A Rose for My Warrior Mother

That august sun was sitting on the horizon

Showing off the auburn sky that it had painted

Illuminating the horror of that last august day

The popping guns and the cries of their preys,

Wailing, crying, screaming – terrors reign the air

Amidst them lay still my body in the tar black road

Silhouette by bloods that slowly turn auburn.

I lay there still in the auburn road

Waiting for the setting sun to touch the horizon

And burn the hills and light the night sky

For my mother, to come find me

And end the night, that bloody Monday -

Of crimson night, and shattered lives.

And there she is –my brave mother,

Untold loss and grief, scarred her sunken face,

Feeble and frail with no more strength to grieve

Yet she stands there mighty against the guns –

A helpless woman –illiterate, scared and lost

She stood her ground to marches on!

Day-in and day-out, she marches on

No time to waste –she can’t stop now

For she fight not for glory, fame or money,

But for the hearts, and the wombs –

The womb of the land that nurtures her;

And her children, the joys of her womb!

She marches on with thousand mothers

Into the abysses where all hope ceases

The battle cries of the warriors, filling the air -

My land, my sons; my home, my blood -

For my children –they scream and march

While their hearts bleed for their fallen sons!

And there I die, in mother’s arm,

We’ll be fine, she promises, we’ll be fine!

But I pray thee, kind kinsmen and strangers,

When you come to visit me in my grave,

Please also wept the tears off of my mother's eyes,

And give her a rose, for she deserve one!

Photo: www.zogam.com

Lamka: In Search of a Hero

(Please read through the article before you pass your judgement!)

When a slut and a street punk (pardon the language) were made a hero and a rallying point for different and warring tribes to come together, it said something, something big, isn’t it? It said something about the need of an inspiring leadership behind whom we can rally; it said something about our feeling of solidarity/brotherhood among the tribes despite our petty differences; but more than anything, it said something about the system (government), isn’t it?

Consider the following situation: 

Case 1: An ‘Eimi’ girl had an outdoor sex with a ‘meitei’ and you saw them.  What will you think of the girl? The patriot in you might call her a ‘slut’ or wonder if she’s a prostitute, and the civilized you will obviously say ‘it’s none of your business’!  So, what are the chances of the girl becoming a hero?

Case 2: A young man with a punk hair-cut went to the police-station for a case which he had no connection with, and dare to challenge the police, vandalized public properties and disturb the peace there.  What will you call him, a real punk? So, what are the chances of the boy becoming a hero?

Now consider a situation again:

Case 1: A ‘Sister’ (who would otherwise have been dismissed as a slut for hanging out with some ‘outsider’ if she had not been captured and the video circulated and earn everyone’s sympathies) took up the courage despite her humiliation and shame to challenge her torturer through a system which we know was not functional.  

Case 2: A ‘brother’ (who would otherwise have been scoffed at inside our churches for dressing like a street punk) took the opportunity to express his feelings in an impromptu protest for a ‘sister’ he never met, and got killed in the process.  

And put this two together, and we got Heroes!  

[No, this is not how heroes are usually made!  I don’t want our kids to have the wrong idea and run towards khuga dam to become heroes. To me, heroes are all those women sitting in New Bazaar selling vegetables to run their families; heroes are all those fathers who pulled their rick-shaw all day long to feed their family. And for Manipur, let’s just define heroes as those government employees who do the work they are paid to do!  That’s a good enough definition of a hero for Manipur.]

Now, let’s get back to our subject. 

Regarding our sister, she might be a slut or even a prostitute, who cares?  But the fact that she dared to use the system to challenge the system itself is of hero stuff.  It sounds crazy to use a government system that we all know very well doesn't work at all to get justice which she thinks she deserved.  The simple fact that she dared to challenge and stand up for a justice, no matter how crazy that sounds, is enough reason to be a hero in my eye!

Regarding our brother, I wonder what made him stand in the way of the straying bullet? Was he there by accident or just a curious observer of the situation unfolding at the police station? Was he a miscreant out looking for a cheap thrill or a passionate sympathizer of our sister? His intention, that, I don’t know. But one thing I know is that he dared to raise his voice and use his voice by being there to express himself, and that is enough to make him a hero.  (His death is unfortunate, but you don’t need to get yourself killed to be a hero, just saying!)

