocked hair, a deep cut on his left arm, a big scar on his right shoulder, a trishul behind his back, almost reaching up to his neck, looking out at a lake and a dense forest beyond. It immediately raises the mystery quotient.

The book begins with a 21 year old Shiva, the leader of a small tribe living in Mount Kailash, Tibet. Invited by the great nation of Meluha, he and his tribe migrated to the country which we had studied in our history books as the Indus Valley Civilisation. Yes, Harappa and Mohenjodaro and all that. But the invitation wasn’t purely for noble reasons. The Suryavanshis, the people of Meluha, had been waiting for a prediction to come true, waiting for a saviour who would come and squash their enemies and thus deliver them from evil. No surprises, Shiva was the hero, fulfilling requirements such as being a foreigner, and having a blue throat (which he developed after drinking the special drink called Somras which could greatly enhance one’s health and make a person almost immortal).

Mumbles and Jumbles

It’s official. Or so I think. Well, at least it’s true as far as I know : Men are more thick-skinned than women. Quite simple, isn’t it? Did I see you nodding your heads in agreement? Told you so.

And how did I come about this conclusion? How did I obtain this significant piece of information, this gold nugget, so to speak? Simple: Just by being alive, and watching. See simple experiment below:

1. Take an equal measure of males and females, put them in an airconditioned room.
2. The seating arrangements should be such that males and females are distributed equally throughout the room.
3. Pick a day of moderate to hot weather (preferably between 28 and 35 degrees), and place the control  panel of the air conditioner easily accessible to all subjects.
4. Observe the activity of the subjects in relation to the air conditioner, and note down the changes in temperature as time progresses.
5. After nine hours you will find that the male subjects are partial to lower temperatures (below 24 degrees) while the female subjects are inclined towards temperatures that have crossed the 24 degree mark upwards.

I know what you are thinking. Men and women are different, they have different body temperatures and so on and so forth, but try spending nine hours everyday where the male population wants us to freeze until some brave female soul gets up and says “Enough is enough. There is so much subzero temperature a girl can bear” and changes the room temperature. Only to find it changed back by another male a few minutes later. It’s a happy merry go-round of temperatures, actually. See-sawing degrees. One goes up and the other goes down, which may or may not be the way to London town.

This is summertime, right? And it’s hot and sunny outside, right? And if we go out (by we I mean females) we carry umbrellas and scarves and hats, right? (I hear you girls!). But men still walk around without a drop of sunscreen on their bodies, no umbrellas (many would rather die) and not a cap or scarf or handkerchief on their heads. I salute you, possessors of the XY chromosome, on your toughness (What sun? You call this hot?), your absolute and uncontestable manliness and total disregard of trivial things like summer weather (Oh is it summer already? I thought we were in Alaska). I would give you all a five rating if you would not insist on freezing me to death everyday!

Oh, and that fellow who has stolen my doormat (again), please return it at its place. If you need a doormat so badly I will give you the money to buy a brand new one. Just knock on my door. Oh, and one more thing: just because I leave the doormat outside doesn’t mean I have donated it to the public. Not yet.

One should go crazy at least once every summer – Confucius.

Home, maybe?

Okay. Here we go again. Another summer day has come and gone away in Paris and Rome. But I want to go home. Seriously I do. I am surrounded by a million people, but I still feel so alone. Yes I do. Let me go home, I'm just too far from where everyone is and I want to go home. And I feel just like I'm living someone else’s life. Like this is not my real life, that my life hasn’t yet begun, that the last three decades were just a rehearsal, an audition, a test to prepare myself for reality.

Maybe I'm tired of being a stranger, an outsider, an alien. Maybe I just want the sense of security that a parent provides, maybe I'm tired of being a grown up and want to be a kid again, if only for a while, and tired of being responsible and making decisions and giving out advice. Maybe I just want to listen, and do what I'm told without much care in the world.

Maybe I'm willing to risk the claustrophobia that will soon set in, the endless questions from nosy neighbours, the embarrassment of being an unmarried woman, the whispers caused as a result of deliberate absence from church and community activities, the astronomically high cost of living and the ridiculously expensive clothes,  the unchristian materialism and the unholy race to keep up with everyone else, I could go on and on.

