mizogurl

Essentials on a Trip

2011-09-15T15:16:00.004+05:30

Partying till 2am the night before you take an international trip isnt the best idea. And packing with your over-active 3-year old nephew the following morning doesn’t help either. That’s how you end up not taking essentials like chargers, shorts you know you’d need or a lightweight for the Air Cons. But that’s how I started out for Malaysia. But for once, I was travelling in a group- with friends, and that helped!

The Charger Thing- It wasn’t that I absolutely coud not charge any of my many gadgets, I had a galaxy of USB cables I could conveniently plug into any running computer. The problem was-I didn’t have a computer!! Thought I’d be lazy this time cos two of the six among us were carrying laptops and I could always plug into their ports, right? Wrong- we could hardly ever be together once we got to Malaysia and I had to consciously and religiously submit one of my cables with the corresponding gadget to charge them as and when they switched on their laptops whether I could or could not stand guard physically. It was a chore at times but we managed. Thing was, we were in Malaysia for a conference and once that started, we were pretty busy and hardly ever saw each other. That’s why my sim cards constantly shifted phones and my music player had to be ‘preserved’ for absolute necessities.

The Shorts- I never forget to pack a pair of shorts unless im going to a place in the minus degree zone. They are so handy and take up minimal space in my sometimes overflowing but faithful and sturdy strolley. And this time, it wasn’t just that, I absolutely needed them. You see, there was this thing we were gonna do as part of a Community Service programme- plant mangroves in knee-high mud. And it was this time I forgot the shorts. So I ended up buying these really ‘short shorts’ at the night market in Penang and I felt so uncomfortable wearing them. So the morning saw me in my compulsory Orange shirt for the planting, with the shorts underneath and a large red cloth I’d bought to stitch for a blouse worn like a sarong wrapped around my waist. But it wasn’t all bad- got a lotta attention and even managed the South Indian ‘Munda’ with my sarong-y red printed cloth thing-y!

The Lightweight- The second thing I hate about flying is the intense chill of the AirCon after the initial refreshing cool flash so I make sure I have a light sweater/jacket or a stole or something for just such times. It was no different this time, and yes, I’d forgotten the lightweight. I knew Kolkata would be merciless in its heat and Malaysia was supposed to be on the scorching side too. But the flights were brrrrazenly cold and so were our meetings when we had to sit down in a shamelessly Airconned room for hours. The longest plane ride this time was the 5 hour flight from Kolkatta to Kuala Lumpur. This saw me snatch the blanket from Joe’s ‘comfort kit’, wrapping myself up in Air Asia’s unmistakable red. And every meeting saw me wanting to get out for some real air towards the end. The best part, though, were the ferry rides where I snuggled in a towel. With every intention of buying the impressively commercial Air Asia’s jacket on the flight to Penang, I ended up not doing it. By the final stage of travel, I had managed a light shawl courtesy of a friend’s gift bought for her Grandma.

What Value- Our Peace?

2011-06-22T15:01:00.003+05:30

Today is the 22nd day of June, 2011. Its 8 days before the June 30, 2011 when Mizoram will have seen the fruit of an accord for peace signed 25 years ago. And today I read in the papers that the Government-appointed committee on this regard, with representatives from the main NGOs of the state as members met yesterday to deliberate on celebrations to mark the occasion. Yesterday- June 21, 2011, that’s 9 days before the event. NINE DAYS!!!! What value- our peace?

In Aizawl, the Committee of Church leaders (MKHC) has for sometime announced its decision to mark the day with an event at Vanapa Hall. This is a mass movement no doubt because the majority of the population belongs to one or the other Church denomination. But the ‘common man’, among whom I count myself, still does not have an idea of how the Vanapa Hall event is going to be. Are we supposed to come together for prayers- of thanksgiving and guidance? Are we to gather and hear rhetoric of peace, what it has meant for us and its prospects? Will we be celebrating the twenty five years of God- given peace? What?

And for this event, the Government- appointed Committee decided to abstain from organizing a parallel programme that might clash. In other districts however, a budget of one lakh each has been allocated and celebrations will be conducted under the chairmanship of the respective District Commissioners. Now, if I were the DC of a district in Mizoram, what inspiring idea will I have to celebrate twenty five years of peace with a one lakh budget to be coordinated and implemented within a week…hmm…tough, really!

And yes, the Hon’ble Chief Minister, who by the way, had given up his ‘throne’ in 1986 to usher in the peace process, will be delivering an address to the people to be telecast on the eve of Remna Ni (Peace Day). And on the day itself, he will be the Chief Guest at the Closing Session of a one day National Seminar which H.E. the Governor will be inaugurating. The ‘National Seminar on Peace & Development in Mizoram; Challenges and Prospect’ is being organized by the Zoram Research Foundation in collaboration with ICSSR-North East and Mizoram University and is based, obviously, ‘On the Occasion of the 25th Anniversary of the Mizoram Peace Accord’. By the way, invitees will be registering for a hundred bucks to be part of the event and to mark the cost of a valuable certificate no doubt.

PAMRA (Peace Accord MNF Returnees Association) has been working for about a year now to mark the event. They are a bunch of people with memories, of lost comrades, of years lost for a cause they believed in. They are a group that has been trying for twenty five years to resettle in a world that they had fought to create. And it’s only fair that an Association with ‘Peace Accord’ in their name should be working on marking the event. Kudos to PAMRA. But what they are actually doing, besides bringing out a Souvenir, I’m not sure. It’s hard for every Mizo to feel as though they are a part of what PAMRA is doing because not everyone is a creation of a twenty-year insurgency movement. Especially for the post-1986 generation, it really is difficult to identify oneself with people with memories one is so unfamiliar with. Now if some other institution or organisation had lent support, it might have been different…

What about celebrations I cry.

The Mission Veng YMA ‘N’ (MYMAN) is doing something to celebrate. Thank you! Really, thank you! A Peace Concert featuring some well-loved artistes from the yesteryears and some new and popular names lining up for the set show. And to top that, a House Band made up of locals, all well known in the state for their skills in handling their particular instruments…umm musical instruments, I mean! This is a free-for-all event, the only one that seems to understand that peace isn’t something we have at will, it is cause for celebration, a cause I deem greater than many our wonderful governments keep shelling out money they don’t really have for. And that’s not the end of it. There’s a most wonderful attachment to the concert- an attempt to make the Mizoram record the biggest Guitar Ensemble. Everyone is invited through a free registration, to play an old favourite together on their beloved Acoustic Guitars. And the last time I counted, there had been about 400 names submitted, with the post Peace Accord generation a majority.

The International Peace Day is commemorated on September 21 every year, having been initiated by the UN in 1982. And then there’s the Universal Peace Day of August 6, based on the ‘Little Boy’ bombing of Hiroshima. These ‘days’ often have week-long celebrations that not only observe the gifts of peace but let the world know how valuable it is. And here, we have been having peace for twenty five years and what have we done with it? In Korea, there are four National Celebration Days when a display of the national flag in every household is encouraged. In Japan, February 11 is marked a national holiday “to reflect on the establishment of nation and nourish love for the country”. We Indians have our Republic and Independence days. Official functions overshadow an almost non-existent private/ community celebration of the events. In the United States, the fourth of July season finds many households donning their ‘red, white and blue’ to mark celebrations.

There has been a recent movement to commemorate the bombing of Aizawl as ‘Zoram Ni’ on March 5. Many people have chosen to ‘politicise’ this and paint it in colours that prevent the population from understanding that it was the one day the Mizo people were more united than any other, by the common suffering and sabotage of their land. But yes, I can see where some hearts tense up choosing to see it as a platform that only opens up old wounds failing to see the scar that will never go as a sign the Mizo should now proudly wear. But hey, Remna Ni? Come on, we’ve had it as a state holiday for almost as long as I can remember. So why the hesitation to mark 25 years? The signatures on that accord, or rather, the signatories, are not what have made it happen. The Accord is the foundation ushering an entire generation of the peace our neighbours are still struggling to achieve. And the Punjab Accord a year older than the Mizo Accord never took off and the Sikh signatory later assassinated. Can we not understand the depth and value of this gift? Have we been trusted with a gift we do not deserve?

Had the biggest stakeholder in the state initiated celebrations for a week or longer, we could probably have had the Seminar, the prayer, the addresses, the concert etc, all in the name of peace. But sadly, we only have the day, we only have scattered attempts to mark this momentous event, a day we are never going to see again. So sue me, but I will offer a prayer of thanksgiving and make it a party at a concert only a land of peace can offer.

GROUPING OF VILLAGES IN MIZORAM

2011-03-05T12:25:00.002+05:30

GROUPING OF VILLAGES IN MIZORAM
Lest we forget
For Zoram Ni

Background:
Mizoram was hard hit by a famine soon after the region was admitted into the Indian Union. The unsatisfactory remedial measures from Assam government resulted in a political disturbance that tormented the hills for about two decades spearheaded by the Mizo Famine Front, later transformed into a political unit called Mizo National Front (MNF). In February 1966 the MNF intensified its activities and the party decided to start an armed revolt.
The attack on the Aizawl Treasury began at midnight on 28th February, 1966 and the Lungleh Treasury was also attacked on the same day. Simultaneously the outposts of Lungleh, Tlabung, Champhai and Kolasib were attacked and captured whereas Aizawl was held out by the Ist Battalion Assam Rifles.
When the Government of India learnt of the outbreak, troops were sent to the area. By an Extra-ordinary Gazette Notification Published on 6th March, 1966, the Government of India declared the Mizo National Front an Unlawful Organization. Being satisfied that the MNF had been indulging in activities prejudicial to the security of Mizo District in the State of Assam and the adjoining part of the territory of India, the Central Government by effecting the necessary amendment of the rules ordered that Rule 32 of the Defence of India Rules, 1962 shall be applicable to the Mizo National Front.

The Defence Of India (Amended) Rule 32 of 1962
Rule 32 of the Defence of India Rules, 1962 as amended provides that no person shall-

a) manage or assist in managing any organization to which this rule applies.
b) promote or assist in promoting a meeting of any member of such an organization or attend any such meeting in capacity.
c) publish any notice or advertisement relating to any such meeting.
d) invite persons to support such an organization or otherwise assist the operation of such an organization.

If any person contravenes any of the provisions of this rule, he shall be punishable with imprisonment for a term which may extend to 7 years or with fine or with both.

The Mizo District was subsequently declared ‘a disturbed area’ under the Assam Disturbed Area Act, 1955. The Armed Forces (Assam and Manipur) Special Power Act, 1958 was also applied to the area by which the Government of India, under Article 352 of the Constitution, entrusted the responsibility of law and order in Mizoram to the Army and issued a strict instruction that the Army was to function as in war time but strictly in aid of the civil power. The matter was also discussed in the Parliament. Home Minister G.L Nanda made a statement in Parliament on March 3, 1966 saying, “the total number who took part in all those places- Lungleh, Aijal, Eayrengte (Vairengte), Chawngte and Chimluang (Chhimluang) who resorted to acts of lawlessness and violence were 800 to 1300 tribals… As a result of this, the army has been asked to deal with situation in Mizo Hills District. Transport of troops to Aijal by helicopters has been going on this morning and troops are also moving by road to Aijal and expected to reach by noon today.”

Grouping of Villages

Lt. General (later Field Marshal) Sam Manekshaw, GOC-In-C, Eastern Command, Calcutta, recommended grouping of villages to facilitate effective military operations. The Governor of Assam, B.K.Nehru, opposed the idea and the Central Cabinet rejected the army proposal of grouping on October 20, 1966. The army lobbied for its case during the next few weeks and the scheme was finally cleared by the Government of India on December 5, 1966. In its 6 P.M news broadcast on January 3, 1967, the All India Radio announced the decision of the Government to group villages in Mizo Hills for security reasons. Lt. General Manekshaw and A.N.Kidwai, Chief Secretary, Assam announced the decision in a Press Conference held in Calcutta and Shillong respectively on the same day. Formal orders were issued by B.C. Carriapa, Commissioner of Cachar and Mizo Hills Division and Ex-officio Central Government Liaison Officer for Mizo Hills, under Rule 57 of the Defence of India Rules, 1962.

In forty-nine days between 4th January and 23rd February, 45,107 inhabitants of 109 villages were forcibly grouped into 18 group centres on the main road of Vairengte- Aizawl-Lunglei.
The villagers were ordered to move bag and baggage with whatever property they could carry to the centre. All the grains, fowls and pigs that could not be carried were burnt along with their houses so as to keep food and shelter out of the reach of the insurgents. There was absolute confusion everywhere. Women were wailing and shouting and cursing. Children were frightened. Young boys and girls held hands and looked at their burning villages with a stupefied expression on their faces. Pigs were running about, mithuns were bellowing, dogs were barking and fowls setting up a racket with their fluttering and cackling.

The Village Council Presidents and Elders were ordered at gun point to sign the document that said that they were being harassed by the insurgents, and because their own village did not have communications, educational, medical and other facilities, they had voluntarily asked to be settled in the Grouping Centres under the protection of the Security Forces. Another document stated that they had burnt down their own villages, and that no force or coercion was used by the Security.

V.F.Jafa, an IAS officer of 1965 Batch who served as SDO (Civil) at Lunglei in 1967 and Additional District Magistrate, Aizawl in 1968, who was involved in the task of grouping honestly confessed, “We had to protect ourselves with false certificates”

Second and Third Phase of Grouping

In course of time, public resentment against grouping mounted and it was found that the legal base for the forceful grouping namely, the Defence of India Rules was weak. In Nagaland, it was used and withdrawn again in 1956-57. The Governor of Assam consequently promulgated early in 1968, an Ordinance known as ‘ The Assam Maintenance of Public Order (AMPO), 1968’ which was to be used as the legal base for the continued grouping of villages by force, in preference to the application of the Defence of India Rules.

The Second grouping order for grouping of another 185 villages, with a population of 95,917 to 41 centres was issued by the District Magistrate of Mizo Hills under the Assam Maintenance of Public Order Acts (AMPO), 1968. This was followed by a third forced grouping of 63 villages by the Army with a population of 47,056 in 26 centres in 1969 without any order from the Government. The Government regularized this grouping by an ex-post facto order issued in 1970 under AMRO. By 1972, there were 102 grouping centres accommodating 240,000 persons, or more than 80 percent of the Mizo Hill population of 285,000. The remaining 45,000 people lived in Aizawl, Lunglei, Saiha and a few ungrouped villages in the Pawi-Lakher region in the South.

Purpose of Grouping

The immediate aim of the grouping was to facilitate effective military operation against the underground elements who had taken control of the interior villages by cutting off the sources of food supply and shelter to the MNF as was conceived by the Army authorities. In every grouping centre there was a military unit to control them.

High Court stopped the Grouping of Villages

While the last two phases of grouping of villages were being carried out, the general resentment against grouping mounted to such an extent that one Mizo namely Sub. K. Zahlira (Rtd) of Saikhamakawn Village challenged the orders in the Gauhati High Court as violation of the Fundamental Rights guaranteed in the Constitution. The High Court directed the suspension of all further grouping and asked the Government of Assam to show cause as to why this order should not be made obsolete. The matter was dropped by the High Court on 6.1.1971 after the Government’s assurance that no further grouping of Villages was planned. Thus, the order issued for the third phase of grouping was cancelled. By this time, however, 80 percent of the population had already been relocated although the southern part of Mizoram was spared.

In spite of the grouping of villages in most parts, the intensity of the insurgency continued until about 1970. As a matter of fact, disturbances continued in a virulent form until 1980s.