One thing that connects these two heroes is a system that doesn’t work. The girl used the system to get justice despite the fact that she know the system doesn’t work, and the boy know that the system doesn’t work so he was there to ensure that the system worked so that the girl will get the justice she deserved. 

If the system has worked, and people trusted the system, the IRB people would have been more civilized and not torture a sister, or if he had got his salary regularly, he might not need to make a side-income. If the system had worked and the girl have faith in the system, she would have immediately protested and demanded justice, and she might not need a social worker to demand justice. If the system had worked, everyone will trust the system and the boy will not need to ensure that it worked.

Also, if we had effective leadership, the common man might not have to ensure the working of the system.  If our tribes have not fought each other over petty issues, the system might show us some respect and function. But that’s not the case now.

We definitely don’t want a street punk who vandalized public property, or a slut who have sex in public to be our heroes.  But we need those two.  We need those two to invoke/provoke the sleeping masses who gave up on the system to come out of their comfort zone and demand the system to function. We need those two so that we can cry wolf, that the system is not functioning, and that justice is not rendered, and that someone might actually hear our cries.   We do need those two heroes….but a heroes with less public sexual history and less rebellious deeds would have been nice!

An Overview of Churachandpur District Census Data 2011

Churachandpur belongs to us, isn't it? Anyway that's where we live, and that's the one place that concerns us mostly. Here is a quick overview of census 2011 for Churachandpur district and a bit of an analysis.

Population Density and Decadal Growth

Here is no big change, smaller district are gaining population which is a rather good sign in the sense that urban migration is not as rampant as supposed to be.

Literacy Rates and Literacy Gap between Male and Female

Here is a reason to celebrate (even though it’s not good enough). The literacy gap between Male and Female continued to be the lowest in our district. Even though we lag behind Imphal West in term of overall literacy rate, it seems our women have better access to education. (But this is also dependant on many factors, like the numbers of illiterate ageing population, statistical outliers, etc). By the way, the national/country gap is 16.68% which means two districts in our state is worst than the country percentage.

Sex Ratio

The country sex ratio is 940, Churachandpur’s is 944. We are a little better off than the country in our discrimination towards the girl child. Overall, in the state we ranked no. 5 which is an improvement from the last census where we ranked no. 7. (I always though we as a Christian will be more welcoming to a girl child than the Hindus in the plain area). But no doubt, our preference and the importance we attached to a male child is undeniable.

But there seems to be a little improvement among the present 0 – 6 years even thought they will not make much of a statistical difference in the next census.

The above table is based only among children belonging to age 6 and below (who are not included in literacy counts). If this is the trend for the future, than the sex ratio of Manipur is done for, however, the comfort is that, the above children will only contribute to the existing rate, and they will not be counted as separate, apart from that, we have a good nine years to correct the wrongs.

Huihui let’s make room for the girls. We are Christian, we are Zomi, we are proud of our women and their achievement, and we love bragging about how independent our women are.  But we are not as good as we thought we are and apparently, we don’t love our women enough!

WILL SOMEONE APOLOGIZE TO ME FOR '97?

Recently I read about a series of significant historical apology made by leaders for something that was done many years ago like the Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd’s apology to the Aborigines for inflicting grief, suffering and loss that happened more than half a century ago. And, that get me to thinking if I can ever expect anyone at all to apologize to me for what happened in ’97, and for its aftermath, the consequences and scars it left on my life?

They said that an apology is the first-step towards starting any kind of healing process. And for sure, even after a decade, I’m still nursing those consequences. Every time I cursed my lot, I can trace its root to ’97 –for throwing me out of school and out of my normal routine of life; for taking away my home and friends, for filling my childhood memories with horrible images and thus, stealing my childhood.

I am not the only one affected. There are more, much more, who were at critical stages of their life at that time, and who, otherwise, have been promised much by life but could not achieve just because of what happened. Those people deserve an apology even much more than me.

First of all let me clear that I’m not referring to us apologizing to them or vice versa (if that is possible it will be superb). But for the time being I’m referring to something like a father to son apology. Some of us may argue if an apology is needed at all, saying that we all had gone through the same situation, or that we were only defending ourselves or that there is no reason for us to apologize since it’s not our fault.