But, the lovely sunsets, the clear mountain air and waters, the laughter of children, the wrinkled face of my grandmother, and all the travelling that I plan to do.

Maybe I'm just missing my mother.

The Cruelest Month

April is the cruelest month of the year, so says the poet, to which I somewhat agree. Many moons ago I was born in the month of March. My mother often speaks of the water shortage they faced that summer, which I now assume must be in April-June. They had to fetch water all the way from the well at Sihpui which is quite far away, and the journey home was uphill. To make things worse I was that baby who cried a lot and created unnecessary fuss. Maybe it was the dryness.

Speaking of dry, April is the worst month out where I live, the driest and hottest month of the year, with temperatures hovering at the mid-forties. So, it’s not exactly a chart topper for me.

Palm Sunday 2011. April 17. My mother called me while I was having my morning tea. It was quite unusual to receive a call on a Sunday morning, knowing what a chaos Sunday mornings are at home (the rush for the bathroom, the last minute ironing, the elaborate morning meal and the cleaning up that follows), and what was stranger was that my family would call me in the morning.

“Did you hear about Babie?” my mother asked.

“No. What happened?”

“She was found dead this morning in Delhi.”

Just like that. One of my oldest friends passed away, and there was nothing I could do. I generally dislike things that go out of control, and this situation was something much worse. I called up Babie’s sister, one of my best friends, and hearing that shaky voice trying not to cry, I felt something huge stuck in my throat. I didn’t cry, and was at a loss for words. Maybe I said something, and maybe we tried our best not to cry, I don’t remember. It was a short conversation. She and her new husband were leaving for Delhi to bring Babie home, and there were arrangements to be made. Maybe we spoke about that.

I remember one birthday, I think it was my 13th or 14th, my friends and I had a small celebration at home. And we took a few pictures. Being the age before digital cameras you could not see how you looked before the photos were developed. We were at that age, that awkward neither-here-nor-there stage, and all of us were at our ugliest. We forgot all about the pictures. A few months later when we looked at them Babie took a pen and scribbled all over her face in all the pictures. She didn’t like the way she looked. Isn’t it strange that among the girls in those pictures she was the first one to go?

This Palm Sunday, I will remember my old friend and the times we had. I will feel sad, for a little while, but I will always be thankful I had a friend who was lent to us for such a short time. Maybe one day we will meet again, and maybe she will wear that furry colourful slippers she wore the last time I saw her.

Aunts Aren't Gentlemen

Not exactly the most original title, borrowed from a PG Wodehouse book title, who by the way is one of my favourite authors. If you have ever read any of the Bertie Wooster stories you would be familiar with his two aunts, Aunt Dahlia and Aunt Agatha. Aunt Dahlia, the one with the loud voice, is the easygoing one who runs a magazine named Milady’s Boudoir, and Bertie once contributed an article “What The Well Dressed Man Is Wearing”. (The only instance we ever see Bertie actually doing anything that resembles work.)

And then there is his Aunt Agatha, the strong willed intimidating one who is always out to reform Bertie and trying to get him married. In the words of Bertie “My Aunt Agatha who eats broken bottles and is strongly suspected of turning into a werewolf at the time of the full moon" and “I know that London is a biggish city, but, believe me, it isn't half big enough for any fellow to live in with Aunt Agatha when she's after him with the old hatchet.”

Is it only me, or do you, like Bertie, too have formidable, terrifying super-power-possessing aunts? My father has five sisters, my mother has four, and then they have their cousins and second cousins, so you could see that I have an abundance of aunts.  Each one with her own peculiarity. You have the extremely easygoing ones, the uber strict ones, the talkative ones, the ones who never talk, the unmarried ones, and so on.  And like all aunts, they sometimes poke their noses in our family’s affairs, which is completely understandable because that’s how God made aunts. With long noses that can smell trouble and sniff out marital problems. With hawk-like eyes that can spot the cobwebs in your house and the cracks in your washbasin. With industrious hands that will move your house plants around (never mind that you move them back once they leave). With extensive vocabulary which is used to advise the badly behaved children of the whole clan. (If a committee of aunts summon you for a chat, you’d better run for the hills!)

