The road was bumpy, the ride was long and the bus ran furiously. We were on our way to Lamka from Dimapur. There was an eerie silence inside the bus amidst the noisy engine and clanking of the bus. Each one was occupied in his own thought. I stole a quick glance of the other passengers and the faces I saw rather baffled me. I wonder, what good do those Marwaris and Biharis bring to our land?
Reaching down Imphal valley, the air was humid and cloud of dusts danced on our trail. My little niece was not impressed by the sight, she chose to cover her face and doze off. I thought that was a better idea than ‘trying’ to admire those balding mountain ranges, so I followed suit.
Despite the hideous daylight, and being stiff all-over from the day long torture, once we were there, the sounds of Lamka excited us enough to scramble for the door.
“Eew!” shrieked my little niece, stopping at the door. I don’t know what it was, but being nudged from behind, I pushed my niece and jumped down right after her. It was my turn to shout “eew!” I’d just landed in a pig sty! Well, that ‘pig sty’, officially, is called CCPur Bus Station.
Anyway, struggling along Tedim Road, it doesn’t take me much time to notice the shift of gravity in Lamka. My beloved Lamka, it has changed, and that too –for the worst, and it’s crumbling down! The building mourned under its weight and age, the drains cried for help and the roads struggled in agony with every passing vehicle throwing up heaps of dusts. The ghost of the old town gagged me with its stench and dust, upsetting my stomach, and squeezing my tear duct to the last drop with every gust of wind.
I don’t know if living in the metros for all these years have prejudiced my eyes and judgement, but Lamka is no longer the Lamka that was deeply etched in my heart, it is just a pathetic caricature of the old town.
Lamka of yonder years is a confluence of all culture –desirable and non-desirable, with none being dominant. It was the gateway to the world and life, it was the centre of education and learning, it was the centre of entertainment and life –of the enlightened sort.
I remember guitar strumming young men and women strolling the night streets and alleys, crooning Lianlunching, Lienzapao and Lengtong Pauno with the same aplomb. I remember people struggling for tickets at Light-house, I remember people rushing from all over the district to Lamka for the best of education, but, alas, we can only say ‘those were the days’!
There is no denying ’97 has dramatically changed our world, and of course, Lamka cannot caught itself in a time wrap. It has to change. Change we must, move we must, but in which way and which direction?
We definitely moved and changed, but in the wrong direction. We continued to mistake communalism for nationalism, and terrorism for patriotism, rendering a thick cloud of suspicions hanging in the air.
It will not be a mistake to say that the mass exodus of young men and women from Lamka is the direct consequence of such mentality. Nobody wants their children to grow-up in Lamka anymore. Those who can afford prefer to flee and live ‘outside’ or at least let their children study elsewhere, and with big relief.
I don’t want to sound like one of those self-appointed moral guardian, but I cannot help commenting on the declining brotherhood in the society. There is a big shift from the traditional societal living to individualism. The previously unnoticed differences in the pronunciation of a certain words stand higher as a boundary than the high walls they built to mark their plots –and we still sing ‘tuun sung khat pan’?
Corruption was rampant, so much so that even within the church, it was put as an ‘understood’ thing and was conveniently swept under the carpet –and they continued dancing and praying on that carpet! The once pitiable government servant are now the one who are most envied as they can keep drawing their salary without even working for a single day! And shall I say, Lamka thrives on them?
My big cousin who is a Headmaster of a Government School in a certain faraway village offered me to show his new building. I declined, I just cannot digest it. The building, and every newly built building I saw in Lamka, disgust me as much as the dirty drain that flowed in their nerves. They are dirty and stained, like each and every soiled currency note I saw was stained with tears and bloods of overtly exploited poor farmers who risked their head to earn it. How many people must have been deprived of their basic standard of life by the owner of such building, and other luxuries, so as to enable them to afford them?
To me each and every one of the government employee of Manipur are doubtable –doubtable of being corrupt. If I am at fault, it’s not my fault, rather it is theirs –for letting me believe to such extend. They said I am a pessimist, I am, I don’t denied that. But who can be so positive after tampering upon the not so hidden dirty drains running beneath the ground?
Every time I come to Lamka, it never does me good but antagonize me. A friend suggested that, may be, I am failing to see the bright and positive side of the situation, well thinking of anything positive there, my mind just went –well, blank. My friend suggested Khuga Dam, to me Khuga Dam is nothing but a picnic spot, a humiliating mockery of the thousands of lives it uprooted!
May be, the only positive thing that I saw there was –that my drug abusing HIV+ cousin died a decent death at Shalom while I was there. Thank you very much; the very presence of Shalom and its tribe is not a positive sign of development, since you can never say that you are very proud of (with due respect to) the dedicated doctors and nurses who work there. But I’ll definitely give a standing ovation, once, the people who run homes like Shalom, Priscilla Homes and Gamnuam, etc, are rendered unemployed.
Well, I should end my ranting here or else, it will destroy my mood every time I think of home until I can call that rented flat in Dwarka as my home. But the fact is Lamka is my home, and I love it. It is the place that gives me my now so cherished childhood memories as well as the nightmares in the form of ‘97. But no matter what, it will always remain my home and I would jump with happy feet every alternate year to return there.
Go and see Lamka, if you don’t die of ecstasy, you would die of revulsion. But if you think you survived, check yourself again, may be your heart, you mind or soul is being buried in one of the alleys of that old town, but for certainty, once you are there, you will never be the same. SEE LAMKA AND DIE!
Reaching down Imphal valley, the air was humid and cloud of dusts danced on our trail. My little niece was not impressed by the sight, she chose to cover her face and doze off. I thought that was a better idea than ‘trying’ to admire those balding mountain ranges, so I followed suit.