It is true that we needed to protect ourselves particularly at that time and especially in view of the inherent apathy of our state government. But who are we protecting when we started killing people of our own or when we extorted, harassed and exploited the very people that we were/are supposed to be protecting?

It’s very well if you argued that we were left with no choice or option but to strike back. It may sound a bit cliché but there always is choice and options if we want. I am not saying that we could avoid it or the situation could have been handled in a better way, but I am saying that we could have mitigated its impact better especially among the younger generation, and don’t let its effect, especially the psychological aspect, linger on for so long. By the way, they says it takes two to tango, so what did we do, consciously or unconsciously, for them to do what they did?

It is also true that we all went through the same ’97. But no, CAPITAL NO, it was NOT the same situation that we went through in ’97. You and I were at totally different footing at that time and we are not the same either now; our socio-economic status were not the same; our conditions were not the same; our losses were not the same; its impact on the region, village, family and individual were not the same either. In fact, some of us even gained from it, when some of us lost everything… Under no parameter can this be called the same!

You may not want to admit it, but ’97 does have an impact on each one of us, and most likely, in the negative way. You may be trying to see the bright side and counting your blessing or thanking your luck for surviving it but you have to admit that you could have been more than what you are now if not for what happened in ’97.

But the problem is who will apologize. Will our respective community leaders take responsibility and apologize? Well, we all doubt that so much it almost sound funny! So where do we start? You and I can very well apologize to each other, but still, someone, some people, with authority and claim will still owe us an apology. And I am not sure if I would ever hear that in my life time.

I have no claim to represent or have authority to speak for anyone other than me. So I am going to speak for myself and start by saying –

I APOLOGIZE FOR WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU IN
’97!

Will you too apologize to me… please?

No Tourist Season For Lamka?

Recently my Boss had to tour the North-East for a series of pre-bid meetings. Imphal was her last-stop and she said she might visit CCPur (Lamka, we call it) if I can suggest something worth seeing there. I sheepishly scratched my head not exactly sure what to suggest.

The holidayer to Manipur that I knew of, come in two seasons. The first batch started as soon as the summer holidays started and ends just before school/college re-opened. They are mostly college students or families with school going kids. The second batch started from early December and ended in January. These winter holidayer are mostly servicemen and women or family without children. These people are not the typical tourist, they are holidaying back home.

To be very honest, I don’t remember ever seeing hordes of well-heeled tourists or back-packers in the street of CCPur. Well, Khuga dam is no Hoover dam, and our patchy hills and mountains are not the Nilgiris. And as for marketing our tribal identity, just remember, we don’t exactly live in the jungle any more and girls in hot-pants do not exactly portray the kind of tribal image people may expect. Even today, the few ‘strange face’ that are occasionally seen in our street are there only on the invitation of our churches or are there to visits or inspect one of our many rehab centres.

Well, Gamnuam Home, Shalom Rehab, etc. are not the type of tourist attractants we want. But, for a starter we can develop a botanical garden which will not only attract tourist but also preserve our much folk-lored but evidently endangered orchids. We can also develop a dedicated market for out tribal handicraft from cane, bamboos works to our various colorful shawls, etc. And to develop that, we don’t even need the government; we can use the people participatory approach involving the communities in the process through the NREGS. All we need is someone or an institution to lead and do all the planning.

CCPur seems to scarce rather than attract tourist, and we have to change that. We may not have much to offer that will compel visitors to stay the night, but we can at least develop something that will make CCPur a ‘must-stop’ for every visitor to Manipur.

tags: zo, zomi, zogam, lamka

There is Something About Lamkate

Every child that grow-up in those obscure mountainous villages looked up to anyone that came from Lamka or anyone that live in there. Anyone from Lamka who lives in other cities wanted to pretend themselves above Lamka but without any success. My point is there is something about Lamkate that will never change no matter what or where they live!

For instance my Aunt who live in New Lamka (CYA Road –so that you know what dialect she speak, the church she went to, etc! This is very Lamka) understood most of Lamka’s numerous dialects while she speaks none. When I went grocery shopping with her, she often amused me with the way she bargained with the ‘Ima’ selling ‘ngari’ or with the ‘Ka Nu’ selling ‘bawngkerawt’ when each of them spoke only in their own dialect and still managed to strike a good deal.