Mateii

Kum 15 ka nih kum khan kan vengah mi in luahin an rawn awm a, kan in atanga hnai deuhah an awm nghe nghe a. U Puii kha khatih lai khan kum 25 vel anih ka ring a, U Te-a kha kum 22 vel aniang. Ka ngaihtuah let hian an lo naupang ngawt mai, an chhungte'n an inneih an lo remti vaklo pawh kha ka hrethiam ta. U Te-a te inah khan an han awm ve ren rawn a, mahse U Puii khan a pasala pa kha posi a lakkhum vel thin takah kha chuan an rawn indang ta a nia.

U Puii te nen zawk khan kan inchhung a, mahse kan inchhundan a hla angreng. An rawn insawn hma, in an rawn en vel pah khan min rawn tlawh a. Ka hmuh hmasak bera ka "first impression" kha ka la hre reng mai. Sang deuh, ngo deuh, sam buk deuh, mit lian ker kur hi a nia. A aw kha a thâm deuh tuak a, a hmai kha a duk deuh thluah bawk.

An rawn insawn ta a, mi hi an ti chhung em em a, an nitin office kal tur khan kan in hi kaltlang a ngai a, an rawn lut ngei ngei a. Kan thawmhnaw te kha U Puii khan a duh duh hi a rawn ha a, a thawmhnaw pawh a ui chuang lo a. Keini unau tleirawl rual kha chuan kawm nuam kha kan lo ti bawk si, an inah te khan len a nuam kan ti thei khawp mai. Kan mess hi an rawn join lo chauh a ni. Chhun thingpui in hunah te hian U Puii hi lu thur lei luai hian a lo chho anga, butter pack lian deuh nen. Thingpui leh chhangthawp kha chu kan tum turah khan a dah tawp a, butter kha chhah elkhen khan a'n tat ngei a, keini lahin chuti bawk.

An nupa tê khan an awm a, an hlim khawp mai. Mahse hlimna famkim hi a lo awm lo a ni. U Puii khan natna khirh tak mai SLE kha a vei a, a vun te hi duk thlek thluk thin a. Daktawr te kha an râwn reng thin khan ka ring ta, ka ngaihtuah let leh hian, mahse ka ngaihven loh lam tak kha a ni a. Fa nei lo tur erawh kha chuan daktawr te khan an hrilh in ka hria.

Thil thleng tur hi chu a awm a ni teh chêk aniang chu, an rawn insawn atanga kum khat vel ah chuan U Puii chu a rai ta a. Daktawr te thupek pawh ngaipawimawh zo lo vin neih a tum ta a. An nupa khan an lo inhmangaih ve hle a ni, nuih kha tiza thin hle mah se. Ka nu leh pa bulah khan an rawn inhek nasa thin em em a, U Te-a khan zu in kha a ching ve a, mahse sual zawng leh buaina siam zawng kha chuan a awm ngai lo thung. Mize zâwi tak, tawng tlem deuh, a ruih phei chuan nui vel mai mai kha a ni. U Puii nen khan an mizia chu a inlet thawk a ni, "opposites attract" an tih ang hi a ni ber.

Mateii pian kha ka hrechiang khawp mai. Damdawiin atanga an rawn chhuah veleh an inah kan tlan thla nghal a, puan hian an lo tuam hlên a, a hmui hi a sen ver a, hmeltha kan ti lutuk. A piantirh atang khan kan naute hi a ni nghal ringawt. Kan inah hian hun tam zawk an hman avang khan a thawmhnaw tam tak kha a awm reng a. An rawn chho tawp a, kekawr spare pakhat mah keng lo hian, a ngailo tih kha hre hek. A len deuh hnu khan awmpui tlangval Bawiha tih hi an nei a.

