That Little Village My Parents Love So Dear…

Every alternate year, I went back to that little village despite dreading the seemingly endless journey.  Despite being provided with options and having alternate and much better places to live, my parents insist to continue living in that obscure little mountain village often inaccessible during rainy season, with a distant mobile phone network that works just a few days a year.

That little village is also the place where they brought us up their six children.  It must be the one place they wanted to brought up their children and grandchildren but that’s not the case for my parents.  None of us stayed back and none wanted to live there in the future so we all tried to make up by spending our summer and/or winter holidays with them rather than getting away to one of those exotic location often advertised in those glossy magazines like most people do.  Of their eight grandchildren two were born in their presence and the last one was over a decade ago now.

That doesn’t meant I don't like the place.  No matter what that little village is the one place I still called home and my heart still beats for it.  Despite my untiring complaints of  everything, from the lack of privacy to my inability to use my mobile phone or wifi-internet connection, and despite my unending whining about the lack of basic infrastructures and the government’s apathy, I still yearn for that village and the simple people who live there.

My mother sent me off to live with my Brother just before I entered my teenage years not only because of the ethnic troubles at that time, but also to escape the drug-prone environment.  Moving to Delhi has been dramatic for me in many ways.  But I'm not complaining or blaming my Mother, rather I thanked her for letting me face the real world early without waiting for the inescapable reality we are ought to face in the future and being caught unprepared.

My whole family has been scattered across India and abroad.  My parents are getting old and there are slim chances of a family get-together.  I often wondered if my parents ever felt lonely and regret sending all of us off.  Mother always explained that it’s for our own good and with the hope that we can make something out of ourselves. 

I can’t say we made something out of ourselves with pride –to other, we are still nothing but we did it okay.  We all would loved if our parents wanted to live with at least one of us in a city, but they have sacrificed enough doing without us and we are not going to ask them to part with the one place they love.  Apart from that, I often observed how handicapped and worthless they felt in the few occasion they came to visit us. 

In the village, they have farm and garden to keep them busy, animals to take care of, have close relatives as neighbours who sought their advice for every decision and can take care of them if the needs be. They have a full and dignified life there, the only thing amiss is their children. If they had lived with us, they have to give up all that since life in a city call for a totally different life style. We don’t want them to make so many changes and adjustments so late in their life or feel sorry about themselves for the remaining years of their life.

We know how much they miss us and we miss them too.  It’s a sacrifice –a sacrifice to maintain dignity, to show our respect and love and as a token of thanks –a sacrifice that we all understand.  That’s the reason why we never wanted to drag them away from the one place they love –the place that we all realized we are still in love with.

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!”

My Vote: My Say?

Come May, and the world’s largest democracy and the second most populous country in the world will go to the poll for the General Parliamentary Election. It will be a chance for the billion people of India to have their say in the governance –or at least in principle.

I remember often seeing this TV commercial where it says ‘if you don’t vote on Election Day, then you are sleeping and you have no right to complain’. I want to protest that complaining is what I did best, but I definitely don’t want to be caught sleeping even though I love sleeping.

So, I got to thinking if I were given the chance to have my say be actually turned into action, what would I say? There would be many things I would want to say. As a Christian, as a Tribal, as a Minority Community, as a Student and as a Citizen, everything about me is crying out to be heard –that’s also the one reason why I blog in the first place!

But I need to be realistic and stop nursing false hope since I live in a world called reality. And that left me with very little to say. During Delhi’s Assembly election last year, a friend joked that if someone put up a donkey as a candidate, she would rather vote that donkey, and I remember saying ‘amen’ to that.

As a Christian, I am furious (what an irony) that when Hindu mobs run amok ransacking and burning churches in Karnataka; torching the houses and mercilessly killing poor dalit Christians in Orissa; not a single Christian Minister or MP said a single word! We have enough prominent political figures (I can quickly count 2 Union Minister and about 25 - 30 MPs) who chose to remains silent –how orphaned we felt! Amidst all that, all the Prime Minister can do was to come out and lambast organized religion as a whole! Misinterpreted Liberalism… what a shame!

This election too, we will not have much choice like in the past. You can chose an individual who you think might be sensible, once elected he/she will sacrifice everything for the sake of his/her party’s image or as they say. You vote for a party, and they will remain a mute spectator while your house and church are burned!

But if you are a Dalit-Christian, it’s worse. You have to choose between your religion and your identity. Once you become a Christian, you lost your dalit identity but that doesn’t mean you will enjoy social acceptance. Apart from that, no matter how poor or backward you are, you will have to fight with the general people for every field of opportunity.

If you happened to belong to any of the poor minority communities, be very threatened. Whenever those political parties or the newly launched one needed some media attention, they will come to attack you, massacre you and no one will speak-up for you. If you dared even as to raise a protest, they will throw you in jail while those mobs will go scot-free. That’s what it means to be a minority in India and I don’t think this election will change anything.

If you are a tribal, all that you can do is to look-up to the sky where the non-tribals’ built their castles –waiting for those few scraps of government’s welfare schemes to fall-off off their table. We don’t want those scraps of welfare schemes, but a share in the overall development of the much proclaimed India’s booming economy.

As a marginalize tribal, I want inclusion in the progress of the country. When India go overboard claiming itself to be the world largest democracy, the armed forces continue to have unlimited powers in the North-eastern states of India subduing its tribals inhabitants into military rules and making them a perpetual refugees in the land of their forefathers.

As a student, I want better educational infrastructure and support –at par with those private institutions’. I also want an inclusive education where we are not forced to study the history of only certain section or part of the country or some socialist propaganda. I want quality education upon which one can build a life and not an education that put emphasis on pass-fail ratio or obtaining degree/certificate alone.