The Pain
To mention the atrocities committed upon the Mizos, during the first four months alone, the MNF Secretary, Publicity Department, S.Lianzuala said, “So far as my knowledge goes, in North Mizoram district alone, the Indian Army burnt down 21 Villages and gutted 2,133 houses, they raped 54 women, out of whom 2 adult women and a minor girl died due to excessive copulation by a number of soldiers. They burnt 17 churches, and looted many others, cooking, sleeping inside the churches while the villagers were not allowed to worship there. They cursed those homeless bewildered women and children, saying that, ‘we do not care even if you all die, and we don’t need you. What we want is your land’. They treated the innocent Mizo people with fearsome manners and as cruel as possible.”

Tlangchhuaka also emphatically highlighted, “Like the World War II stories of rapes indulged in by Marshal Thukov and his soldiers in Berlin, they (Indian soldiers) did the same in Mizoram. They spoiled many virgin girls… even married ones… some girls were forced to their camps for their own pleasures. There is no limit to their atrocities. The men were driven away towards the jails with no chance to mention their rights. Many were beaten to death, hanged upside down and they suffered all kinds of tortures and as a consequence many were deformed physically. They called the general public meeting in the Churches, and used them for torturing and killing the inmates. They even raped some girls in the churches, and in some churches they did not allow them to come out of their meetings.”

When the disturbance broke out in Mizoram, the Indian Security Forces often disrupted and even dispersed church meetings in many villages. Lalthangliana Philips blamed them (the Security Forces) for defiling the churches and sacred properties wherever they went and of robbing and camping in the churches. The soldiers cut and tore the Holy Bibles and Hymn books into pieces and did not allow regular church meetings in most of their occupied villages. He further alleged that some of the Indian Commanding Officers even said, “You bloody Mizos, call upon your God Jesus, and bring him here that we may defeat him along with you.” These vile challenges flared up the religious sentiments of the people and alienated them into becoming strangers” .

Hundreds of Mizo families therefore sought refuge in Shillong and other places in Assam and Manipur and also in Burma to escape the chaos at home, and a further and much larger Mizo population were caught between two fighting armies. There was scarcity of food and other essential commodities in the district. The convoys which were run to bring in foods and other goods under security force protection were few and far in between because of the frequency of ambushes and heavy security force casualties. The Border Roads Organisation, which had been building strategic roads in the district since 1964, was also finding it difficult to build and maintain roads under such insecure conditions. To add to the Government’s discomfiture, there were reports of serious human and civil rights violations and maltreatment of civilians in the hands of the Security Forces.

Opposition

The MNF also understood the idea behind the grouping of villages and therefore, they opposed the grouping in their limited capacity. About 2,000 villagers of Keifang and Tualbung villages were successfully prevented by the Mizo National Army (MNF forces) from being grouped at Thingsulthliah Centre in January, 1967.

Life in the Grouping Centres

The manner by which the Indian troops carried this plan was cruel and treacherous. The Indian troops in battle dress marched in the night and surrounded villages before dawn to make sure that no villager escaped. The people were forced out of their ancestral homes with what they could carry in their hands. They were then driven like cattle to where nothing but torture awaited them. The Indian troops then searched vacated houses and took away any valuables they could find and then burnt the houses while the owners were still watching. As the Government of India thought that starvation of the MNF people will be one of the effective measures to crush their movement, they decided to burn the stores of grain of the people thereby inflicting suffering on the innocents too.

Many people compared the Grouping Centres with ‘Concentration Camps’. At the beginning, these centres were in the open air without any housing facility or even shade. The people had to sleep in open fields for days and nights. Children, even small babies, suffered under the scorching heat of the day and the chilly cold of the night while their parents were building thatched huts. Over and above, the people were given meager subsistence ration even while the troops forced them in fencing the grouping centres.

As they were not provided with housing facility all construction was to be borne by the villagers. Every movement of the people was under the strict vigilance of the troops and suspicion (of supporting MNF) had to be paid for with life. As such, at Thingsulthliah Camp, three boys who had gone to the jungles to cut bamboos for their house were shot dead on the mere suspicion of supporting MNF. Their bodies were covered with leafs and left at the spot. Their relatives, conscious of their unusual absence, went to the place and found their bodies.”

The Grouping centres were also used as forced labour camps. All the able persons were requisitioned to work in the military road construction, carrying water, fire woods, supplies of food items and ammunitions, clearing of jungles along roads, digging bunkers apart from fencing work with strict regimentation. They were forced to work as and according to the labour supervisors’ dictation. If a man raises any complaint he was paid with slashes of the armed supervisor’s whip.

The economic life of the Mizo people was greatly hampered. Jhuming cultivation was the main stay of the people but the people could not pursue their normal duty as they were not allowed to go out of the centre. Sometimes, the civilians were taken as a protection from surprise attacks of the MNF and used as human bunkers in the Army’s patrolling. With no means to earn a livelihood, there was starvation and dependence on the meager supplies.

Whenever there was an encounter between the security forces and the MNF, the aftermath was that the security forces either burnt down the village nearest to the place where the encounter took place or beat up the male members of the village or the first group of civilians they met. Such incidences generated bitterness and hatred in the public. In many of the encounters or ambushes, the security forces hardly ever caused casualty to the MNF but great harm did come to the innocent civilians.

The security forces also grossly abused the special power given to them, namely, arresting a person on suspicion. In many cases, they wrongly detained such persons for long periods and tortured them. Sometimes they used this method as a weapon of intimidation. For instance, if a villager reports to higher civil authorities against the wrong doing of the security forces in his village, the latter will arrest him charging him as a MNF sympathizer and threatened him with dire consequences.

Another instance of bitterness against the security forces is occasioned by their utter disrespect to the Church congregation. In some cases the security forces suspected some MNF or their agents as being present in the church congregation on Sundays. They came and drove the congregation of the Church in a most vulgar manner and herded them together in the open ground outside for long periods whether in rain or sunshine. There was a feeling that they were treated as aliens, worse than enemies.

Failure of Grouping

In spite of the grouping of villages, the intensity of the insurgency continued until 1970. As a matter of fact, disturbances continued in a virulent form until mid 1976. The main idea behind the grouping concept, that is to deny sources of food supply to the MNF, was thus belied. The desired results were never achieved.

The overwhelmingly harmful effect of Village Grouping on agricultural activities resulted in near famine conditions. The Government had no choice but to allow the villagers to go back to their old villages to enable them to work on their jhum. Thus, the grouping operations only caused untold sufferings and miseries to the general public resulting in the total ruin of the village economy and, more importantly, in the alienation of the minds of the villagers. The strange thing here was that the Government of India repeated the same measure in Mizoram in 1967 after it had failed miserably in Nagaland in 1967.

tunlaia ka hla atchilh bur

2011-02-11T13:43:00.000+05:30

	Tom Jones - I Who Have Nothing .mp3

	Found at bee mp3 search engine

tears in heaven

2010-12-24T19:48:00.000+05:30

It was cold that evening in December but if there had been a thermometer, it would not have been the cold in degrees as we know today. Rather, it was a chill that was thick in the air, a sadness that had enveloped everything. The angels walked about with no cheer, so out of character, their beautiful faces crestfallen and wings drooping. And there was a group of the wisest looking men that sat together, speaking in words solemn that came out of mouths that knew not exactly what to say. The golden streets seemed to have lost their sheen for they lay dull and the bubbling brooks could not flow merrily for everyone was sad. In the big throne sat the saddest of them all, with a countenance that seemed to wish there was some other way things could have been done.

The scene became animated with the appearance of the gentlest of creatures who walked with steps that knew he was leaving soon. His face held a glory unsurpassed by anything a human head could imagine and that glory in an instant drew all about him towards the warm heart he bore inside. Walking straight to the big throne, he appeared to console the greatest of the great. The love between them was impossible to miss. And to the men who were sitting, he gave a smile that seemed to take away the guilt they obviously bore.

For this was Christmas Eve in heaven. And it had come to pass that the light that brings the place alive was bidding them all goodbye. Not because he wanted to go but because he knew he had to. The world below did not yet know that it was soon to play host to the prince of glory, did not know it needed him and would have cared little even if they had known. This was known to him on the throne although the wise-looking men felt they had not done enough during their time on the earth. All they could say to each other, repeatedly, was that they had tried, but each of them felt they might have tried harder. But the Glory on the throne and the brightest star in heaven knew this was not so. That this was to come to pass although everyone wished it were not so.

As he walked about, all eyes followed him. It was a scene that would bring a tear to one’s eye with no words spoken, for every eye was misty and tears flowed freely. The eyes that followed this prince were eyes that said they would gladly change places with him had there been a way to do so. They could not think of tomorrow when he would no longer be there with them; or of the years when he would live like every other mortal soul on earth. And everyone knew there would be pain, suffering and rejection where he was going and they knew he would not deserve any of that.
Yet the glorious man walked, his face showing none of what was seen all about him. The chill had given way to a sad warmth, lighting a fire that would soon go out, the last embers fighting to live for fear of not doing enough for those who needed it so. And when he had passed, he went and wept alone. No man, however glorious, would choose to do what he was about to, even with the knowledge that he needed to. Yet it was love that gave him strength, it was love that could not see a world dying without knowing there was a way.

It was love that brought tears in heaven that first Christmas Eve.

Many Moons

2010-12-22T16:14:00.001+05:30

The digital clock on the display screen of my rather boring mobile phone showed 4:22 am when I sat up in bed unable to sleep for reasons I have never learned- the third time this week, less frequent than what they used to be. There was a beautiful light in the room and I saw it was the moon, bright and round showing through a slice of my window the curtains did not cover. It reminded me of the two other moon-shines that have so touched me and thought it fit subject for a Christmas blog, this being my third best moon-shine-

First Moon: In a time that seems so long ago it almost feels like a dream. At Shimla through the window of my prefect cubicle, on a cold October night with soft Hindi film music playing through my earphones. There was this beautiful orb of the brightest white light over the Medical College right across the hill from ours and I could see it clearly with my head comfortably on the pillow. To the young teenager with the most romantic dreams and hopes of the brightest future, there could not have been a more beautiful expression of everything the heart feels that the human tongue has not learnt to express. That was the age when one stands at the fork of a road that only showed a better thing after a good one. Unreal were many of the dreams one chose to have and the knowledge of their illusory nature never made one strive too hard to realize them. If someone had then told me I was good at something I did and if I so choose, I could have had some of these dreams come to life in the lifetime to come, I might have believed them. But believing does not necessarily translate into motivation and the hard work it takes for every hope to become substance. But dream we did and the freedom to do that has remained captive to the First Moon phase.

Second Moon: Many Christmases after the first, when life had taught you lessons, some of which you wish you had not learnt came the second moon. It is no wonder I take pains to make my bed comfortable because my ‘moons’ have always been best viewed with my head on the pillow and this one was no different. In a small town a few hours out of Delhi, with the sound of passing trucks and the slow rhythm of the fan keeping me up, the white beauty looking in on my window seemed to want me for company- and she looked so happy that I was awake. It’s clear now that I had only been projecting what I felt to this star that has spoken to generations of lovers, for that night I was truly happy! There had been friends for company, one closer than the others, who was able to make me feel we could rule the world had we chosen to do so. The teenager of the first moon had given way to a woman who liked to think so hard for herself that admitting she was wrong had become the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Education in institutions had taught her what the world thought was right and life seemed to have said she walked the line rather well; mistakes were allowed and had definitely been made. The best thing though was that the head had learnt to point the all-important finger, never realizing three others usually pointed back. By then, one knew what ABBA meant when they sang “slipping through my fingers” and was grounded enough in reality to know she will always be one among a million, never shining bright enough to fill the moon’s shoes any day soon. But still, the heart was content to shine for one.

Third Moon: was last night of course. With many Christmases having been celebrated, there just aren’t many new ways to welcome the season. Every breath a blessing, every mistake my own, every undeserved praise a warm spot in the heart and all the love received, a gesture one never learns to reciprocate quite adequately. One has now learnt it’s not the novel that makes Christmas special. Like the moon that has never tired of making a tired soul happy, that has been the face of a happy heart and the companion for every lonely heart, it’s the miracle of Christmas that makes it special- old but not aged, beautiful because it shines with the hopes, dreams and the actuality of every life it has ever spoken to.

“You travel alone? Do you know Martial Arts?”

2010-11-08T21:40:00.000+05:30

A very valid question, now that I think about it. It was Sam, a guy from Bangladesh whom I met at Howrah railway station who asked me this. I laughed out loud and the laughter was spontaneous, genuine. And now I think- “Gosh! Sam was right! There’s so much that could have happened. I should actually learn some form of Martial Arts!”

It’s almost always been a solo show- my many trips. As a student in Shimla and Delhi, there were times when I had moved with girlfriends and the occasional male companion other than my brother. Most of those trips, however, were born of necessity-the long trip to and from home, the budgeting that had to go into every student’s calculations year- round. My ‘grown-up’ (Ahem!) trips have been on my own and there hasn’t been a time when I have missed the company of a travelling companion except the times when a luggage-watcher would have been welcome. I love friends and company but I recharge on my own, with my thoughts, and these trips have proved to be times when I do that. Of late, I have felt the numbers in my age (I keep saying that, much to the chagrin of my ‘older’ friends-) and the thoughts that are my company on trips have been getting more intense and louder.

Why Travel?

Getting to see new places and experiencing something different is the very obvious answer. But these travels are not just to places new and experiences novel. People, friends and places grow into you over time. They become special and you look forward to seeing them and doing stuff with them. Some things work just right only with certain people. But yes, meeting new people is a big high too. There are people I’ve shared living space with, even shared beds with, whom I’ll never ever see again in this life. Some people whose Facebook profiles are the only things that remind me they were real. Others who don’t even have virtual existences on the Net but whose hearts have reached out to me and proved that we are indeed of a single human race.

People

An old Sardarji in Delhi comes to mind. He drove an auto-rickshaw, the number of which I don’t remember, and whose name I can’t recall. His face is a blur but he was wearing a grey shirt and an orange turban the night God sent him to help us. My brother and I, crazy, naïve teenagers lost in the streets of Delhi with no idea how to get back to where we were supposed to be. As it turned out, we were way across the city; a distance he felt was too far for him to cover that late. He took us as far and as convenient as he felt he could, found us an auto, gave the driver very specific instructions on how to get us home and refused to take a penny from our thinly-lined wallets. We had nothing to offer, there must have been a lot he needed and such disparity in demand and supply just don’t work in our commercial world. But he gave; all I can do is remember him with a fond heart. God Bless!
Then there are those whose resilience humbles me. It was in 2004 when farmers in Tamil Nadu were committing suicide and scouring for rats in the face of the famine that struck them unawares that I was taken to one of the most remote and poorest of villages. It was a chance meeting on the bus with a girl studying in Trichy that took me there. I was actually on my way to Rameswaram, doing my tourist bit when we started talking and she told me of how she was going home for a puja. With all the warmth of a giving heart, she invited me along and I was adventurous enough to follow. I’d taken some snacks with me, not knowing how inadequate this would seem once we got there. But the handful of rice that was my portion at lunch that day with a family of 7, and the potato chips (broken into smaller pieces so there would be enough) I shared with them remains one of the best meals I’ve ever had – I cried that day! And I almost did again when a group of migrant workers shared a piece of their home-cooked dinner with me at the railway station in Howrah.

Every day my students come to class, most of them having been fed and clothed and even given ‘pocket money’ for the heart’s desire for the day. In my mind, I see them growing up and learning to feed and clothe themselves and I know it won’t always be pretty. Some will survive, some may not, others might never even know that his parents have aged and that its payback time. It’s when I see old and obviously care-worn people still struggling to pay for their daily bread that frustration and anger play in my head. A man with no legs carves wooden images and sells them, a man wears a coffee machine and serves people at a railway station, a young boy fetches restaurant waste to feed his pigs, another picks old signboards and rags to build his family a shelter. If we all could see, we might be different. For this, one needs no great physical travel, it’s the mind that does the journey.