Bawiha mawlh kha! Min va han tihlim thin tak. Amah kha tlangval rau rau ah pawh nula fel tak mai a ni a, inchhung enkawl kha a ti vek a. Buhthlei te kha a thiam em em a, kan inah te a rawn thlei thin bawk a. Mahse a buhthlei dan style kha a mak ve a, inchunga in tê ah khan inkalhkhumin a han thlei kher thin a nih chu! Mi hmuh laia thlei kha a zak a ni chêk ang chu, mahse buh a thlei tih kha kan hre vek tho a, ka nu phei chuan nui char char chungin a buhthlei ri te a han ngaithla vel thin. Kan cousin tleirawl Zovi hi chutih lai chuan kan inah khan a awm bawk a, Bawiha chuan a huphurh em em a, Zovi an in lam pana rawn kal a hmuh tawh chuan eitur te hi a lo thukru sawk sawk thin. Kan indaihzai teh mai ania.

Mateii pian hnu khan kan inchhung zual sauh emaw tih tur a ni. U Puii te in bulah hian parawl pakhat hi a awm a, rawngbawl a peihloh thin avang khan U Puii te mess a zawm a. Thla tawp lamah, U Puii te sum dinhmun kha a lo that vakloh chang chuan an vaiin, an parawl tiam chuan kan mess hi an rawn zawm lehchhawng thin a. Chhangchhe thei rep rep tak kan ni, mahse a nuam phian. Tumah khan kan sawisel ngai lo, kan nin thu kan sawi ngai lo bawk. A nihdan tur ve reng emaw kha kan ti tawp. An nupa an inhauh chang hian kan inah hian inhêk tur hian an rawn chho thin a, ka nu leh pa kha judge leh jury an lo ni a, keini tleirawl ho a sirah kan lo nui tiah tiah a. U Te-a a ruih chang phei chuan a nuihzatthlak thei sia, ka nu leh pa pawh kha an nui ve tawp zel. Mahse an han inhau ve bawk a, an thinrim rei ngai lem hlei lo a, lawm deuh chuan an haw ve leh mai thin.

Chutia buai luai luai, hlim deuh si a kan awm lai chuan U Puii chu a zual ta thut mai a. A natna, zia tawha kan ngaih kha a rawn nasa leh thut a. Hmuh theih khawpin a rawn thawk chak a. Mateii kum khat a tlin hnu lawk, March 1997 khan min boralsan ta mai a. A thih zan te chuan Mateii khan engmah a la hrethiam si lo a, mi zaiah khan a lo lam vel a, a va han lainatawm tehreng em! Khami zan khan midang pawm kha a duh miah lo a, ka pa leh ka u khan an pawm zankhua ta a nih kha. A thih khan U Puii kha kum 28 a ni a, a va han uihawm tak em!

Nu ber a awm tak si loh ah chuan U Te-a te pafa chu a pa te in lamah an let leh ta a, aw Mateii kha kan va ngai thei tak em! Kan veng a inhlat si, mahni hna ah theuh kan lo buai si, duh ang pawhin kan hmu tam thei lo a. Mi an rawn tlawh ngai si lo a, a hnuah phei chuan kan ngaih em em Mateii tan chuan hmelhriat loh ah kan lo chang ta hial a.

U Te-a chuan min la rawn tlawh zauh zauh a, mahse U Puii awm tawh loh hnu kha chuan a khawvel kha a tawp vek a ni ber mai. Zu ah hlimna a zawng a, a hmu zo si lo. Kan lakah pawh khan a inthlahrun phah a. Nikum hmasa lawk khan min boralsan nghe nghe a.

U Puii thihna pawh kum 15 a ni ta, Mateii pawh a nula ve dawn tawh ang. Mate, min hre tawh lo mah la kan tan chuan kan naute duat kha i la ni reng asin! U Pui, U Te, in lei taksa chu thi tawh mahse, kan rilru leh thinlung ah erawh in nung reng tawh dawn si.

Lerh Hi

Ka naupan deuh lai chuan engtin nge mi hi an inngaihzawn dan hi ka hrethiam lo a, ka ngaihtuah dan chuan khawlaiah hian mipa leh hmeichhia hi an intawk ang a, "Inngaizawng ang" an ti tawp a nih ka ring thin. Ka mitthla a ka hmuh tak phei chu Aizawl Bazarpui, Israel Point bus stop bul vel kawngpui saw a nia. Mipa zawk kha Zion Street lam atang khan a rawn phei a, hmeichhia kha a opposite lam atangin. An intawk a, inngaihzawn an remti a, an inngaizawng ta der a! Inrim tih vel kha ka la hrethiam pha chiahlo aniang.