But what amaze me more is the sheer numbers of ‘second languages’ they speak or understood. Most of them can speak or at least understood Meitei, Hmar, Mizo, English and most of the ‘Zo’ dialects. And of course the women folk (especially the most unlikely one) understood Hindi which of course, they learned from ‘Tulsi of Kyunki’! That’s not a small feat especially when I compared to the number of times I gaped my mouth with confusion when people talked to me after church service at ZCF Delhi.

Most Lamkate also has a penchant for Mizo songs. That’s understandable considering that there are more Mizo songs blaring out from the local channels. A cousin, like every one of her friends, has listened and has her favourite Mizo songs –a dialect she cannot speak. And of course those imaginative dances they called ‘choreography’ performed by little boys and girls in the church with colourful ribbons tied to their hand! They are typical Lamka!

Another thing about Lamkate is their passion for ‘kuva/kuhva’. Most walls and public toilets faced you red bearing testimony to that. If they don’t chew the ‘betel leaf’ version, they can be seen chewing its dry version of ‘talap’, ‘shikhar’ or ‘raj darbar’, all these wonderful names I learned from a semi-literate friend while back in home. I often assumed those packed ‘paan’ are chewed only in Bihar and/or UP alone, but I must quickly add here –no connection, especially when we got enough connections and a friend here is seriously considering researching our Manasseh Connection!

Then, of course, there is the Lamka ear. They heard a gun shot and can name the name and made of the gun! Most of us from the city are too used to the crackers/fireworks coming from the never-ending birthdays, weddings and any sort of celebration we hardly hear a bomb ‘booming away’ a metre behind us. The last time I was in Lamka I put my best effort to make a joke when every one perked-up like a mongoose on-guard and looked at each other. I gave up attempting only to be told that they were wondering about the ‘loud boom’ which I still think is a lame excuse for not wishing to hear my joke!

There are more, like the Korean films, the seasonal fashions trends coming from Silchar or Tamu, etc. which are ‘religiously’ pursued and paraded every Sunday. But, let’s talk about that some other time. In conclusion, “No doubt, there definitely is something about the Lamkate!”

LIVING IN THE EDGE: IN THE VALLEY OF FEAR

My innocent little friend asked me why most of the insurgent groups in the north-east describe themselves as revolutionary or liberation army. It stupefied me; it’s just too complicated and confusing to even describe. For me, they are revolutionary or liberating only in their efforts of letting animals hold guns to kill humans.

‘97 and the following chaos had taught me not to be too outspoken about any issues related to such groups, but my inability to forget their misconducts, apart from stealing away my childhood, hardly changed my views towards them. Apart from that their very presences bring fears and chaos in the society, and demands (though shaken) some reproach.

I first heard of the ZRA, KNF, KNA, etc. when troubles brewed in ’97, and as a Zomi, I have to thank the ZRA for saving my butt, and well, my head. I would earnestly bow my head in respect for what they did during that time, but I resented, as a Zomi, the ZRA of post-2000. The simple reason is, they look like the underworld (mafia) –working only for the vested-interests and pockets of their supreme bosses. The same apply to all of the outfits in Manipur.

The very foundation of their organization, I suppose, is to provide securities and fight for the causes of the communities, but most of the time, they are the source of communal discords, many other excesses and the trouble maker. Ask anyone in the streets, I’m pretty sure they will express the same sentiments.

Ignoring the brutalities and human right violations, the total ineffectiveness of the ‘never-the-first-choice’ Indian security forces gives us no choice but to embrace the ‘Z’, the ‘K’ or the ‘Etc.’ as our respective guardian. So there is no point in raising the questions of our security under them or their worth as our guardian, but I want to ask if they have any respect for us or are we their mere subjects liable to their wishes.

It is pretty high time that we, the common folks as well as the outfits, evaluate our situation and position within our respective communities. Do we, the common people, still need them or do they have served their purposes? Is their vision realistic, what steps they had taken in that direction and do we support that vision? While on the other hand, the outfits need to honestly assess, above everything, their standing and worth in their respective communities’ lives.