And its inspiring to see how an entire people can attune themselves to the ‘spirit’ of a place- the people maketh the place, surely! In Rangoon after Nargis, business went on as usual for the star-rated hotels and night life as it existed was still strong. Opulence was clearly there for all to see, if you looked at the right places, that is. Well-dressed waiters served you, even better-dressed hotel staff welcomed you and the glamorously-dressed performers made sure you had a good time. But the ‘spirit’ was that of oppression. When one cared to look closer, there was the unmistakable run in the stockings, the frayed edges of the collar and the almost invisible hole in the sole of well-polished heels. The United States post-recession still appeared laid-back and carefree despite the well-behaved beggar who didn’t push you for money. The streets of New York had beggars sitting down with hats and carton boxes, waiting for your charity, unlike the organized and highly trained ones in India. They did not seem bothered by the obvious affluence of the crowd that shops in Soho because the ‘spirit’ was that of freedom. Those who live under the same sky find their own spaces below. It’s still hard to believe how a man in Washington DC whose phone I’d used came running after me when the number called back, or how a big black woman carried the larger of my bags from the metro station all the way to the hostel because she said I looked so ‘helpless’. Their own worlds are theirs to give, and give is what they did. Not so in Colombo, where I was with great friends and met some really nice people. There it was really all about knowing what you have and selling it. Not oppression, not so much freedom, rather a new peace and the spoils that come with it. “How much can I get off this gullible tourist?” is what I got. But even then, there is the driver who’ll pay for your red banana and the local who’ll take you to a temple opened only two days a year and pay for your entry.

A girl traveling alone survives, because God wills that she be protected and come across people who make a place good, even if she doesn’t know Martial Arts.

October 2009- Vizag 4

2009-11-20T22:33:00.001+05:30

To Aizawl- The boating trip had been made under the warmth of the midday sun after which I barely had time to bathe and ride to the airport for my return flight. The 90-minute plane ride was spent in sweet slumber, taking care of the slight nauseating sensation of the boat ride. It was after 8pm when i reached Mizoram House, taking off again immediately for dinner at ‘Dash’, at the City Centre Mall, in a floor I didn’t even know existed. I was assured that my flight the following day was to be at 11am even though the ticket said 8:15 am. So imagine my shock to be told that I had missed my flight- were it not for my connections with men in uniform, I might have been stranded mercilessly. But like an incognito VIP, there were Sky Marshalls who made sure I boarded, was comfortable and arrived safely at Lengpui. Another man in uniform ushered me into the VIP lounge and dealt with my luggage- gave me one intereseting story to tell my folks!!! But another thought- I don’t think I can stand being a VIP, on protection 24/7- the knowledge that you’re being watched all the time kills the joy of just being

October 2009 Vizag 3

2009-11-20T22:29:00.004+05:30

The YMCA Orientation- The purpose of my Vizag trip was the Orientation Programme for Chairpersons and Conveners of the YMCA Women’s For a with the theme ‘Visionary Leadership with a Mission’. Unlike the previous meetings I had attended, there was no chance whatsoever, to absent myself from the meetings, either to sleep or catch the sights. Right from the Inaugural function where we heard women of substance deliver the keynote address and the Devotional message, right down to the Planning and Brainstorming sessions, every meeting was worth the while. It was an inspiration to hear women from different parts of India tell of what they were doing in their own spheres to spread Christ’s message of love and brotherhood. Some were running projects for Street children, others were working in the field of health- all social actions highlighted were deeply rooted at the very base of the social strata, addressing basic needs to those who are so often denied access.

Thoughts of social activism in Mizoram made me realise how fortunate my society is in having a strong Christian base that has been addressing such issues for as long as it has existed. It also made me think of the very culture of the Mizo people that does not permit anyone to lock themselves up in their iron castles, isolated from society. True, our curiosity can get annoying at times but I would not trade this for the indifference of other societies.

The YMCA, as also other Christian NGO’s and the Church, is striving to adopt and tackle the very things that come so naturally to a Mizo. The question now, though, is are these still natural tendencies? Or have we become so civilised that we are going to need NGO’s to tell us that you and I are to look out for our neighbours? Out of all that was said and heard, the one thing I have brought home with me is the need to participate – to hold as my own the things that affect me and my fellow human folk. To be a part of the change that I desire, to see the marginalised make way into the mainstream, to have the burden of translating Vision into reality and making it my life’s mission. The morning Devotions were a time to reflect on that very matter- on the Purpose driven life of a Christian, one whose Faith will not allow the sight of a fellow man denied his right to a global citizenship.

Our hosts, the Vishakapatnam YMCA excelled themselves- their hospitality, their extra efforts to make sure we were all comfortable, the care they put into the smallest details- their love turned Vizag into the loveliest of places.

October 2009- Vizag 2

2009-11-04T16:10:00.006+05:30

Vishakhapatnam: the place

It was a quiet, clean airport we landed in at Vizag- the charm was all there, just like it had been in Cochin and at Trichy- blame it on small town Southern India magic! And while I hesitated at the exit door, I saw YMCA in capitals being carried by two men near the gate and we smilingly left together. It was hot, but the man with me insisted winter had started and that this was one of the best times there, weather wise- at least, there’s money saved on winter wear. Vizag isn’t a big place, not big enough for rough traffic or the so often annoying beggars that swarm you at traffic lights in bigger cities. I did see the odd silver-paint coated Gandhis though - the first, a boy of about 7 at the beach; and the other, a young man on my way to the airport.

The people looked busy and despite the long stretch of beaches, the air wasn’t that of a lazy or lethargic town. The YMCA, where we stayed and had our meetings, was right next to the long stretch of what is popularly called RK Beach. And I have to say the Government has definitely done its part in making the most of what Nature has given. A beautifully maintained road runs along on an elevation to the beach and the powerful waters- tempting enough for every room in the YMCA to carry a warning against swimming in the sea. And the beach wasn’t the only beautiful thing. Kailashgiri Hills was a pleasure and it was one of my greatest regrets not to have spent more time there. Going up on the ropeway, we could see the entire city-with its hills and the sea, and at the distance was the sight of boats with their white sails up, straight out of a postcard! On the hill is a small train track where a toy train with glass windows makes its way round the picturesque sight.

Then there was the Bay of Bengal where we went boating. The clear waters appeared black and full of mystery as we cruised around trying to find our bearings in the midst of God’s beautiful handiwork. A curious thing of interest was the sight of fish drying on the very roads we were travelling in- so naturally, with such familiarity. No one thought otherwise and I guess no one but the owners ever ventured to pick them once they had dried to satisfaction. It was in the intriguing mixture of sun, sand, hills, the green trees and the dark blue sea that Vizag fixed itself upon my heart.

A privilege accorded only by Vizag was the journey inside INS KURSURA, the submarine that served her country well in the 1971 War with Pakistan and decommissioned after 31 glorious years of service to her country. I have always saluted naval forces, but going inside the 91.3m long submarine made me realise just how special these men really are. Forget the movies, this is real life, and if you can survive that, life would surely offer a lot less challenges. The torpedoes and missiles, the bunkers and kitchen, the cabins and washrooms, the engines- if only I were I better writer!!

October 2009 Vizag 1

2009-11-04T16:03:00.003+05:30

To Vizag:
The trip got off to a rather shaky start as I had to be practically pulled into Security to make it on the 3pm Kingfisher flight to Kolkatta on October 29.It wasn’t that we had made it late to the airport- it was because Enga and I had decided we should eat before I checked it. We talked over our plates of Chow and did not realise there was barely 15 minutes before departure!! But it wasn’t too bad either because it saved me from the long wait at the rather uninteresting Security Hall at the airport. What the flight did, though, was kill my plans of shopping in Kolkatta that evening because it was close to 6 when I finally made it to Mizoram House. Unwilling to resign myself to a night without an outing, I decided to take off the moment I got to my room. My roommate, a Lecturer at RIPANS was only too willing to go along, so we rode over to Mani Square and ended up with quite a haul anyway- but missed the initial aim of great bargains at New Market. Got burgers for dinner though they ended up as my breakfast after all.

Made my way then to the nearby Stadium to meet a friend. A good reunion it was tho’ it gave me a slight headache the following morning. The flight to Vizag on October 30 was at 6:30 am, and I was left with no choice but to get up and leave a little after 4am- so much for going on a holiday!! (and there was no choice in the flight timings, cos that’s the only direct flight between Vizag and Kol).

2009-10-28T23:11:00.001+05:30

leaving for Vizag 2moro!!

Vantawng-Hmuifang

2009-10-03T12:57:00.002+05:30

The Beihrual service seemed to drag on and on. It wasn’t so much the fact that everyone had a thing to say about our topic but that none of them seemed to be able to get on without several repetitions, uncaring of how much time they were stealing from me. I say stealing because on the night of September 24, I had things to do. It was the last night of the ‘Beihrual at homes’ phase and we finally called it a night around 9:15, had tea, got home close to 10pm. The reason I was in such a hurry was because there was a trip that was supposed to leave by around 6 the following morning, destination Vantawng Khawhthla and Hmuifang Tlang.

Still drowsy after about 3 hours of sleep, made my way to college after 6am on the morning of September 25. My haste must have been obvious by the steps I was taking- for the very first time in my six years of walking to college, I was offered a lift!!!! A welcome move such as this is extremely rare and accepted eagerly. Bless the kind man who was on his way back from dropping his daughter off for her tuition.

Signed myself in and met some students before leaving in an hour. It was already after 7 when the gypsy finally picked me up at ‘Pi Pangi Kawn’ and we still had to do a detour through Khatla to get some stuff for our excursion. It was getting difficult to sit still by then because the kids going with us were already waiting for me at home, getting restless. Got dropped at home where I changed very quickly and was ready to leave in ten minutes. But things rarely ever go according to plan- it was good half hour before everyone was ready- there were exactly 29 of us.

This was a trip planned and sponsored by 3Dimension, a company that was getting ready to launch Package Tours in Adventure Tourism. The plan was to head out to Thenzawl and make our way to Vantawng Khawhthla- the tallest waterfall in Mizoram, and move on up to the Hmuifang Tourist resort for the night. There were two main players from 3 Dimension and their driver; two singer-guests, the cameraman, 9 guys from two adventure clubs and 11 of my young friends and the drivers of the two pick-up trucks. By the time we stopped to get fuel at Kulikawn, it was already 8 and I knew we were running late, so much so that we had to make an unplanned stop to have tea on the way cos we, mostly I, got so hungry it was getting close to a heartburn.

Brunch was done at Chamring where a man I used to know had built a nice restaurant, pretty impressive for the very basic, clean amenities. Everyone was hungry by then- it was close to 11 and it’s amazing to see how much some of us can eat at times!!!:))

From there, Thenzawl was a short drive and then on to the waterfalls. The small road leading to the viewing gallery was about 2.5 kms from the main road and rather tough. The gypsy made it fine with no major hick—ups but it was a little tougher for the trucks, and one of the guys made sure he was safe by jumping off at least thrice on the way in. A viewing gallery had been built at a strategic hillside by the Tourism department from where the falls could be seen in all its majesty. The building itself had seen better days though, the white walls both inside and out were lined with graffiti- not the arty kind, just names scrawled with charcoal obviously left by visitors over the years.
Inside we geared up to take the trek down to the falls- odomos and salt were liberally applied to ward off insects that do not care if they suck your blood and leave nasty scars on their wake. Some of the guys from the Adventure club went down as an advance party to make sure there was a road leading down to the crevice in the falls and the rest of us followed. The terrain downhill was steep, small, slippery and overgrown with wild bushes- not something any of us had experienced very often. And as we continued to move, sometimes slipping and screaming with surprise and anguish, we couldn’t help but feel at times that we were not exactly on the right route because we seemed to walk away from the falls, not going to it. And we were right- although we didn’t know it at the time. It seems the route normally taken by trekkers leading to the crevice that could be seen from the gallery was dangerous at the time because the monsoon had been a little heavy. And the advance party had taken the trouble to make way down a lesser travelled route going down to a lower end of the falls. It took us about an hour’s walk through a steep hillside of heavy vegetation but it was worth it

The Vantawng falls is best seen in the monsoon because the water cascading down was heavy, forceful and dangerously powerful. At the crevice where we landed up, the water flowed fast and furious and those of us who couldn’t swim made a beeline for the small inflatable boat two guys had managed to bring down. The water wasn’t particularly deep at the ends and there were rocks that we could step on to make our way around the sides of the water. The only problem was that they were mighty slippery- I was advised to wear socks for a better grip. Some of the guys began angling and fishing, but there wasn’t too much live taking bait- the only fish caught were those that were grabbed by hand!! A small tent was put up and a fire started- we warmed ourselves up but couldn’t really do too much as time was running with us behind.

The thought of making it up back to the gallery was scary. Going downhill was one thing- one could even slip down some stretches, but going back up was going to take every ounce of strength, and with slippery shoes like mine, just the thought itself was scary enough. I didn’t think I could do it- but there were absolutely no options- walk up or be stranded.

The trek itself turned out to be easier and shorter than I had anticipated but far more tiring. I was in a party of five, the guy in front had a stick I pulled myself up with many times, and the one behind had the unenviable task of pushing me forward at some points. We had to stop some six time because I was quickly running out of breath. One time, I thought I’d died, falling flat on my bosom at an uphill stretch of a very small clearing. If it wasn’t for the two guys who pulled me back to my feet, I might have slept there for some traveller to find my bones many years later)

Hmuifang Tourist resort and a good night’s sleep was definitely more appealing than any of the more expensive energy-requiring acts I could think of then. Dinner happened at the same place and it was dark by the time we left for Hmuifang. That was definitely not the way I had planned. We wanted to be at the resort by sundown, set up tents and a campfire with music and some entertainment. Sadly, that was not to be. The electricity was at minimum power and the lawns were pitch dark, no campfire because no wood was available (how could they not have thought of this before??) and no tents, therefore no sleeping under the stars because it was just too dark outside to see anything!!! What a major disappointment.

But the VIP room, which I was sharing with three of my young girlfrens was abuzz with activity. The boys had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do- we were drawing them like bees were drawn to nectar…hahahaha!!! Our bed was turned into a massage parlour of sorts, the sofas were full, some decided sitting on the floor was fun too Light down was after midnight. Not to miss- 3 of us girls bathed together in the huge bathtub in our room!!

The morning of September 26 turned out to be beautiful and sunny, and not a cloud covered the horizon. The tents came up at campsite, umbrellas and chairs set up atop a small mount making a picturesque sight. The gypsy then made it up to Hmuifang tlang, one of the most beautiful hill sites in Mizoram.

The hilltop was worth the tricky but beautiful approach route that scared me at times. On the way up, there were spots that would have inspired beautiful lines from people more creative than the seven who made it up. Hmuifang tlang is special for the sight it offers- you can see the hills of Bangladesh and Burma and it is located right about the middle of Mizoram making it possible to sight Aizawl on the north and Lunglei on the south as well. The hill looks as though it has been covered with a stretch of artificial grass- beautiful beyond my vocabulary. The surprise for me was the growth of pine trees- something I haven’t seen anywhere else in the state, though I certainly am no authority on the matter. I wanted to sit there forever…

The trip back home is another story all by itself again. We were going to take the rough track over what is called ‘Midum Kham’, a very steep terrain, tall, rocky and entirely risky. The road was rough and the rains had made it more uneven and dangerously slippery. And I had decided to travel on the back of the pick-up truck- call me crazy! There were at least a dozen times when I thought our truck was gonna slip, slide and fall on its sides- I so wanted to jump down. But the guys around me made sure I sat still though they had to bear my ear-piercing screams. Through that rough path we made our way through the villages of Sumsuih, Thiak and Lungsai finally reaching the highway at Aibawk where we stopped to eat.