Despite the hideous daylight, and being stiff all-over from the day long torture, once we were there, the sounds of Lamka excited us enough to scramble for the door.
“Eew!” shrieked my little niece, stopping at the door. I don’t know what it was, but being nudged from behind, I pushed my niece and jumped down right after her. It was my turn to shout “eew!” I’d just landed in a pig sty! Well, that ‘pig sty’, officially, is called CCPur Bus Station.
Anyway, struggling along Tedim Road, it doesn’t take me much time to notice the shift of gravity in Lamka. My beloved Lamka, it has changed, and that too –for the worst, and it’s crumbling down! The building mourned under its weight and age, the drains cried for help and the roads struggled in agony with every passing vehicle throwing up heaps of dusts. The ghost of the old town gagged me with its stench and dust, upsetting my stomach, and squeezing my tear duct to the last drop with every gust of wind.
I don’t know if living in the metros for all these years have prejudiced my eyes and judgement, but Lamka is no longer the Lamka that was deeply etched in my heart, it is just a pathetic caricature of the old town.
Lamka of yonder years is a confluence of all culture –desirable and non-desirable, with none being dominant. It was the gateway to the world and life, it was the centre of education and learning, it was the centre of entertainment and life –of the enlightened sort.
I remember guitar strumming young men and women strolling the night streets and alleys, crooning Lianlunching, Lienzapao and Lengtong Pauno with the same aplomb. I remember people struggling for tickets at Light-house, I remember people rushing from all over the district to Lamka for the best of education, but, alas, we can only say ‘those were the days’!
There is no denying ’97 has dramatically changed our world, and of course, Lamka cannot caught itself in a time wrap. It has to change. Change we must, move we must, but in which way and which direction?
We definitely moved and changed, but in the wrong direction. We continued to mistake communalism for nationalism, and terrorism for patriotism, rendering a thick cloud of suspicions hanging in the air.
It will not be a mistake to say that the mass exodus of young men and women from Lamka is the direct consequence of such mentality. Nobody wants their children to grow-up in Lamka anymore. Those who can afford prefer to flee and live ‘outside’ or at least let their children study elsewhere, and with big relief.
I don’t want to sound like one of those self-appointed moral guardian, but I cannot help commenting on the declining brotherhood in the society. There is a big shift from the traditional societal living to individualism. The previously unnoticed differences in the pronunciation of a certain words stand higher as a boundary than the high walls they built to mark their plots –and we still sing ‘tuun sung khat pan’?
Corruption was rampant, so much so that even within the church, it was put as an ‘understood’ thing and was conveniently swept under the carpet –and they continued dancing and praying on that carpet! The once pitiable government servant are now the one who are most envied as they can keep drawing their salary without even working for a single day! And shall I say, Lamka thrives on them?
My big cousin who is a Headmaster of a Government School in a certain faraway village offered me to show his new building. I declined, I just cannot digest it. The building, and every newly built building I saw in Lamka, disgust me as much as the dirty drain that flowed in their nerves. They are dirty and stained, like each and every soiled currency note I saw was stained with tears and bloods of overtly exploited poor farmers who risked their head to earn it. How many people must have been deprived of their basic standard of life by the owner of such building, and other luxuries, so as to enable them to afford them?
To me each and every one of the government employee of Manipur are doubtable –doubtable of being corrupt. If I am at fault, it’s not my fault, rather it is theirs –for letting me believe to such extend. They said I am a pessimist, I am, I don’t denied that. But who can be so positive after tampering upon the not so hidden dirty drains running beneath the ground?
Every time I come to Lamka, it never does me good but antagonize me. A friend suggested that, may be, I am failing to see the bright and positive side of the situation, well thinking of anything positive there, my mind just went –well, blank. My friend suggested Khuga Dam, to me Khuga Dam is nothing but a picnic spot, a humiliating mockery of the thousands of lives it uprooted!
May be, the only positive thing that I saw there was –that my drug abusing HIV+ cousin died a decent death at Shalom while I was there. Thank you very much; the very presence of Shalom and its tribe is not a positive sign of development, since you can never say that you are very proud of (with due respect to) the dedicated doctors and nurses who work there. But I’ll definitely give a standing ovation, once, the people who run homes like Shalom, Priscilla Homes and Gamnuam, etc, are rendered unemployed.
Well, I should end my ranting here or else, it will destroy my mood every time I think of home until I can call that rented flat in Dwarka as my home. But the fact is Lamka is my home, and I love it. It is the place that gives me my now so cherished childhood memories as well as the nightmares in the form of ‘97. But no matter what, it will always remain my home and I would jump with happy feet every alternate year to return there.
Go and see Lamka, if you don’t die of ecstasy, you would die of revulsion. But if you think you survived, check yourself again, may be your heart, you mind or soul is being buried in one of the alleys of that old town, but for certainty, once you are there, you will never be the same. SEE LAMKA AND DIE!
Tags: mizo, zomi, zogam
3 comments:
U got to wait for the comment. Don't know wht the comment must be. but i will find it out. After all Lamka is some bit familiar to me to some xtend.
I can only express seething anger over the way you describe the real situation back home. All these years of Indo-Manipuri domination doesn’t seem to give us a way out. Our so-called, romanticized Zomi national movement sounds quite like a hollow organ filled with filthy, bloody air. Corrupt politicians, corrupt self-proclaiming Zo patriots, corrupt contractors, corrupt bureaucrats, bourgeois!!! Sometimes I wish if the Red Flag would flutter high across the valleys of Lanva and Tuivai… Let socialist revolution begins….
Good post, lyan keep going.
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