As a common folks, for me the main question is –can we do without them? Ask me if I am afraid of them; yes I am. I fear them as much as I feared a mad cow. Do I hate their presence; of course I do, they are loaded guns. But do I wish them away; only if all of them can be wished away in one go. If not, past experiences will force me not to, for those outfits are the one that can keep the other outfits at bay, and I still want my chance to fight for another tomorrow.

I’m not a critic of them, but rather, considering the role they played in our community, I want them to reform and organize in a better way, and keep their goal in their mind. I don’t want to be identified by the violence that they practice, like the Muslims are identified with fundamentalism and jihadi.

If those outfits are serious about the cause they are fighting for, let them fight like a gentleman, holding their heads high, with pride and dignity –not like the gangsters, who stole in the middle of the night or the mobsters who get their way by threatening and frightening everyone.

With all those outfits around, life for the common man is like living in the edge. You can’t expect everybody to know how to balance and counter-balance issues; which are a necessity for our daily survival as you are not given many priorities. It is like juggling 3 knives –pay too much attention to one and the other will hit you in the head, pay too much attention to the going-on around you and you will go crazy, but if you don’t pay attention, it may cost you your life.

There is no middle path here, silence may help but it is not always the answer. But then, talking doesn’t help much either, especially in this part of the world where everyone with a little authority, starting from the Chief Minister, are as deaf as a statue. Apart from that, be it talking or writing, they expect you not to cross a certain limit, or your warning may come in the form of death.

I don’t find any appropriate word to describe the situation we live in. Express your feeling and you’re forced to remain silent, remain silent and nobody will care about you. Cry for help, but there’s no one to hear you, definitely not the government, neither will the outfits. Apparently the government and the outfits don’t give a damn about you. Apparently the government and the outfits don’t know that forced silence is a horrifying torment, and an unattended cry for help is the superlative of all brutality.

The unresponsive government and the reckless militants pushed us all to the edge; suppressed anger, desperation and helplessness forced us to be more aggressive, more brutal or to totally give-up on everything. Our daily life is a struggle for survival, being cheated of even the most basic of facilities supposed to be provided free of cost by the government, the common folks are left at the mercy of our merciless shylocks to be fleeced to their bones.

But we are survivors, we have survived thus far, and our survivor instincts are strong. I only hope those militants apprehend and appreciate our daily struggle. God helps us all…

Long Live The Zomi! Happy Zo Minam Day!

Tags: mizo, zomi, zogam

Manipur: A Dead End..?

Walk around the state of Manipur, you would find many young men –educated and uneducated; some may even belong to an insurgent group and some could be a drenched-out daily labourer; some walk with big dreams and some aimless wanderers. They all may speak different dialect; they may come from different background, tribes and upbringing. But one thing they have in common is that they accepted the government for what it is –a non functioning government.

Go and ask them what they want the Government to do for them; most probably they won’t know how to answer, or what to say at all. But ask them about their lives, their families, and their backgrounds, you would most probably find hundred things that the Government can do for them.

Go and ask the old woman what sort of help she got from the Government, she would say nothing. Ask her what she wants from the Government; she would most probably have no idea. Ask her if she knew any welfare schemes for an old and poor woman like her, she won’t have a clue. Think of the amount the central and state governments have spent on all those welfare schemes.

Go and ask one young terrorist why he chose to be a terrorist, his answer, most probably would be he had nothing else to do at home. Then, ask yourself why he had nothing at all to do at home and think of what he can do and why he can’t do what you think he can do, then, you will know who failed them.

For a lot of wronged youths, becoming a terrorist has become the sole viable option to vent their discontentment, and demand redressal because they feel they are being denied a fair treatment. They never knew in which way they are wronged, but at least they know how to compare their situation with youth their age of other states or countries, and they could clearly see the difference. They may never be able to tell you eloquently what they are deprived of, but you don’t need to be a social scientist to know what they are deprived of.

Their feelings of discontentment and humiliation make them become an easy cannon fodder for insurgent group who had been waiting for this opportunity. It’s high time the government took steps to address the grievance of the people.

It may be difficult to bring awareness to people who had resigned to their fate, and waking up a government that pretend to be a deaf as a statue and as mute as the Chief Minister himself. But then it has to be done, in some way or the other.

SEE LAMKA AND DIE!

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!

Tags: mizo, zomi, zogam