Adventure trips like this are an eye-opener. Mizoram has so much to offer that I am yet to explore. To be born here, to live most of my life here and to die never having seen at least some of these sights, to never have experienced fear from the hills I love, to never have seen the other lives I share this space with- that would have been a tragedy!

10 Brilliant Writers Robbed of a Nobel

2009-10-02T23:46:00.001+05:30

10 Brilliant Writers Robbed of a Nobel Prize

Posted using ShareThis

2009-07-28T07:30:00.004+05:30

The Magic Tap:
Magic tap, which appears to float in the sky with an endless supply of water. In actuality, there is a pipe hidden in the stream of water.
Location: Aqualand, Cadiz .

Santa Fe
Location: Santa Fe , New Mexico

corrigendum?....naaahhh!!!

2009-06-10T21:58:00.002+05:30

yup i was right!!!! I knew i was definitely going to squirm at what i'd blogged from a cafe... the spellings, space bar timings- my thoughts in general...Whew!!! but no corrigendums, i dont do that

out of boredom

2009-05-29T14:42:00.002+05:30

At Kolkatta airport, i find i have too much time and absolutely nothing to do so iwalk to the cyber cafe to sit and find ways to while away my time. I reason its a good thing anyway because it gives me a chance toupdate my blog- its been so long since i last did. But what does one write about when the mind is filled with thoughts of the two flights one still has to take, of the long hours of transit one still has to sit through; when the three a-little-ahead-in-years men next to you on the small round table are eating samosas with sauce dripping over and slurping like they never had anything better in their life???

Really, this is only an exercise to make time go faster!!!

I might cringe when i look at this post when i've had time to reflect. When the mind is willing to yhink thoughts worth sharing, these linesmay only make me wanna shout at the girl typing them. But then, technology comes to her aid. the great thing about this blog is that it allows me, the creator, to delete so many lines, written at the cost of my time, money, finger muscles and some grey matter- to wipe them off the face of whatever "world wide" space it ever inhibited.

It was a good flight. I sat beside a mantoo big to be comfortable in the small Kingfisher ATR seats on the Aizawl- Kolkatta route. Why i hate sitting beside such specimens of the population, is that i dont get enough room to rest my arms. They always, almost always, hog the arm rest we're supposed to share. Space constraints must be stopping all makers of planes from providing independent arm rests to passengers. And space constraints make the larger ones hog what they're supposed to share- maybe thats the only way they can show their frustration at being too big to fit into seats they can afford to pay for. But tahts mean, cos in this particular sector, one doesnt really have a choice.

Now if i was anywhere else, this would be the point where i break off from the nonsensical narrationa nd philosophise on the general nature of airplane passengers- the polite and the rude ones; the smelly and the cool ones. But i cant do that-like I said, the men are still smacking on their samosas and the cook here keeps producing appeasing smells behind. And justwhen im determined to stop eating between meals!!!

I have been here for half an hour now. the first few minutes after landing, i was sitting in the VIP lounge, trying to look serious and reading the newspaper. it got to be a little confining- i mean the looking serious part. So i ran out, got my bag and my faithful trrolley and decided to explore Kolkatta airport space like i always do. Im good at this, especially when im alone. Which is why i prefer travelling alone. Why i'd rather be in a cafe than in the VIP lounge trying to make sensible conversation...

ZORAM NI- Dr. J.V. Hluna

2009-03-09T12:59:00.002+05:30

Why should there be a 'ZORAM NI' at all?? Are we, the younger generation especially, aware of what we have behind us? Do we understand the history that has moulded us? Read on- extracted and abridged from the original.

March ni 5, 1966, Jet Fighter paliin Aizawl leh Zoram hmun dang a bomb ni chuan Mizo te mipui te hi hlauvin kan khur a, kan khawpui ber hi luahtu awm lovin a ram asin! Meivapah a chang a, rukru leh suamhmangte pukah zuk chang hman a! Zoram pum hi kan thla a bar a, kan tap a ni. Jet Fighter hian Mizo pumpui min bei chu kan ti theilo, mahse Mizoram pumpui min tihthaih a, kan hlau a ni. A beih laiin Civil mi leh MNF mi vansang atangin hre tawh heklo le! Mi tam tak thih phah leh hliam an awm a, ramtuileilo ni hlen an thahnem hle. Hnahlan te, Khawzawl te, Sangau te, Tlabung khua te pawh hemi tum hian an bomb a nih kha. A bomb loh khua te pawh a tihthaih a, Jet Fighter rum velin Zoram khaw tinah hniam te teah thlawkin a enthla kual a, mi tin an tlanchhe chawn chawn a, bihrukna kan zawng ruai vek a nih kha. Dik tak chuan February 28, 1966 a chet tum MNF zinga mi Rokima, anmahni bomb tihpuah palha a thih avangin Assam Rifles beih an tum chu thulh a ni a, Treasury bei tur pawl chu an che na a, an hlawhchham a. March ni 2 zanah Chanmari, tuna Veraz dawr kawtah sipai duty an ambush a, an thi nual a. A tuk ni 3 ah an thinrim chu an ralthuam nen mipui min rikrap nan an inlar ta chiam mai a. Bazar vela mipui hlau an tlanchhia a, mahni dawr leh sa zawrh lai pawh an tlansan pheng phung a ni. Assam Rifles lam an Camp ah an lut leh tawh tih an hriat hnu ah mahni dawr chingfelin an kir leh ngam chauh a. Assam Rifles lam an in ralrin vek tawh, March ni 4 zan khan sipai leh MNF te zankhuain an inkap ta a. Heng lai hian Pu Paul Zakhuma chanchinbu, “Aijal Daily News” chu nitin, ni 5 thleng khan a la chhuak a. Ni 5 chhun a thilthleng rapthlak em em atang chiah khan Aizawl chu kan rauhsan ta a ni.

A hnuah khaw dang dangte bomb lehin khaw hal leh ‘grouping’ te a thleng a, kum 20 rambuaia kan awm chhungin pawngsual leh thil rapthlak pui pui a thleng fo mai. Mahse, a rapthlak ber chu March ni 5, 1966 kha a ni. Japan, Taiwan leh USA te tuarna aiin nep mah se a tuartu Mizote tan ni rapthlak ber a ni miau si. Zoram pawn hmun tin – Shillong, Haflong, Silchar, Manipur, Burma leh East Pakistan (Bangladesh)-ah te kan teh darh ta chiam mai a nih kha.

India sawrkar hriat danin MNF Volunteers chu 2000 an ni a. East Pakistan-a training nei mi 200 an ni. March ni 1 buaia MNF ralthuam neih zat , Lunglei leh Champhaia sipai ta an mankhawmte nen vek, India sawrkarin a hriat dan chu –
1. 303 Rifle = 600
2. Light Machine Gun = 20
3. Sten Guns = 75
4. Carbines = 25
5. Revolvers/Pistols = 30 leh local arm chi hrang hrang 1500 vel a ni.
Hei hi V.F. Jafa, IAS, Aizawl Addl. DC ni thin in ‘Faulties’ Vol.3 Nov. 1999 pp.5-16-a a ziak dan a ni.

A tam ber hi Lunglei leh Champhai Sipai Camp an hneh hnua an lak a ni a, hemi hmaa an neih chu E. Pakistan (Bangladesh) atanga mi 200 training te hawn theih tawk zat a ni mai a, a tam lo. MNF 2000 zingah silai nei mi tlem te chauh an awm tihna a nih chu.

MNF zat an hria a, an ralthuam neih zat an hria. Training nei zat an hria. Sipai Camp hualtu MNF te pawh an hual ber sipai te min hrilh dan chuan, “Training nei lo, ralthuam nei lo, hlauhawm lo” an ti. An tui chawina MNF in an danchah lah chu Dacota thlawhnain an Camp chhungah tui a thlak a, chutih laiin anmahni chhan turin 61 Mountain Brigade chu Lt. Gen. Saghat Singh-a hovin thim nguk khawpa tamin Mizoram an pan a. Armour Car leh ralthuam tha ber ber nen March ni 7-ah Aizawl an lut mai dawn tih an chiang reng tawh. Chutiang a nih laiin engati nge vansang indo nana an ralthuam neih that ber Jet Fighter hmanga March ni 5 khan min rawn bomb tak ul ul mai le!! Ramchhung hmun dang khawiah mah chutiang an hmang ve si lo. Naga, rei tak lo hel tawh, ralthuam tha tak tak hmang pawh Jet Fighter kher chuan an la bei lo. Hetia Mizo te min rawn bei ta mai hi India sawrkar hian tisual a inti ang em le? Keini chuan tisual kan ti a ni. “Kan lo tisual palh a ni e,” ti ve mai se chuan kan dam tlang mai tur. Lungawi takin State kan nei a, Indian Constitution-in mi a hum a, thlamuang tak leh chhuang takin India mi kan ni tawh. Tu man hel lehna rilru kan pu lo. Khang hun laia Chinese Kuomintang sipaiten Taiwanese an awp ang maia India mi ve tho si mi an tiduhdah kha tun hnuah hian pawi ti se kan duh mai a ni.

Zawl khawpui senmei a chan ni atang chuan kan sakhaw kalphung a buai a. Zan Curfew a nih reng avangin eng kohhran mah zanah an inkhawm ngai lova. Zan chu sawi loh 1966–67 buai zual lai chuan Chawlhni pawhin a inkhawm theih meuh loh a ni. Inkhawm lai sipaiin an , tam tak kan rauhsan bawk a. Keima hmuh ve ngeiah pawh Zemabawk te, Seling leh Keifang Presbyterian Kohhran Biakin chu kang lo mah se a building ngai ngaiin Vai sipaiin an luah hlauh a, Hindu biakin atan an hmang a ni.

Mi thahnemngaite thawhrimna Pathianin mal a sawm a, Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi-a’n Punjab Governor tang lai Arjun Singh ko kirin Pu Laldenga dawr turin Congress Vice President-ah a siam a. Pu Denga’n inthlang lova lal – CM ni nghal thei a nih dawn phawt chuan underground MNF zawng zawng India Constitution pawm tura rawn luhpui a duh tih a hriat veleh kan politician ropui, Pu Lal Thanhawla’n remna thlen theihna a nih phawt chuan tiin CM lalthutthleng chu Pu Laldenga a kian a. Pu Denga pawhin India Constitution chhunga Mizo te kan himna ngei tur nia a hriat a thun bawk a. Lawm tlang takin kan inrem ta a nih kha. Pu Denga leh Pu Hawla te kha remna siamtu te an nih chu.

Kan hnam history-a ni thlengah March ni 5 aia rapthlak, Mizo hnam pumpui rumna ni leh Pathian auh nasatna ni a awm lo. Chuvangin hei aia ZORAM NI tih phu hi a awm dawn em ni? Kan hnam ni, inngaihdamna ni, tawngtaina ni, sakhaw thilah pawh Pathian hnena inhlan thar lehna nia hman ni se. Buai vanga nunna chante zah entirna ni – Martyrs Day -a hman hi a phu a ni. Inhuatna rilru chawhthawh tumna a ni lo. India mi, Mizo kan nihna ang takin India ram hmun dangte hian min en se kan duh a ni.
Lungrual tak leh puithu taka he ni hi MZP hmalakna a serh a, thi leh hliamte (Martar te) zahna entir nana kan hmang thin hi a lawmawm a. Kuminah MJA President in a ho thei leh thu ropui tak tak a sawi hi a tihlawhtlingtu pakhat a ni. YMA President thusawi pawh hnam hmangaihna nena sawi a ni bawk a, rilru a khawih hle mai. Mizo History-ah a pawimawh reng tawh dawn a ni. Kan ngaih pawimawh loh a, ho mai mai kan tih zel chuan eng ni hi nge ngaih pawimawh zawk kan neih le? Hei aia kan hnam tuarna ni, hriatreng tur kan neiin a lang lo. Chuvangin he ni hi MZP mai ni lo, sawrkar leh kohhran pawhin a pawimawhzia hi kan la lantir tial tial ngeiin a rinawm. Nakum lam atang phei chuan kan Chief Minister hovin Mizoram Sorkar leh MKHC, MPF, YMA, MHIP, MUP te tel vekin urhsun taka hnam tana inhlan thar lehna ni ah hmang ila. March ni 5 zinga tawngtai inkhawm zawng zawngin Pathian min chhanchhuah avanga lawmthu sawina hun hmangin kan tihsual ah te ngaihdam dila sual thupha chawina te nei thei ziah ila kan hnam inpumkhatna atan a tha ngei ang.

ZAWLKHAWPUI SENMEI CHAN NI KHA

2009-03-09T12:43:00.001+05:30

In commemoration of the March 5, 1966 bombing of Aizawl and other villages in Mizoram, here is a translated piece that had been on another blog a while back.

ZAWLKHAWPUIIN SENMEI A CHAN NI KHA
(The Day Aizawl City Went Up in Flames)
Dr. Laltanpuii

‘That little thing they say has bombed Aizawl, and me I’m lost and so helpless’.

The only city the Mizo people called their own, loved by every Mizo child born of Chhinlung ‘Aizawl City’ the name on every Mizo lip- the city burning on March 5, 1966 will forever be a living memory for me.

I believe it was February 26, 1966 while sitting in the Class VII room of Govt. High School when my dearest friend Kimteii said to me, “My Dear, my Dad said that the MNF Volunteers are apparently attempting to seize the Aizawl Assam Rifles and U Tlana has also gone with some others towards the Chite river” that my young heart of fourteen years was filled with joy, excitement and apprehension. All the more so because the autumn of the previous year, I had bunked my classes at Saitual ME School to help out at the feast on the setting up of an MNF Volunteer Battalion.

Then from the night of February 28, 1966, Aizawl began to be filled with the sounds of gunfire and bomb blasts. Everyone stayed put in their houses, looking for a haven of safety and the hazardous and difficult process of relocation had already begun. There was no longer any thought of School so along with my friends Kimi and Vani, we set out to help the volunteers in any way we could. We went over to our assigned task of cooking for them at Govt. Boys M.E. School and found grown men, young men and women there. While we busied ourselves with our task, there were some who were happily singing with their guitars and dancing in joy. Words cannot adequately express the emotions of joy and anxiety mixed in our hearts during those precarious times. The time had apparently come for us, like it had for others in the outside world to find and identify ourselves with a political movement.

While we young people were busy with our assigned task, there was another time evolving, a more hazardous and perilous one. A powerful Fighter (F 104 Phantom Z) had reached the Aizawl skies and was hovering above us. After a few turns above, they began pelting those places they believed housed volunteers with bombs and other ammunition, with absolutely no restraint. Everyone ran amok in fear, looking for a place where they might be safe- I also found myself in a few life-threatening situations! As they were fleeing, my uncle/grandfather called for me to follow but I said, “ You run on to safety, I will follow with my friends at the end, but do find a way of letting me know where you go.”

There were hordes of people fleeing Aizawl from then on. We somehow found ourselves going towards Dawrpui from Tuikual side to find my family had already left. They had left a letter saying, “Tante, We are going down to Chite and will go on to Saitual from Zokhawsang and Seling. Follow us as quickly as you can.” I then knew how I was to follow them. My friend Kimteii’s family had also left but they had gone down south to their families there. All this while Aizawl was already groaning in fear and trepidation, with her people abandoning her for safety. It was then that it happened, this Zawlkhawpui we loved was burning, there was nothing to see but flames all around. My only lot was to cry ‘That little thing they say has bombed Aizawl, and me I’m lost and so helpless’.

Burning Flames! Dead Bodies! Kimteii Passed Away!