Fast forward 25 years. 2010 kuma Mizorama ka haw in ka thiannu naute thar ka en a, thar han tih lemah thla 5 vel chu a ni tawh a. Tette atanga inkawm kan ni a, ka awmloh hlanin pasal min lo neihsan daih mai a, ka ngei khawp mai a. Kan thianho ah amah kha pasal nei hmasa ber a ni. "Pasal hi nei ve thuai rawh u, lerh ve deuh te hi a ngai ania" a ti a. Kan ngei khawp mai, pasal nei dek dek a thiante min han vei nghal ringawt kha.

Han dam ve tak rengah chuan kum te pawh a lo tam ve zel a, thiante'n pasal an han neih tak pheuh pheuh ah chuan rilru ah a lo lan ve chang a awmlo theilo. Mahse pasal neih hi famkimna chiah emni le? Neilo pawh hian a hlim ve theih tho lo'mni? A nei tawh te kha chuan "I neih hma chu i hrethiam lo ang" in ti ang a, la nei lo te kha chuan "Nei kher lo pawh hian a awm theih e" in ti ngei ang tiru?

Nia, lerh ve deuh chu a ngai a ni. Mahse tumah han ngaihzawn lem loh a, tuman min rawn ngaihzawn lem si loh chuan tihngaihna a awm chuang der lo! Tuna kan kal dan hi a tha rih e, ti leh phawt mai ang.

Here On Earth

 

I bought this book because it was (1) cheap at ten rupees, (2) selected for Oprah’s Book Club, and (3) the author, Alice Hoffman, had written Practical Magic, which though I haven’t read yet is the book behind the movie Practical Magic which I loved even though it's been a billion years since I’ve watched it.

Let’s dive straight into the book, shall we?

After living in the city for almost two decades, March Murray returns to her home town in Massachusetts to attend the funeral of the family housekeeper Judith Dale. Tagging along, unwillingly, is her 15 year old daughter Gwen.

The motherless March and her much older brother Alan Murray were brought up by Judith Dale, and when March was eleven, their father brought home an orphan from the streets of Boston, a wild mannerless boy named Hollis. We know something was going to happen when little March looked at him from her window and announced “From now on, he’s mine”. The rebellious Alan was jealous of the attention Hollis received from his father, even beating him up so badly one day that Hollis had to be hospitalised.

DIY

I am a big do-it-yourself person. If some household stuff is broken I try to repair it myself before calling the experts. A blocked drain, a broken fan, a fridge light that went out, those kind of things. Which is a part of my evolution as a human, I guess. Where does fixing things come in the evolutionary process, you may ask. I don’t know, I was just rambling.

Anyway, the DIY I'm really talking about is the kind of things, you know, like painting your old pair of jeans with REALLY big flowers, making your own calendar and writing love poems on it, sticking matchsticks on a chart paper you’ve put up on your wall, making your own envelopes with silly underwater designs, cutting up your old clothes to make bags out of them, buying buttons of all shapes and sizes and sewing them on on a purse you made yourself, and many more useless things.

I think every girl goes through a beadsy phase in her life. You know, collecting beads, making necklaces, bracelets, sticking them on clothes and bags. Why, I even made a beads bookmark. A string of beads hanging from a rather thick handmade paper. I bought a denim bag from the secondhand market in Aizawl, and that bag went through various stages in the evolutionary process before it exhausted its usefulness and was laid to rest in the garbage. Beaded, rebeaded, re-rebeaded, dyed, re-re-rebeaded, and then redyed. I'm sure that bag must have felt like a guinea pig, poor thing.

A friend and I got “inspiration” from a magazine, took out our old jeans and painted a big red rose on the right leg. People stared whenever we wore them, which for me was about two times. I still have that pair of jeans.

Remember when Mariah Carey cut off the waist band off her jeans? At around the same time I did the same thing (but I was unaware that the diva had done it) because I was getting less space inside the jeans, which was further mutilated (cut it off at the knees) and decorated with mediocre art (a design I copied from a bedsheet).

