Those Hills I Called Home

I was neck deep at work chasing datelines, but that single photo of two young man lying dead unattended in front of the police station that I was massaged in my phone made me shudder.  But what upset me the most was the fact that those young men were innocent civilian killed by the police, and I was told that there were more dead bodies. 

What connects me and those young men was that we just got called a stranger at our very own home, and that the government just passed a bunch of legislation that can legally kick us off from the land where we have lived for generations.  The knowledge that we can now be easily uprooted from those hills is a thought that is killing us all. Those beautiful blue hills have been our home for ages, those hills are awash with the blood of our forefathers, and those hills are nurtured by the bloods of our ancestors, and it continues to do so, and will remain so as proved by those brave young men died protesting those legislation imposed by some outsiders who wanted to grab our lands.

Even though I live far away in central India, those hills never left me. Every single day, I work up to the sound and sight of things –from the sounds of language and music, the sights of buildings and the people, that reminded me that I don’t belong here.  And no matter how I tried to belong, the people I interact with on everyday basis will remind me of where I belong by asking me where I belong. And I have accepted to live amidst that sense of alienation, and how do I managed that?

I managed to live amidst that constant sense of alienation because deep down in my heart I know that I am not homeless, that I have and belong to a place that I can call a home. But now, the thought that I’ll no longer be able to call those hills as my home tugs my heart, boils my blood and wrenches my soul. Those hills are central to my being, and critical to my existence because no matter where I go and live, those hills are the place that define my being, my identity, and it’s the thought of those hills that drives my life.  

I regrets not being there in the hills physically to stand with my people at this critical time, my sole consolation that I’m contributing to the economy of the hills and that I’m a representative of the hill people to the outsiders does not qualify me to speak to my brave hill peoples, but I want to say this –we are a proud, obstinate and fiercely independent tribes for ages, and we will not be subjugated by some outsiders, we will definitely not be called a stranger at our own home.  

Stay strong Zomi, Zomi are strong!