With My Dear-i (Kimteii), my dearest friend in this whole world, I got ready to flee Aizawl with the rest to find us a sanctuary from this madness. On the road towards Bazar, we did see a few corpses on the way and all this time, the Fighter was hailing down fire at everyone and everything on land. At Tuithiang, we saw the dead bodies of cows and pigs and decided that we would avoid the Dawrpui road and walk on towards the west of Aizawl because the fighter frequented the eastern parts of town more than the others. When we saw the corpses of two teenaged girls lying together on the steps between two houses, we were filled with pity and touched to our cores. But knowing that this could be our fate too in another minute, I covered the bodies with one of my ‘puan’s (a type of sarong, the traditional wear of a Mizo woman) and we moved on.

As we were passing over the western road, we saw the body of a young man lying atop a small mound. Tired, we hurriedly lay down on a lowland. Then Kimteii, in an attempt to cover the body of that young man with her puan crawled towards the mound. There was a sudden machine gun fire from the A.R. compound and Kimteii cried out just as she covered the dead man’s body. When I turned at the sound of her cry, I saw the gun had caught her right below her breast, the bullet had come out through the back. Blood was coming out in splashes. She was tossing and turning on the ground. With all her strength she was shouting, “Tante, my dear, I’m going to die, I’m going to die. Run quickly, they’ll shoot you too…” I held her in my arms and cried, “O, my dear, Kimte, Kimte, how can I go on without you…? Never fear, I will die here with you…” And with her dying breath, “Tante, Tante, I’m now going to give my life for our land. Mother..Mother…Father…Father…the pain..” I prayed so that she might feel comforted, and that I might die there with her. In between her cries of agony, “Tante, take my notebook too and please continue to study…fulfill the dream we both had of becoming lady doctors” and soon after that “Mother…Mother…My King, take me into your arms… Dear God..I’m coming to you..” My Dear-i’s face began to change. She moved in fits, she stretched in pain, she groaned, and then she was no more. She was no longer there to speak to me. “My Dear, Kimte, open your eyes, speak to me” I repeated myself over and over again but she did not answer again nor did she move.

O my dear, Kimte, Kimte,
You have now given your life for our land and our people;
My friend, my friend, my love, my greatest love!
Your parting words..my misery..but Kimte,
When will my soul come to be with you..?
O Kimte, goodbye…goodbye…”

were the only words I could cry out. But even then, I was strangely comforted. In the autumn of 1965, Pu Lalchungnunga had held a Salvation Camping at Saitual and we both had offered ourselves up to God in prayer then. That is why Kimteii had cried out to her Saviour with her dying breath.! The God of Grace would surely have embraced her and welcomed her into his loving arms. Also, Kimteii had fought for our land and our people. A person with so much love, she had seen an unattended corpse and had gone ahead to cover it with her soft puan, knowing it was dangerous to move out. She was not afraid to die in fulfilling our traditional show of love and concern! As long as the Mizo people live, we shall remember Kimteii. Kimteii has died, but she continues to live.

Then I covered her body with my best puan, the Ngotekherh and laid her beside the body of the young man she had covered. A young man came by just then and shouted to me, “Why are you still here? Run quickly”. Then over the body of my best friend, the friend I’d been with since I was a kid, the one I always studied with and one I would never forget, over Kimteii’s body I prayed. Having ruled by the Creator of heaven and earth that we must part, I had to bid her farewell even against my will.
O my dearKimte, from whom I never wished to part,
But fate has ruled that I live, aimless in my loss!
I cannot accept, I do not know how to
Till when we find complete and everlasting rest
Goodbye…goodbye

…so crying I picked up her notebook and all her clothes in a bundle and ran off in a hurry with the young man towards the west.

After a while we teamed up with a family that was fleeing and somehow managed to cross Aizawl from the south. I had become so tired and hungry that I often stumbled and fell on the way. The young man would pick me up and hold my hand and he gave me all the remains of his bread. He then went on to Muallungthu while I stayed the night at Zokhawsang where my family had been. Then with some others, I moved up to join them at Saitual. At that time, Aizawl was no longer a city- it was just a big fire. With flames and smoke, with corpses on the streets, it had become a battleground like other places in the world.

From my trials to victory
My father (Thangvula, Arunachal Sub-Inspector for Education) came over from Manipur to Saitual to take me and we left for Manipur after two weeks at Saitual. My trials may have been a pittance compared to what others went through, but for me, it created a sense of victory in my heart. That also became the core of my life’s purpose. I went through life in health by the grace of God, doing well in my studies but my beloved Kimteii was no longer with me. I felt alone and forlorn many times. But she had gone on to the Saviour she had accepted, to a place where she did not have to study nor toil in hard work. I shall also join her and rest with her some day soon. The dream I had shared with Kimteii since we started High School, the dream she left me with in her dying moments became ever more precious! My father’s parting words as I was to leave for Bombay Medical College were so beautiful to me- “Tante, go in good health. You are to study to become a Doctor just as your friend Kimteii wanted you so remember that you are a Mizo wherever you go and remember to trust yourself in the Lord always.”

Looking back on the times that have gone by
How nostalgic I feel as I look back on my life! Where are the friends with whom I had shared such a happy month (February 1966) in the Class VII room at Government High School, without any fear that they would end so soon? O how I wish I could have just one day of the happy times I spent with my Kimteii at Aizawl! I can never forget Kimteii-her body given in sacrifice, the blood she shed, her last words spoken. How my tears fell the day I heard that I had passed my M.B.B.S. from Bombay Medical College, remembering the dream I had shared with Kimteii! I felt she came to me in spirit repeatedly saying, “Tante, how happy I am for you! I have now rested, Tante, it is up to you to use your skills for our land, for our people.”

After covering her body with my Ngotekherh and kissing her cheeks as I left her, Kimteii’s physical body has forever been lost to me! And how can I forget the young man who held me as I stumbled tired and hungry, the one who gave me his bread to eat, what is his name? Where might he be? And what about the family I detoured Aizawl with? And how precious for me the old lady in whose house I stumbled in at Zokhawsang, the one who cleaned me up of the clothes covered in Kimteii’ blood! And I remember the kindness of those I went with till Saitual and how they cared for me. And priceless is my father who came all the way from Manipur to take me to safety. Had he not come, I would have been caught in the terrible madness at Aizawl and where then would I have been? On the day I was filled with such memories

“ When I look back on the times gone by
how I miss the friends who’ve gone
comfort me now
o land where there are no goodbyes”
and
“The years of our youth, the good times all gone
Are you only to be the past?
As I collect the memories of those times
How melancholic and wistful you make me feel.”

(This is a Mizo article published in 1980 in the ‘MZP Chanchinbu’. The then Editor of the magazine, Dr. J.V.Hluna has included the piece in his book which is named after the title of this article. No further information is known of the writer and the author of the book expresses his deep desire to know who the writer, and who her ‘My Dear Kimteii’ are. This is an almost literal translation of a piece that brought tears to my eyes the first time I read it-tochh_shrugged)

HOW BIZARRE!!!

2008-12-16T14:11:00.001+05:30

and yet...

2008-12-05T21:29:00.003+05:30

...today we still seem to miss the point of it all. Maharashtra finally has a new CM, over a week after the Mumbai terror attacks. Why? Because the parties in power could not decide upon a replacement. Is that a united front we're showing the world? And then we have our ever-active news channels telling us that the Pakistan Foreign Minister had spoken what could only be understood as a warning to India- that our External Affairs Minister's "aggressive" statements could only aggravate the situation between the two countries. Now is that respect? Will India continue to be a dove even after its list of 20 Most Wanted is blatantly refused by Pakistan who had spoken of "co-operation" in the wake of the terror attacks? And then we had the Kerela CM apologising to Major Unnikrishnan's father..thats better, you say, but did our esteemed leader ever spend a thought on the matter, before he acted? If he had, would there have been the need to so publicly apologise?? And here we have corruption so extreme our forces could not even get the bullet proof jackets they deserved!! And yet...India Shining, we want to say.

and soon hereafter we will have men in uniform celebrated for their bravery, decorated for their role in neutralising the attack. will we then see unbiased recognition? Will that be proof that there is hope after all, that the Armed Forces, at least, can guarantee us a justice that is truly blind? Or will it be yet another case of politics even among men in whose hands our security has fallen??

And here we are, Christmas round the corner. As i brought out the hard-pressed, pushed-in-its-paper-carton Christmas tree and pluck its branches to showcase its glory, the exercise takes on something more than the usual mindless, carefree act of Christmas decoration round every year. This time, i think, even this lifeless tree responds so well to the touch of my fingers...then why does my country and those i've put in place to lead it, not feel my pulse??? I put up the candy sticks, the stars, balls, little drums, bells and angels and then gloat in the satisfaction of a pot-pourri of a beautiful whole from out of the pieces that were shelved in a plastic bag the year before.

and yet the size of my eyes, the language of my forefathers, the faith i cling to and the politics i support continue to alienate me from the whole which could have been so beautiful...

still musing

2008-12-02T22:27:00.000+05:30

Election Day in Mizoram and I get out of the house after staying in for around 40 hours (which I don’t do unless im sick)- and this too, at the insistence of a friend who woke me up around 11 to go cast our votes. I was determined to cast my vote, but hadn’t determined the time, well, that was fixed. Still feeling weak from dehydration after two days of not being able to contain my food, we walked slowly up to Sikulpui, and on to Sikulsen where we pressed the Electronic Voting Machine to sing to our favourite candidate’s tune! Amazing to see how much MPF has succeeded in bringing calm to an atmosphere usually charged with political tension. On previous election days (I’ve only voted twice but I do live right at the foot of the voting venue used every election-:D) there would be rows of party workers sitting on benches facing each other, loud music blaring from each counter. Party flags and posters would line these counters where workers busily called voters to help them look up their serial number in the Electoral Roll and it was a carnival-like air that filled my neighbourhood. The number of people making way to a particular counter was the criteria upon which that party candidate’s vote polled at that polling station would be judged , and statistics usually confirmed that. And by evening, many a time, we had an unscrupulous section of the voting public and an equally dodgy section of party workers working out what can only be considered shady deals that stood against the true spirit of democracy.

This year has been beautiful- no loud music, no party flags except for the banners of the three most prominent candidates visibly put up near the entrance to Sikulpui. And in the long counters were young people from within our community- YMA volunteers doing what biased party workers did in other years. The moment I walked out to Sikulpuikawn, I just knew this year was different and it brought real warmth to my heart cos this was a scene that said, “There’s hope yet” and im sure it was the same at all other poling stations as well- lets see what kind of reports come in to us in the following days.

And I wasn’t particularly inclined to feel happy either- 3 days of Mumbai on TV, all the while gritting my teeth in anger and taking inadequate breaths in fear; and falling sick right after learning Operation Cyclone was successful and talking to the one for whom I had feared the most. No, I wasn’t particularly inclined to feel happy. But it was a good feeling to be saddled with, notwithstanding the fact that it did not blow away my anger over the terror attack or the nausea that came with every smell of the rich food I usually loved.

For even after heroes were made and India still remained an un-warring nation, how can one get over the loss of Mumbai and the anger that must, needs, accompany it? The audacity of the young and capable men who made the nation cry still overwhelms, the conviction with which they carried out their dangerous mission still bewilders and the impudence with which they believed they could bring India to its knees, and almost did, still leaves a very bad taste. And in the aftermath, the first things we hear on TV is the blame-game that the powers that be have already started, of measures taken that could have meant so much had they been given attention to only a few days before and that made me think- can India ever really come together? Can we really ever get over the bureaucratic selfishness of every agency which would rather do a little in order to save their skins should anything go wrong rather than admit that some mistakes had indeed been made? Would India have mourned or been shocked as much had an attack of the same magnitude taken place at some decrepit, slummish settlement and not on the symbols of opulence and economic inequality among India’s millions?

Take, for example, the blatant manner in which Narendra Modi and L.K.Advani chose to appear at the targets right while the operation was underway to clear these sites- maximum impact approach!!! And after our 'hallowed' leaders chose such a time and place to grab media time, who can blame the ordinary citizens who were dying to appear on camera, making their way to the sites inspite of police warnings, some even getting shot by stray bullets in the process??? That was a clear case of 'Me first' attitude we have seen time and again. And as the TV guys pointed out time and again, the Prime Minister and L.K.Advani chose to travel to Mumbai seperately- need i say more???

And i cant understand how they could call the NSG the 'elite' force when they had to wait for hours at the airport for an aircraft to take them to Mumbai even as the nation waited for them to deliver?? And now three aircrafts are to be given to them!! My definition of 'elite' cannot stretch so far. And i believe in all these years of the NSG's existence, they have received training and are expected to bring results in cases of terror and hijack operations, and now we know they had been doing this all along without even an aircraft to their name?? There is a lack somewhere, its only a thought away for even the simple-minded where this lack could be.

Last night i heard a foreign tourist, one of those evacuated from the Taj who spoke of hundreds of policemen on the ground floor of the Taj, who had 'fear in their eyes'. Now what were they doing there, and hundreds?? I dont wanna end up being an eternal sceptic but left me wondering- is the police force to ill-trained for our times? Are images i have of men in khaki only to be those i've seen of them harassing auto rickshaw drivers and vulnerable looking young college students? The first thing that cam to mind when i heard that lady, though, was the story id read a few days back on the plane (i already said im lazy, i dont even read the papers regularly)where the story was about men in the police force against whom it had been proven that they'd framed 'innocents' and passed them as terrorists!! For what? Possibly monetary rewards, promotions or maybe as an answer to the immense pressure the higher-ups kept up on them to perform!!!

And what are the intelligence reports the security people and the Government is supposed to have ignored?? vague information on the possibilityof an attack by men who could be supposed as terrorists on any of the places in the huge city called Mumbai..or anything more specific which could be translated into action? Was RAW actually feeding the security forces anything substantial or a list of possibilities which, if acted upon, could have crippled the forces way out of their league? Was this information specific enough or could we just conclude that they were a bunch of 'save face' attempts should anything untoward turn up after all?? Questions and more questions are all i have right now and that, possibly is why im feeling so much anger and frustration cos this simple mind can only stretch so far!!

At the end of the day, one can only mourn for those whose lives were lost in that mindless attack, stories which would bring tears to the eyes of people who dont even cry at sad movies. One can only salute the heroes who braved the fire that the rest of their nation would be saved. And through all of that, one cant help feeling too little is being done, too many are trying to save faces and so many more are still trying to point a finger any which way they can.

When the funeral of ATS chief Karkare was being brought live on TV, Mr. Rajdeep Sardesai ( a man i love to admire!) spoke to former Mumbai Police Commissioner Julio Ribeiro just as i had opened this month's Readers Digest to his article entitled' The Testimony of a Christian'. And i thought- such a lovely coincidence it might not even be a coincidence' and realised this was true as soon as i read his lines "I am a Christian...It is quite amazing that i did not think myself as a Christian all these years! I was an Indian." And thats exactly how i feel- inspite of my small eyes, my snub nose and my faith- I am and feel an Indian! I only wish everyone else would too ( and as i sign off with these words, im specifically thinkin of the infamous comment on "women with lipsticks" by a politician)

and before i go, check this video for the captions the user who posted it on youtube has lined it with...and here we are, wanting to put up a united front!! huiham!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZzBwhmnpzIs

took 26/11 to wake me up

2008-11-29T16:10:00.000+05:30

How lazy can one get??? Im not specifically intending to find out but i believe...very very lazy!!! For proof, one only need to look at this blog, it hasnt been fed for forever!!! So many days have passed, so many things have happened yet for someone who just never had the strength to do something constructive, like filling in her blog, keeping an un-digital diary(the old handwritten ones:), life just happened and got over with it as soon as the moment passed. Its a little like the Oral Literature i've been reading up on where theorists say every rendition is a performance, there can be no repetition cos no two performances can be the same. And that single performance only lives in the moment of its performance- is that confusing?- well shouldnt be but enough of this rambling

Now why do i talk of 26/11...or as they say India's 9/11 (though why we should have a 9/11, i dont understand, when we can just have our 26/11)??? The Mumbai terror shook me up from my lethargy, thats why!!

