Sunday, May 27, 2012

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.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

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).

Sunday, May 13, 2012

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.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

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.