And fabric paint, oh fabric paint! I've lost count of the number of shirts I’d ruined because of this medium. Not only shirts, bags and shoes were also its victim. Wait, I still have a sample, let me take a picture for you.

                                                          (T-shirt art, circa 2007)
                                                     

And altering clothes! This is not exactly craft-y, but very much DIY. Add/remove a sleeve here, raise the hemline there, cut off the leg, use ribbons and beads and other stuff for decoration, turn a frock into a skirt, a skirt into a bag, and so on.

I don’t know if cutting up magazines and pasting the pictures on a chart paper counts as DIY, but I did it myself heheh. Or doing the same thing with friends’ photos, garnish with a dialogue box and make them say things which we thought were really funny. Ha ha ha.

Long before we immersed ourselves in Facebook, we created our own “Walls”. A chart paper stuck on a wall, and our friends who came visiting would write whatever messages they wanted. A kind of Guest Book. And sometimes we write down the things we did (Eg: It’s 2 AM and XYZ is talking in her sleep).

What else…? Nothing came to mind. So here is the Mariah Carey video where we first saw the waist-band-less pair of jeans.

Tutorial: How to make a balloon drum

I haven’t done this thing in years. Many of you might have done it in your childhood, and for many it may be a new thing, a new learning. Allow me to demonstrate how to create a simple musical tool, The Balloon Drum.

Materials required: A torn piece of balloon, an empty cup, and a rubber band.

Stretch the balloon piece flat over the mouth of the cup:

Tie down with the rubber band, so it is airtight.

Your balloon drum is ready. Pinch it to make a “Twangggg” sound.

Escape Velocity

The best thing about a new year, according to me, is the renewal of faith and hope. Well, you can renew your faith and hope anytime, but with the onset of a new year you have this mindset of “New beginning, good start, etc etc”. As if the previous years all faded away and you have begun on a clean slate, all your past mistakes and sins erased and washed away. You have been given another chance and you should be thankful that you are still alive.

You must be wondering about the title. Did you think I was going to write something Physics related? Escape velocity, as we learned, is the minimum velocity an object must acquire to free itself from the earth’s gravitational pull. 11.2 kilometers/second.

Isn’t is funny how our best ideas come at the most inappropriate times? When we are least likely to implement them? I would go for days without updating my blog because I simply do not have anything to write about. No inspiration, nothing. The other day I was at work and suddenly escape velocity just popped into my head. Maybe I read something online that reminded me of it.

All distractions are welcome when you're working, so immediately I googled ‘Escape Velocity”, for want of something better to do. I came across Chris Brogan’s website, where he wrote : My definition of “escape velocity” is “the ability to leave a situation that isn’t helpful or desired”. I was like, wow! So neatly put!

I'm sure that everyone must have been stuck in an undesirable situation at least once in our lives. It may be personal, work related, or community related. And sometimes what happens is that we know the way out, but we are too scared to go in that direction. We are too afraid of what others may think, what our families and friends may think, how we will be able to hold our heads up if we leave that situation. And we tie ourselves down, miserable, but unwilling to change.

An unhappy marriage. A job we hate. Friendship with people who make us live in their shadows. But we have kids. We need to pay bills. We cannot imagine making new friends.

This is when our personal escape velocities come to the test. Are we able to generate that minimum velocity to free ourselves? Are we ready to face an unknown future, take risks and jump blindfolded into the dark? Stop listening to people and do what we want to do? Most of the time we never achieve this escape velocity. We don’t even know it exists. We just accept things the way they are and wallow in our misery.

Sometimes, we know there is an escape velocity. But to reach that takes time, patience, and though it may not apply to all cases, luck. We work our way towards it, slowly, steadily, and prepare ourselves for it. And when we free ourselves from whatever had chained us, that freedom tastes so sweet!

I’d had a good start to the new year, and I hope that things will get better. Nothing mindblowing or anything, but I have this feeling that it’s going to be a good year for me. Just a sixth sense kind of thing. I may even get close to escape velocity by the close of the third quarter, and my life may take a different direction. And no, I'm not getting married.

I guess this qualifies as the obligatory I-will-do-better-in-the-new-year post. Wishing you a good and successful year ahead, and may you acquire your escape velocity and fly off to a better future.