Being such a bum, i dont even sit watching TV since finishing all episodes of 'Desperate Housewives' on DVD except for the snippets i catch on the local channel. So, shamed as i am to say it, i didnt even know anything had happened till the morning of November 27 when i got a msg from a friend telling me to check out the news- this was around 5am. I know the hour was unearthly but this friend who texted had an unearthly task- being one of the NSG officers deployed to neutralise the situation in Mumbai. From then, I've been hogging the TV as tho making up for lost time. And before going on, lemme say, the Indian news channels are great!! They absolutely made it possible for an average citizen, namely me, sitting in this small seemingly unaffected corner of the country to follow that which was rocking the nation out of its comfort zone!!!!

And what a horrific rocking the nation took!!! Every 5 to 10 minutes, i was compelled to switch between NDTV and CNN IBN to see if either channel had something the other might not have yet, to see if the end was any nearer in one than in the other- it wasnt. But pushing the buttons of a remote with one finger was an activity, at least, that offered some kind of relief from the tense monotony of the situation a TV audience found herself in when her country was being raped by a group of well-trained gangsters, when such "remorseless" (Im quoting a Mrco here) guys were waiting to kill anyone who dared to neutralise them- among whom was a loved one- thats how bad it was for me. No, thats not it, it was far worse than that but my vocabulary and creativity just dont get further than this!!!

Now im wide awake- 4 days after the initial attack, breathing again cos the only one i know in the thick of the matter is safe, cos India can say, 'We are not weak, our men ca outdo the best you've trained' and cos I believe the strong sentiments voiced throughout one of the longest hours the country has been through will be translated into some form of constructive action. It has definetely worked on me and my blog- for now!!!!

It reminded me that I am an Indian through and through. It didnt matter that i had small eyes, and the North Indians i was used to in my years of education outside irritated me with their 'Chinky' barbs!!! I was and very much an Indian. And this is the way i gotta stay- no choice ( and if i did have a choice, i genuinely dont know what that choice would be). This Mizo girl has accepted her identity. Love for myself , i think gave way to love for my country, at least for a while back in between those harrowing hours. That is why this multi-coloured nation of people who sometimes dont even care to acknowledge the sameness of its different hues, needs to start learning! Learn to understand that its differences, its colours, are its strength!!!

This was a perfect example of 'tochh rambling' and there's more to come. Im not done with my sentiments yet..but i can hear dinner call..

Dear Dini- a Personal Journey

2008-07-07T21:32:00.000+05:30

Dear Dini,
It’s the 15th of March again and my first thought was today is my baby’s birthday. Then I saw you smiling at me from the photograph we had taken together (October, ’07) and it struck me- you had left this day last year. It was tough! I haven’t gotten over it yet nor am I sure I ever will. But life lies ahead of me, full of promises, victories and inevitable defeats. Its only you who’s missing- the one I wanted to share them all with.

Four months later than me did you see the world but something made me feel much older. Maybe it was your refusal to be touched by the depressions and disappointments I felt much at this world. Like a fresh wind or a sunflower in bloom, your presence brought a warmth into my life I had never known elsewhere. The sunshine never left your eyes even when your pain was bent on destroying you. How could I ever forget my summer vacation in ’95 when your body was wrecked by the cancer eating it up. On the day we left, you were too weak to even rise from your bed or to say your goodbyes but the hope of life I saw in your eyes has never left me. I wondered then where from you got your strength but now, believe me, I know.

Never had I ever been a new kid anywhere before I came to Shimla and though I was wildly excited, I couldn’t help being terrified as well. That was when you held my hand and I saw for the first time, the leonine strength beneath the quiet unassuming personality. It never fails to amaze me when you display this strength at the most disturbing times. You were always one strong lady.

Ladies, that was what we were supposed to be in school, remember? We always had trouble ‘cause we were never just so fine. But now, I understand that being able to wear a skirt gracefully does not make one a lady. Any knight would be proud to call you his lady.

“I Mohabbat You”, you shouted in the corridor and I screamed, “I hmangaih you”. That must have been the only times we ever said these words; but we knew we felt them in our earts. Forever praying for each other was the promise we had made- and we agreed promises are not meant to be broken…

our duets at school were called, ‘MTV Unplugged’- the biggest compliment I ever got for my singing till date. It was high praise indeed for two who couldn’t carry a tune on tape. But conversations we could carry and how! Those tapes of ours are one of my favourite treasures- they seem to bring you closer. Im just so sorry I didn’t have the courage to listen to some I saw at your place last Christmas.

Those ‘way into the night’ talks are one of the many things I miss about not having you around. I still fall hopelessly in and out of love and my latest crush is the best yet. Your approval wold have made it complete, but how can I tell when you’re not around. The ‘Maheshes’ and ‘Dominics’ are still with me, that’s why sometimes I fail to understand why you’re not. ‘Maggi’ is still one of may favourite snacks but it isn’t my everyday brunch anymore. Nor do I help your Mom sort out clothes for the kids. Maybe she’s afraid I’ll have the first pick again. But that just wont be fun without you around.

Slipping into the boys’ dorm at BCS, getting caught and arriving home after midnight was one of the most scandalous things we ever did together. That was one terrifying situation but now it is a good story in my book of experiences. Many of the pages in this book are full of you- your laughter rings through the and I even see your lopsided walk every now and then. These pages are dog-eared for I have flipped through them alone or when I am generous enough to share them with others.

A lot has changed with me- physically, emotionally and most of all, spiritually. That last letter you wrote me (31st December) told what a blessed Christmas in bed you had, so in contrast to mine that year. Also your sermonizing (I know you hate the word) about how life just passes us by without our being aware of it brought home the truth about what this life really means and how precious it is. There’s just so much difference you’ve made in my life- we held each other when we were weak and rejoiced together when in strength. I miss you so much but I know you are with me in spirit. The power of believing is in me now and Job is my favourite Bible character too.

You wrote, “This will be the last letter I’ll ever write to you (for this year)’ and it was, for always. But you can see, I haven’t stopped writing so be sure you get me loud and clear. Last year, I felt the loss of my best friend, you left a void in my life. But now I know I can share in your victory too so, save a place for me and I’ll be joining you…I promise.

JOY OF MY LIFE
I often cry myself to sleep,
Tho’ I knew you were never mine to keep
You were once the joy of my life
Wish it could have been for all time.

Seperation, it wounds my heart
‘Cause you were once so much a part
of my life, the deepest core
all my thoughts, to you I could pour.

Hard as it is to understand
You are up there in eternal land.
Missing you lots and wishing you were here
Only the memories remain, which I hold dear.

When such memories were made, I cannot say
But God in my path did you He lay
To show me life the way he wanted to
Then all too soon He parted us so.

Faith and Hope, that’s all I live with
‘Time heals’- well that’s just a myth.
The wounds may not heal
But I do appeal
To the promise that ill meet you again one day.

Yangon Diary

2008-06-01T20:51:00.000+05:30

23-05-2008
Left home around 10:30 am with Sangtea who dropped me off at the airport. Our flight was surprisingly right on schedule and I was in security by 11:45 am. My friend David was also on the flight as were some others who were to go on the Deccan flight about half an hour after us. It was a pleasant surprise to meet up with two guys from HCU outside the airport- guys who’d been real nice while I was there at the Hyderabad University in January. While we were sitting in security, John Schlitt and the Stone Java band guys made their way in and I managed to steal a picture on my mobile with John just before joining the queue for the plane…never miss a chanceJ
The flight stopped for half an hour enroute to Kolkatta at Imphal- I hate these stops but there was no choice-I had a wrong day!! We took a room at the airport but only used it for a bath and to freshen up then took off to City Centre for a movie soon after we settled in the room. We saw ‘Chronicles of Narnia’, the second in the series and it was a great movie. After the show, I walked into the mall very quickly and got a pair of goggles cos I’d mistakenly picked up my old glasses instead of my gogs on the way out and had to have Sangtea take it back.
Bathed, had dinner at the airport hotel and then proceeded to the international terminal where we got through our immigration details and waited for the Thai Airways flight to Bangkok. It was 1am when we took off.

24-05-08
Bangkok airport was huge and lovely…everything was so well-maintained and technologically advanced. They had escalators that not only went up and down but straight as well. To top that, there were small open cars to take passengers from one end to the other, and one could hire them for a price if the way was too long for a walk. We didn’t have much time at transit so got through our formalities quickly and proceeded for departure. There was a young Asian male who I’d noticed at Kol airport and I was surprised to find him waiting for the Yangon flight as well. But I didn’t approach him and never did get the chance to talk to him cos after he boarded, I never saw him again. The flight to Yagon on Thai took an hour and it was a very pleasant flight. The Yangon airport was really impressive too- newly built and fine by any standards. The only thing missing was a large crowd and shops-duty free or otherwise..more of this on the return trip.

The hotel we were to stay in had sent a car for us and we were met by a very polite driver who barely spoke English. I was really impressed when I asked if he had water in the car. He didn’t, but stopped on the way to buy a bottle of mineral water for which he refused to take money. The courtesy with which he was dealing with a first time visitor has left a lasting impression on me.
Our hotel was one of the better medium-range ones in Yangon and had possibly 3-star standards though international standards are not applied here. The lobby was friendly and the room comfortable. Since our timings had been rather odd and because mine had been a long trip to take after having been ill for a bit, the rest of the day was spent lazing in the room. Managed to catch a short nap but thought the day was too precious to be wasted. So we went out in the evening after exchanging a 100 dollars for Burmese kyats. We went downtown to the Super One supermarket and I got myself a cap and a skirt. All the stuff they sold looked absolutely appealing and the prices were pretty reasonable- except for the readymade tops which I found were almost entirely imported from Thailand and cost quite a lot of Burmese kyats. The value of their currency is so low it is almost impossible to find anything below a 1000K. But with the Indian rupee worth around 25K, the exchange rate was friendly and that was a huge help.

Didn’t have that long a time at the store cos they closed rather early- it must’ve been around 6:30 when we walked out and were not allowed back in. this trend, I was told, was a recent one, a post-Nargis one, to be more specific. But the streets remained alive and there were people moving around on foot. On the sidewalks were small open shops selling Burmese food which were prepared there in the open and they put up small tables and chairs on the street. I had a chance to eat a hearty Burmese Mohenga for 2000K at one of these places and I treasure that experience more than any other meal I had at all the more exotic locations during my entire stay. Back at the hotel, I took a long and luxurious bath, relaxing in the warm tub perfumed with the beautiful scent of the hotel’s flowered soap. With the healthy appetite I had taken with me, I still showed up at the dining hall at night for a glass of wine and some light snack. The bar was alive by then and we decided to step in for the English covers by the professional band playing there- I think they were called ‘The Rainbow’. They did some very widely popular numbers and were quite good tho I suspect their lyrics were written in Burmese!! Opted for some coke as we sat at the counter making small talk with other guests and the locals. There were a few people on the dance floor and a specially adept guy who danced with different ladies to a few of the songs. I later learnt that he was the dance instructor who practiced at night with his students while lounging in the bar- he was pretty good! I stayed put on my barstool, drinking a local Cola just taking
in the people and the relaxed atmosphere- a deceptively calm and prosperous feel within the walls of luxury, three weeks after the devastating Nargis.

25-05-08
The Sunday plan was to take a trip to Irrewady delta, the worst hit area and visit some relief camps to actually assess the situation. But we learnt that the delta was a full 5-hour trip from Yangon and that entry to the relief camps were a highly restricted affair. The plan had to be shelved and we made our way to the Shwedagon Pagoda- the single most religious place in the country, just a few minutes’ walk from our hotel. Legend has it that two brothers brought eight hairs of the Buddha to be enshrined in this sacred location, inaugurating the Shwedagon Pagoda. We had to pay a 7000K ($6) entry fee while it was free for locals, at the Southern entrance from which an elevator took us up to the main platform. We got a guide to accompany us and though there were some stories I didn’t quite get because of the language barrier, it was a good thing to have him around- there were a lot of things we would not have understood had he not been there. The guide cost 5000K.
The Pagoda was busy and friendly and there were people milling all over the place. We were told there was an even larger crowd as it was a Sunday and a holiday. There were devotees praying at the foot of their favourite statue- there are reportedly more than 2000 Buddha idols. Then there were those who’d come as families or in a group with their lunches, or their small tea kettles and cups, sitting down for lazy chats. The Burmese have an 8-day week, the conventional Wednesday divided into two…and an animal for each of these days. At the Pagoda too, there were eight shrines at the foot of the stupa for each day of the week, each with its own Buddha, where people prayed at the shrine of the days of their births.
Two favorite objects of devotion were umbrellas and gold leaves. Small umbrellas were offered to the Buddha, to shade him from the harsh sun and gold leaves were rubbed on the idols. Many people also poured water on the statues in the open to cool them down and put them in a favourable mood before submitting their supplications. Major donations have been made to the Pagoda by devotees from all the world over time and many smaller Pagodas and shrines have come up within the platform, as have water containers, umbrellas and others. On the way back, we decided to walk down the stairs of the Eastern walkway with its shops selling curios and interesting souvenirs. I managed to get a few small souvenirs with a local friend bargaining for me. Although the shopkeepers are friendly and pretty honest, most cannot resist the chance of naming a slightly higher price than usual when they find out you’re a foreigner. This was specially true in my case, because most of them spoke openly in Burmese- I must look absolutely like one, judging by the number of times this happened- and on finding I cant understand them, gleefully proceed to price their ware in dollars.

After the Pagoda, I decided to make more of the day by going off to Bogyoke Aung San Market (Scott Market) downtown. The market houses small shops selling everything from gems to slippers and everything in between. The place was alive even on a Sunday and I loved going through all those precious stones on display even though I didn’t buy any, afraid I might be cheated. I mentally saved some pieces to be bought on another day out with a local but sadly, there never came another time. Bought some traditional wear and beautiful fabrics while I just stood fascinated at the display of lanes and lanes of slippers and exotic hand paintings.

After a sweaty time with the crowds at Scott, I moved back to the hotel to freshen up and make yet another trip out in the evening. This time I took the help of the friendly reception staff at the hotel and decided to go to the Karaweik Buffet Restaurant, located on Kandawgyi Lake. The actual restaurant is within a huge boat that rests on the lake and the lake compound also boasted of some traditional shops within beautiful surroundings, an open lawn with swings and park benches, with live music in the evenings. There were young Burmese couples enjoying the refreshing evening breeze and romantic local music, seemingly unconcerned with the rest of the world.

The restaurant itself was another experience altogether. At the entrance I was greeted by beautiful, traditionally attired hostesses who took me inside the boat through a long and interesting walkway. Inside was a large and beautiful dining place and the highlight of the fare here is the one hour cultural show from 7:30 to 8:30 pm where one gets a taste of Burma’s rich and varied folk culture complete with a puppet show. The food was good too, featuring a selection of Burmese and Thai cuisine.

The waiters spoke a spatter of English and since the place was rather empty that night (only three tables including mine), it was easy to have them all on attention and every wish was met with delight- says quite a lot about service and the traditional Burmese hospitality again.

It was after 9 when I finally left, one of the waiters was kind enough to see me off at the gate while someone else got me a cab from the streets. It was while I waited for the cab that I walked around the place and was delighted to find young Burmese couples and groups enjoying a quiet night outJ

26-05-08
Monday turned out to be a quiet day, since I shamefully overslept, missed breakfast and finally moved out of the hotel at lunchtime. Went downtown again and walked the streets of Bogyoke Aung San Road, taking in the shops- big and small, the hotels and the cinema halls- strangely comforting to find that two of them were showing Hindi movies, probably catering to the large Indian minority in Yangon. Ate lunch at an Indian Muslim place which wasn’t all that great or clean but had a friendly air about it. I also browsed through the many small bookshops that sold all kinds of books- many secondhand and really old English books and magazines. It was at one of these places that I found an old out-of-print book on the History of English Literature for which I paid the grand sum of 1500K (about Rs.55). There were some old foreign cars around too and on looking up one, a man immediately approached and asked if I wanted to use it- he said it was a ‘black taxi’ which I understood as a private vehicle that works as a cab without a permit. These were especially pimped to attract the attention of curious tourists.

In the afternoon, I visited a Mizo house where I was so well-received, more so because of my late aunt who had been there a long time ago and had been thick friends with them. We sat talking for ages and they were happy to help me out in whatever way they could on my interest in Buddhist folktales. We made arrangements to eat there the following morning as well. From the balcony of their apartment, we were able to see the railway station which presented a pretty sight although the immediate border on our side was the living quarters of railway employees which was in shambles, more so after the cyclone. I was also told that the streets had earlier been lined with huge trees that the cyclone had uprooted. Their car had also been crushed by a falling tree!

27-05-08
Determined not to miss another complimentary breakfast, I was up with enough time for a bath before moving down to eat. Made my way downtown after a heavy breakfast to meet with the leaders of the Yangon Zofa Society who were meeting to discuss ways of helping the Mizo population around Yangon who’d been hit by the cyclone. Their gesture of kindness and action in expressing solidarity at such a time was impressive. And so was their genuine goodwill and willingness to answer my curious and at times, difficult questions. We later watched a video of the devastation the cyclone had wrecked around the Irrawady delta. There were times when I had to close my eyes because I just couldn’t bear to watch the sorry sight of dead bodies lying around- some in the waters and others on land.
It rained heavily for much of the afternoon and we had to sit indoors even though I had wanted desperately to go on a train ride around Yangon. But fortunately, there was Lalnunsanga from T-Melody around and he was kind enough to sing a few songs for us- that made up for some light entertainment on a rainy dayJ
After the rains passed, we were off to Scott market again and spent a much longer time there than I had anticipated because there was so much to see. We actually spent ages at a small curio place where I picked and tossed necklaces and bangles finally picking a few and having matching jewellery made for them to take home with me. I also got a traditional (unstitched) Burmese wear as a gift- something I will always treasure. The evening was quietly spent at the hotel, except for an interesting conversation at the bar and the gift of a ‘Kon’, the Burmese zarda paanJ

28-05-08
The following morning, I missed breakfast again, not because I overslept but because I got up ultra-early!! I was up at 5 to get ready for my day trip before leaving Yangon in the evening. I accompanied one group to sites on the outskirts of Yangon to give some relief money to cyclone-affected families and it was here that I got a taste of how a poor Burmese family lived.
The houses I was taken to see were small thatched structures that stood on flimsy bamboo poles elevated from the ground. There were families as large as eight living in such homes that would have measured an average of five or six feet by eight feet. On my way home, I started reading ‘Daughter of the East’, the autobiography of Benazir Bhutto, and on reading how some political prisoners had been kept in four feet by five feet cells, the thought that entered my head was that the houses I saw in the outskirts of Rangoon were not much better than the worst punishments meted out to political prisoners elsewhere!

Most families had somehow re-done the worst of the damage from the cyclone of three weeks earlier. Some even had what seemed to be signboards or posters, probably blown off by the cyclone, on their walls, as a ready substitute for the thatched walls the others usually had. The surprising thing though, was that most of them seemed to be cheerful inspite of their woes- the children running around in carefree abandon while the adults (who I’m sure had a lot on their minds) only seemed concerned about going forward and getting on with what little they had without lingering too much on what they had lost. Their loss to us may have been little in material terms, but to think much of what they had accumulated through their hard earned labour was gone forever was something which occupied my thoughts for a long time after.

The army quarters we visited did not fare much better and I was shocked to find one family living with their sow right inside a very small space of living quarters allotted to them. There I was told that the little money we’d brought with us would be used to buy rice because the one they had been rationed was not edible and that they had already incurred quite a lot of debt with the shopkeepers who sold such essentials as rice. This was rather surprising because I’d seen lots of pictures in different media where the heads of the military government had visited affected families, distributing aid. One of the accounts I heard told a very different story. A man recounted how he and many others had stood in a queue for a long time because they’d been told that rice and cooking oil were to be distributed. After standing so for almost the entire morning, some high official in uniform came by and pictures were taken of him with the supplies and the long queue waiting to be given those supplies. After those pictures, the official took off and all the supplies that had been on display, purportedly for distribution were summarily stored again and there was nothing to be had for the time spent in queue. If this was an account of the norm, I just could not begin to imagine the fate of those whose very existence depended on those timely supplies!
The trip taught me a lot about humanity and universal brotherhood. The sentiments that were aroused in the heart of a stranger for these suffering people, the physical pain that came out of watching dead bodies floating on the waters- with outstretched arms as if crying for help- were things I had not imagined could be my own experience. It brought me closer to understanding the hearts of missionaries, of aid agencies who would bet their lives on bring relief to those in need.

More than anything else, I was touched by the honesty, sincerity, friendliness and hospitality of the people as a whole. Like I said, I must really look like one of them because everyone cared to speak only in Burmese with me, some pressing on even after I’d repeatedly try to communicate in English. The people I found were those who did not take what was not theirs. On the long road trip to the outskirts, I was told that I could leave my things unattended in an unlocked car and no one would touch them. I did and they didn’t! this was so refreshing after having lived all my life making sure my things were always safely locked up or attended to avoid their loss.

One rather funny incident at the airport was our attempt to carry beer cans which we learnt later were not duty free. The Yangon airport was beautiful but almost completely empty except for the bare essentials. When I saw a signboard saying ‘Shops/Café’, I was quick to ask whether there actually was a café and I was told to go straight. Once there, I realized their idea of a café was not exactly like mine. There were two young girls and a young man behind a small table with a few cigarettes, bottled water and two chicken rolls. Behind them was a small frig filled with soda and beer cans. They also had a coffee machine between the two with no place to sit- either for them or the customers. This was located a few steps from the security and departure enclosures so I assumed they would all be duty free. Just to make sure, I asked if they were but the wall of Babel came up against us once again. Confident in my assumption, I got some cigarettes and a beer can after a cup of coffee and one of their chicken rolls. Walking the seven or eight steps to the enclosure, I was promptly asked to fish out the beer and finish it off before I moved down to the departure lounge. When I pointed out that the sign they displayed outside actually allowed for liquids in a separate plastic bag, they answered ‘Yes, but you cannot’ and that was that!! Their solution- which I enjoyed so much I was smiling and laughing the whole time through, was: ‘You have one hour, finish it off” and though they were actually thinking of sending us back near the ‘café’ to finish the beer, I asked if we might sit in their enclosure to do so. Being the genuinely good-natured people they were, they allowed the request and we all shared a hearty laughJ

There are so many other small gestures and sights that would fill a lot more pages had I the power to express them in a way that would justify the way they have enriched my experience. But lest I kill the joy of the experience, let me just say my Yangon diary cannot come close to the depth of emotions the trip worked on me and I am now home with every intention of going back should there ever be an opportunity…and I regret having to refrain from mentioning all the lovely people I met, for fear that the appearance of their identities on a public forum like the Net might not be welcome…but it is because of them that the memories of the Yangon week are so special.

Beauty and the Beast???

2008-03-27T23:58:00.000+05:30

CHAWNGVUNGI AND SAWNGKHARA
(CHAWNGVUNGI LEH SAWNGKHARA- MIZO THAWNTHU {1964})
Once upon a time in a village, there was a beautiful girl by the name of Chawngvungi. She came of a good family for her father was a man of standing in their village. There was also a young man called Sawngkhara who regularly courted her. But Chawngvungi found Sawngkhara ugly and repulsive, and would give him no attention even when he called. But Sawngkhara had a magic potion called ‘Zawlaidi’ which he decided to use on Chawngvungi because he was deeply in love with her while she wouldn’t give him a second glance. He applied the potion to Chawngvungi’s waist band as she was weaving on the loom and stopped calling on her for three days. In that time, Sawngkhara’s Zawlaidi had worked and Chawngvungi began to so long for him that she could no longer get on with her work. She could only hang on to her loom without weaving, and when friends called her to gather wood, she could not bring herself to go out with them.

Chawngvungi’s mother became immensely worried and she cried,
“Chawngi, your friends go forth to gather wood,
Else sit at home and work their looms,
For whom are you pining that you sit idle?”

To this Chawngvungi would reply,
“Oh mother, my friends they go and gather wood,
Or sit at home and work their looms,
Pining for Sawnga I lie limp upon my looms.”

Then on the third night, Sawngkhara made his way to Chawngi’s house and shouted for her,
“Chawngi, open the door for me,
It is I, Chawnga, come to call on you.”
Chawngvungi’s mother was not keen to see the man and shouted back, “Let the son of a Bawmzo go sleep at the Suar.”
To this Sawngkhara replied,
“Ka pi, My mother a Bawmzo she may be,
But my father, he be the famed Hauchema.”

Chawngvungi’s mother had no reply and therefore sent her daughter to open the door. The ‘rick rack’ of the opening door could be heard as soon as the words left the mother’s mouth. Since she was so displeased to see Sawngkhara, he did not stay long that night.

The following day, Chawngvungi and her mother went to their field to farm. There Sawngkhara had turned himself into a little bird that could be heard singing “Chawngler, Chawngler” from across the valley. When she heard this Chawngvungi said,
“Hark Mother! Even the birds across the valley sing
‘Chawngler, Chawngler’
Let us be gone mother let us go home.”

Her mother quickly retorted, “They say no such thing, all I hear is ‘Di ngai, Di ngai’ and continued with her work. But since Chawngvungi could not bring herself to be of any help, they finally did go home and this went on for three days together.

In the nights when Sawngkhara would visit Chawngvungi, he would always find the door locked by her mother and he started to worry. He finally decided to use the Zawlaidi on her as well and applied some on the broom she was to use. From that time on, she too was infatuated with Sawngkhara and looked forward to his visits. As soon as the sound of his footsteps reached their sumhmun, she would quickly send Chawngvungi to open the door, which the girl did most enthusiastically.

In time, Sawngkhara’s family sent emissaries to ask for Chawngi’s hand in marriage. It could have been that her mother was jealous for she insisted on being given the family ‘Darhuai’ as bride-price for her daughter. Though Sawngkhara’s family had great misgivings about parting with their ‘Darhuai’, their pleas fell on deaf ears and they finally gave it away as a price for Chawngvungi’s hand, for her mother would accept nothing else.

As they were leaving for Sawngkhara’s village, Chawngvungi said to her mother, “Mother, if the leaves of our banyan tree droop, say to yourself, ‘My Chawngvungi is sick’; if the branches turn dry and break, know that I have died, and come running in tears.” In her turn, Chawngvungi’s mother replied, “Go mourn Sawngkhara and come back soon.” Having heard this exchange, Sawngkhara’s mother quickly retorted, “Chawngi’s mother, we’re not taking her to mourn Chawnga, we’re taking her to bear sons and daughters.”

In a little while from then, not long after Chawngi bore a son, she became greatly ill and died soon after. Her mother, observing the banyan tree, soon learnt of Chawngi’s death and came in tears, claiming her daughter’s body. She and Sawngkhara’s family began fighting for Chawngvungi’s body and cried their songs of mourning in derision. Chawngi’s mother cried,
“Chawngi, Chawngi, didn’t I tell you
‘Go mourn Sawnga and come back soon,
Chawngi, Chawngi.”

To this cry of lamentation, Sawngkhara’s mother came up with her own cry,
“Chawngi, o dear expensive Chawngvungi,
We offered brass and necklaces
But your mother, rejecting asked for the ‘Darhuai’
Chawngi, o dear expensive Chawngvungi.”
Sawngkhara’s sisters also joined the mourners crying,
“Ka pi, we never brought her home to mourn Sawnga,
We brought her home to bear him sons, we brought her home to bear him daughters
Chawngi, Dear expensive Chawngvungi.”

In the midst of all this, Sawngkhara held his infant son and cried, “Chawngi, get up, your son Liantea cries in hunger”, and he could not be consoled. When his friends saw him in such a state, they thought it best to take him out for a while for they were afraid he might die from crying so much. Decided upon such a course of action, they took him hunting to Lentlang.

Even the hunting trip could not raise Sawngkhara’s spirit, for he saw Chawngvungi’s face in the flowers there and so longed for her that he would pluck the flowers and keep them. And when they came back from their trip, he was told that Chawngi’s mother had run off with her body. Sawnga immediately set off after her with the hope of reclaiming his wife’s body. On the way, Chawngi’s mother had washed her body in a stream and there he found her nail which had been broken off. This broken nail he took with him and returned home. It is said that he performed the ‘Kuang ur’ over that broken nail for three long years.

Sichangneii- a Mizo 'Swan Lady' tale

2008-03-05T23:47:00.000+05:30

Once upon a time there was a bachelor who would get up each morning to fetch water from the village pond. But before him, someone always managed to dirty the water he was to fetch, and yet he had no clue as to who that might be. An old woman once said to him, “I know who dirties your water. Sichangneii and her sister fly down from the sky every morning thus leaving the water dirty. You should one day wait up for them and catch her to make her your bride, for they are immensely beautiful. But even if you are to catch them, do so from behind. If you approach them from the front their beauty will dazzle you and you won’t be able to catch them.” So the next morning, this man got up with the first crow of the cock and lay in wait for the sisters. Sichangneii and her sister did fly down for their bath. So great was their beauty, the pool of water positively sparkled on their approach. When he saw this, the man quickly jumped down on one, but he missed her and they flew off towards the sky again. The nest morning, he again lay in wait and this time succeeded in catching one. He caught Sichangneii, the elder of the sisters and took her home where he pulled off her wings and hid them inside a phulraw thei which he kept on the rapchungsang. Then he made Sichangneii his wife.

In course of time, the couple were blessed with seven beautiful sons whom they named Kaptheia, Dotheia, Haitheia, Chhintheia, Mantheia, and the youngest was called Tlumtea. The couple had a field but since they had seven healthy sons who needed care, they had to take turns- while one went to the field, the other would stay home and look after the children. When it was the father’s turn to stay home, he would bring their mother’s wings out and put one on each of them and they would dance with glee. On their mother’s turns, they would just sit at home and be bored with nothing to do. One day when they were with their mother, Tlumtea blurted out, “Mother, when Father is at home, he puts on us wings of some sort and we would always dance with glee.”

Now the father had warned his children against saying anything to their father so the elder sons tried to cover up by saying, “Hah!! He is lying through his teeth!” But their mother pursued and asked Tlumtea, “Tell me where your father keeps those wings” and Tlumtea was quick to reply, “There in that box on the rapchungsang.” Then she sent Tlumtea to get the box for her and she put on her wings again and stood at the door asking her sons, “Children do I look nice?” the elder sons quickly said, “Not at all, you look shameless, come inside quickly before anyone sees you.” But Tlumtea in his innocence said, “No way, Mother, you look beautiful.” Then she jumped outwards near their verandah railing and asked the same question again. Her sons gave the same reply and when Tlumtea again said she looked beautiful, she suddenly took off and flew back to the sky. When their father got home from the fields, he asked his children where their mother was and he was told everything that had happened. At this the father said, “Then with your mother gone, I am going to kill myself, let me til mu chhu keh”. The elder sons tried to stop him but Tlumtea in his curiosity said, “No, Father just do it!” the father did so, and on Tlumtea’s urging did the same to the other side also. He was then writhing in pain but Tlumtea did not understand. So he danced in delight shouting, “Father is dancing!” hammering their water bottle to keep the beat. In a little while, their father died and they were left orphans.

The brothers began to worry and they said to Entheia, “You have the strongest eyes, look and see if you can find Mother.” He looked and looked and finally saw his mother at her home in the skies buh deng rice. Then Kaptheia took aim and struck an arrow right at the side of their mother’s sum. Seeing this, their mother threw a rope down for them and they all climbed up to the skies. In their mother’s house also lived her brother who hated the seven brothers, and he was also a cannibal. He had a plan to kill them all by felling a tree and letting it fall on all the brothers. So one day he took them out, felled a tree near to its breaking point and sat them down beneath the tree to eat their lunch. As soon as they were settled, he made an excuse and left them to cut the tree so it might fall on the brothers. But Dotheia took charge and kept the tree at bay while Haitheia shoved it sideways so it couldn’t hit them on its fall. When their uncle came back, he was surprised and said, “Oh! Children, I thought you’d all have died!” to which the brothers deridingly said, “We don’t want to die just yet, you white-calfed wretch of a man”. Another day he took them all to burn their jhum land with another plan to kill them. As soon as they reached, he commanded them to stay right in the middle and eat their lunch while he went down to gather crabs from the nearby stream. But what he actually did was burn the jhum and since the brothers were right in the middle of the fire, they began to worry. They called on Haitheia and he started digging a pit into which they all ran in. then Chhintheia closed the pit. When the fire died down, the cannibal uncle came up and with satisfaction looked at the burnt jhum saying, “Aha! These must be their skulls all burnt to ashes!” and started picking up the ashes and eating them as he came. But when he reached the place where he had left them, he found them all safe and happily eating. In embarrassment he said, “There, children, you are all still safe, I thought you would have died of the fire”. The brothers again derided him and said, “We don’t want to die just yet, you white-calfed wretch of a man”. They narrated the entire incident to their mother on reaching home that evening. Their mother, worried for her sons’ lives said, “This man is a cannibal and I’m afraid he might really kill you and eat you all up one day. Its best that you return to earth now and go set up a trap for animals at Mual sarih”. The brothers obeyed their mother and went back to earth.
On setting up a trap following their mother’s instructions, they were extremely successful and often had to carry meat in their wooden baskets. One day, as they sat down to eat their meat at the leikapui, they said, “these meat our mother and father will never eat” and started feeling melancholic. In their longing, they looked up towards the skies where their mother lived and just then, their mother threw down the waist from cleaning her rice and they were all blinded. They continued to pick up their meat even in their blind state and distribute it among themselves. At those times, a Chawmnu often picked up a share and the brothers began to worry that they did not get their fair share. So one day Tlumtea was distributing their shares and as he did so, he would ask, “Now whose hand is this?” and his brothers would reply, “It is mine”. When he came to the Chawmnu’s hand, he got no answer and he immediately knew this hand did not belong to any of them. He suddenly caught hold of the hand, picked up the creature and crushed it atop a hardened rock nearby. The impact of the blow tore open the Chawmnu’s head and its brain spilled all over the place. Some of the spill landed on Tlumtea’s eyes and his eyes could make out some of the sights. Learning that this was medicine for blinded eyes, he put some more on his eyes and now he could see clearly. He then put some on all of his brothers’ eyes and they could all see again.

From then on they decide to farm a field and they would stay nights at their farmhouse and take turns cooking their food. The first turn was Kaptheis’s, the eldest. When he was done with the cooking, a Chawmnu came and threatened, “Kapthei, would you prefer I take you or the food you’ve cooked?” Kaptheia naturally feared for his life and said, “Obviously the food instead of my life” and the Chawmnu took all the food he had cooked. Now when his brothers came back to eat, they had to wait till the food was cooked again and ready to be eaten. This happened with all six brothers till it was Tlumtea’s turn to do the cooking. He, in his turn, weaved a large bamboo basket as he did his cooking. The Chawmnu came again and asked her usual question to which Tlumtea also gave the same reply. But when she made a move to eat the food, Tlumtea said, “Just wait a little while, it is not fully cooked yet, why don’t you sit down for a while?” The Chawmnu sat down near where Tlumtea was weaving and asked him why he was weaving such a large basket. Tlumtea replied, “It is the coop for a great big cock that we have, almost as large as you. If you would fit in, our cock would naturally fir, wont you please get in so I can try it on for size?” As soon as the Chawmnu was inside, Tlumtea quickly sealed the basket and she was trapped inside. He said, “I’ll take you home with me for the children would love to play with you.” The Chawmnu was worried, she said, “Tlumte, allow me to buy myself out. I will give you knives, hreipui, arrows, tuthlawh, mithuns and wives-one each for every brother.” To this Tlumtea agreed and the Chawmnu gave him all immediately except for the mithuns which he was told to collect at a later date.

When his brothers came home, he proudly declared he had cooked food without them having to wait for it to be cooked again. But as they sat down to eat, he asked, “Would you prefer to eat now, or would you rather we distributed knives amongst ourselves?” To this his brothers replied, “Should there be knives, by all means, distribute them.” Tlumtea did so, and it was the same for all the other things which he had received from the Chawmnu, up to their wives. Now Tlumtea had cleverly blackened the face of the most beautiful maiden and he got her as his wife since his elder brothers had not chosen her. When their work was done, he said, “Now let us see whose wife is most beautiful, let them wash their faces clean.” When they did so, they found that Tlumtea had got the most beautiful of the maidens. He told his brothers that all their gifts had come from the Chawmnu and that he had also been promised mithuns at a later date.

In a while, the brothers went off to collect the promised mithuns, and while they were gone, the Chawmnu came near their house burning logs for coal and called out to their wives, “Give me water to drink”. The wife of the eldest went with water and the Chawmnu quickly ate her up. She called for water again and when one wife went to give her, she quickly ate her up and this happened to all the wives of the six olde brothers. But Tlumtea’s wife was in labour at the time and she had borne a son, she managed to get up with great difficulty to offer water when the Chawmnu caught hold of her hand and took her home. The child she had just delivered and left somehow grew up on its own without much care.

When the child had grown, he got to thinking, “Haven’t my fathers left a single paper money-I wish I could take it when I go in search of mother!” and he searched the house and found a single paper money under the table.

Thlanrawkpa Khuangchawi- a Mizo oral tale

2008-03-02T23:29:00.000+05:30

THLANRAWKPA KHUANGCHAWI
In a time many ages ago, Thlanrawkpa was to hold the Khuangchawi ceremony for which he invited all the living beings on earth. As preparation for the feast, food, meat and rice beer were made on a very large scale. The house was renovated and the fields were levelled to hold the many guests who had been invited.
When the guests arrived, Thlanrawkpa gave names to each of the creatures who attended based on their peculiar qualities. A hen came up from the mud and she was named ‘Chirhi’ (mud) but as time passed, “chiri chiri” became the common address for the hen. Then there came a Zuhrei who was named ‘Zurei’ for he took so long in brewing beer (Zu- beer, rei- long). This name also became modified to the now common ‘Zuhrei’. There was a cat that came walking along a small bamboo rod at which they wondered, “Look at how tight the walk is!” and they named it ‘Zawhte’ (Small walk). The squirrel came sauntering in an even narrower walk over a rope and when they saw this, they cried, this walk is even tighter!” and they named the animal ‘Theihlei’ (even more able) which in course of time was amended to the modern ‘Thehlei’ for squirrel. These and many other creatures came, they were all named and together they roamed at Thlanrawkpa’s large field while he encouraged them to make friends with everyone. Following his advice, the Sakhi (deer) and the sakuh (porcupine) made friends and danced to a song they made up out of a combination of their names. When the two started dancing a Tangkawng wanted to join them and his name was also added to the song. The trio’s merry dance made the Varihaw want to join them and his name was also added to the song. They happily danced to the beat of their song in great joy.
The following day was the start of the Khuangchawi and the thingdim people feasted at the father-in-law’s house practising their dance moves the whole night. They approached the dancing ground the following day in great merry-making and there was great merry-making in the air. One could see pig dung with feathers swaying, and there was cock dung moving to the beat of the bamboo rat’s drum. The Zuhrei came with feathers on its hair and when they saw her dance, they appreciated it in song,
“Watch the Zuhrei with flowers on her hair,
Beauty she has and grace is hers.” The Buipui became jealous and joined the show with flowers on its head but the song it inspired was completely different:
“Watch the Buipui with flowers on its head,
There is no beauty, there is no grace.” At this the Buipui was so greatly angered it suddenly made off with the drum and hid itself in a deep cave. The dancers were disturbed for they could not dance without the drum so they sent a hen to ask for the drum but the Buipui was adamant. So they decided to flood the cave and at this, the Buipui got scared and threw the drum out hitting the hen right at the knees. It is said that this was how the hen got its knees overturned.
With the drum back, they proceeded to dance again and at the lead was the Sahuai (Loris). But the sun, which they had requested not to shine, could no longer stop himself, consumed as he was with the desire to watch the dancers. As the sun came up from the horizon, the Sahuai did its best to stop its rise for if the sun did shine, the dung that were dancing would dry up and the changpat would tire quickly. But the sun could not be stopped for long and as it made its way up, the dung quickly dried up and the changpat tired and the dancing stopped. So greatly angered was the Sahuai at this that he vowed to be at war with the sun for always. To this day, the Sahuai refuses to look at the sun, even if you hold its head up, you will find that it always has its eyes closed.
Evening came and it was time for Saveichawi and everyone stood in queue to get their food. With their left hands they took the meat and rice beer with their right. The lizard was a sly creature. On one line he turned a red gullet and on the other a black. On both lines he would say, “I’m a guest, I haven’t yet got the left hand meat’ and thus was served twice. From this came the popular proverb, ‘Lehlama awr dum, lehlama awr sen.’ At that time when everyone was feasting with great glee, an owl somehow did not get the meat and was sitting by the door greatly displeased. The Zuhrei, full in the stomach mistook the owl’s displeasure for something else and passing by said, “Look at the owl full to his brim!” This angered the owl so much he ran after the Zuhrei, right up to the mouth of its burrow. It sat at the mouth but the Zuhrei, clever creature that it is, made a Hrultun on the other side and escaped the owl’s watchful vigil. From this incident came the word ‘Chhimbudawi’. Then there was the hen who was a widow at the time of the Khuangchawi. The Sanghar wooed the hen and finally succeeded in sleeping with her. Then the Sanghar boasted about his feat and a court was held before Thlanrawkpa. The hen was lost for words and was so upset she could only cry while the Sanghar was smug and continued to show off. The saying ‘Arpuia lungchhia, Sanghara lunglawm’ originated from this episode.
The time came for the guests to leave and Thlanrawkpa put on a disguise and awaited his guests on their way to find out if his guests would show any appreciation. The first creature to come by in a great hurry was a bullock and Thlanrawkpa stooped him to ask whether he had enjoyed the Khuangchawi. The cow in a foul mood replied, “That Thlanrawkpa! Says he’s holding a Khuangchawi but where did we find gratification, or enough to fill our stomachs!” On hearing this Thlanrawkpa said, “You ungrateful creature, because you have not appreciated what Thlanrawkpa did, you will forever work under harsh conditions to fill your stomach.” Then there came a crab and Thlanrawkpa asked the same question to which it replied, “May Thlanrawkpa live forever! Grand was the Khuangchawi and filled our we to satisfaction!” Thlanrawkpa was greatly pleased with this answer and pronounced, “For your show of gratefulness, you will eat from this day from what defecate and live in comfort.” Now the crab was not pleased with this but Thlanrawkpa explained that the fish would jump to eat his defecation and the crab could in turn catch the fish for its food. Pleased with this boon the crab went on its way.
Then came a Paite and a Tuikuk on their way home. They too were gratified at the Khuangchawi and Thlanrawkpa gifted them both a special blade for splitting bamboos. This is why, it is said, that to this day, the Paite and the Tuikuk at better skilled at crafts than is the Mizo. Finally there came a Mizo and a Vai singing of their great joy at the Khuangchawi. Thlanrawkpa was pleased to hear them and gifted the Mizo with a leather parchment while to the Vai he gave a Laisuih (ordinary paper). He said, “Keep these with great care for within it is food and riches and all the knowledge you can find.” The Mizo, still drunk with rice beer, simply kept his gift in a Sum from where a dog picked it up ran off with it. The Vai on the other hand kept it safely, and willed it to his children as well. This is why the Vai have greater knowledge and riches. But since Thlanrawkpa had given a gift of higher quality to the Mizo, this gift lives on and is evident in that the Mizo always excels when put to similar tasks with a Vai.
To all his guests, Thlanrawkpa gave the message, “All my dear subjects, I know you all wish for me to have a long life, and I shall have one. Should anything happen to me and I should die, there is above you in the heavens your caretaker ‘Pu Vana’. If you should require help for any of your problems, just throw your dices up and ask him to take care of you and he shall always help.”

mizogurl came from chhinlung!!!

2008-03-02T23:16:00.000+05:30

lemme introduce the Mizo people to you- not so much from History books as from what the folk have preserved and believed over the years-
The Mizo[1] people trace their origin to Chhinlung, a crevice within the earth literally meaning ‘closed stone’. Based on the rich oral tradition that has been passed on from father to son through many generations, they believe their forefathers emerged from this fissure in couples to populate the earth. The oral tradition, in the absence of a written language, had given the Mizo his identity, origin and history. The language of the people, also called ‘Mizo’, is what was originally the Duhlian dialect of the dominant Mizo sub-tribe known as the ‘Lusei’ or ‘Lushai’ clan. Capt. T.H.Lewin[2] assigns the name ‘Dzo’ to the tribes inhabiting the hills east of the Chittagong district in Lower Bengal, for whom the term ‘Kuki’ is applied by the inhabitants of the plains. Although the term ‘Kuki’ was frequently used in referring to the inhabitants of present Mizoram (formerly called Lushai Hills), this term was replaced by ‘Lushai’ after the Expedition of 1871-72. This was in its turn replaced by the generic term ‘Mizo’ since 1950. (Chatterjee 1) The various clans and sub-tribes have now come to be included under the term ‘Mizo’. Capt. Lewin found the Lushai dialect to be common and understood by all the ‘Dzo’ tribes, it being “the clan tongue of the great family from which all the chiefs are said to have sprung” (3). The creation of this common dialect is credited to a Sailo chief called Lallula around 1740 AD (Thanga, 17). This dialect did not have a known written form till the advent of the Christian missionaries who framed the Mizo ‘A Aw B’ or the Mizo alphabet in the 19th century. Oral folk tradition tells a different story asserting that the Mizo had been gifted the art of writing or a script in the form of a leather parchment. However, this gift was lost when a dog ate it because the Mizo had been careless with its safekeeping (Zawla,K. 5). Whatever be the truth, the fact remains that the British colonizers found the language of their subjects without a written form in the early years of their encounter. This did not mean, however, that the Mizo did not satisfy their literary inclinations. Their literature, though oral, found expression in the art of telling stories, legends, parables and a rich body of songs, which are now preserved as the folklore of the Mizo people.
[1] The Mizo people are the people inhabiting Mizoram and spread over other hill states in North East India.
[2] Capt. Thomas Herbert Lewin was the Deputy Commissioner of Chittagong Hills

mizogurl intro

2008-03-02T22:42:00.000+05:30

a search on Yahoo using the keyword 'mizo' yielded some interesting results. There's an entry on Wikipedia which is pretty good too except that it contains stuffs that you would easily find in any Government issued brochure or on the government website. (If you're interested, you can go to www.mizoram.nic.in/ - the official website of Mizoram)
mizogurl wishes to give you an inside look into whats happening here for real- dont you sit up waiting for really juicy stuffs tho' cos you might be disappointed. I just want to let the world know what makes up a Mizo- my culture, my people, where we come from, what we have, and where we're possibly headed...as we begin this journey( my Broadband connection permitting), I hope you'll have fun discovering this north-eastern corner of India where I used to believe life began and ended!!