As a citizen, I want a government that’s not afraid to speak up the truth and stand up for the right things without fear of losing their vote-banks. I want a government that don’t emphasize on gender alone, or class, caste or race. I want a safer country where each one of us can roam free without the fear of being attacked because of your facial feature, religion, gender, caste, class or race.

There are many more that I want or don’t want, and looking at the leading political parties and their prospective candidates, it seems that I’m only wasting my time listing my wants or don’t wants. So I come to the question ‘should I still cast my vote this coming election’.

No, I don’t believe that the single vote I hold can make a difference among a billion people, and yes, I’m a pessimist because I have enough reasons to be disappointed, so this coming election, I’m going to stay at home and enjoy the holiday. It’s just not worth voting for someone who dared not to stand-up for his/her own people/religion or for that matter, speak out against injustice.

tags: zo, zomi, zogam, lamka

Life In A City

Talking in phone with my little niece back home, she reminds me of how much I fancied living in a big city when I was her age. I saw the lights, the glitters and the glamour in those films and convince myself to believe living in a city would guarantee them all. What a disappointment!

In those days, if I were told that there are frequent power-cuts in big cities like Delhi or Bombay or that the roads are filled with pot-holes, I would shake my head in dispassionate unbelief. And, how would I believe that I would spent a large chunk of my hard-earned money on renting a single room that's more like a dark cave with a single door and a window (if you're lucky)!

Many of us living outside left behind their wives/husbands; children and or parents back at home. I don't want to imagine what those separated couples must be undergoing, but I can speak for myself and assert that it's not easy either –being single, working and living in a city.

If you are lucky enough to get Sunday off from your work, it's the only day when you can meet people of your kind -that too, only if the church is within a reasonable distance. That Sunday church service could be your only 'social life' for the week unless you are one of those crows who are comfortable enough in their fake peacock's feather.

On the occasional time you went to church, you might even saw someone who fasten you heart beat and you may stole many quick glances, but that's as far as you would go, because for the next six days, you would be pre-occupied with your work and you would even hardly have the time to think about her/him.

You woke up in the morning, clean yourself, have breakfast, pack you lunch and off you went to spent the next hour commuting to your work place. You returned home in the evening buying grocery on your way, tidy yourself up, prepare and have dinner, watch a little bit of TV and you dozed off. You repeated the same pattern the next day, six days a week, and will continue to do so in the future. That’s life in the city.

If you are lucky enough to have someone within the neighborhood, you'll at least have someone to chat with, or if your family or friends have telephone, you can chat away for something about your monotonous/redundant life bearing in mind your fast running phone bill. Maintaining a relationship is expensive, it not only consumes time, but also your money.

Life in a city provides many 'pros' and as much 'cons', just like in the rural areas. Big cities offer mostly materialistic things, and to enjoy them one needs to have a deep pocket, and most of us can afford that. While at home, what we are being offered are mostly aesthetic like clean air, water & environment, love, friendships and so on; the absence of which can make life pretty scary...

May be that's the reason why the word 'home' sounds so heart-warming. The mere thought of 'home' can heal you of the day's fatigue, it can relax you from the tension boiling inside you on over-hearing someone calling you names or making an unnecessary comments about you. The word 'home' can transport you across the seas and the plains and take you to those ranges of hills and mountains where you spent the happy days of your childhood. The word 'home' is transcendental; it’s therapeutic and transforming...

My Christmas Wish: Change

American President Elect Barrack Obama has inspired people the world over to believe in his campaign anthem of Change. The recent Mumbai Attack roused the people of India asking for change in the administration set-up and heads have started rolling. Now to my point; can we too, in Manipur, believe in that change?

Now to be honest, most of us don’t believe Manipur can actually change, and for change to happen, we need to believe in. But this Christmas, against all odds, I’ll be praying for a little change, a tiny little change as a gift. And, that tiny little change I’ll be asking as a gift will be –taking responsibility.

Taking responsibility –not for the failure of the state, the system, or as such, but towards our own job, and that’s not too much to ask. If each one of us do our job –the job for which the government paid us, it’s not much of a change, but the end result will be a big change.

The first step towards change is for us to realize and hold ourselves responsible for what and where we are in now. But as I said earlier, you have been paid and you lived on that salary, so why not simply do the works that you are suppose to do. No one expect you to go the extra mile even though we would appreciate if there’s any one dedicated enough for that.

Teachers to teach students in the school where they are posted, doctors/nurses to nurse patients in the hospital/PHC where they are posted, electrician, postmen, etc, should all do the work that they are paid for –that’s all I asked.

When old age pension actually benefit the old, when mid-day meals are actually a meal, when all government welfare funds are utilized for the real target; that will be the day when my little Christmas wish will be fulfilled.

How difficult that could be, and that even got nothing to do with change. But that’s the change I’m asking for, and hopefully each one of us is inspired enough. And this Christmas, let’s introspect on the bigger change, the change that inspired people all over the world, and realize that we too are part of the world and we too can change.

The Ties That Bind Us

There are many things that bind a family together. Apart from the usual family things, there are small things that hold together our conversation and help us avoid those awkward moments during dinners. For instances, my Father’s sense of humor made us one of the most envied family when we grew up. It is our shared love for music, especially Southern Gospel/ Country Gospel music that keep my conversation going with my big Brother. On the other hand, Robert Ludlum keep us going with my other Brother.

All of the above are shared interest, so how about personal troubles. Sometimes situations like death, personal tragedy and other unusual situations make us stronger. The troubles one is going through, the problem the other faced, trials and humiliation, etc, can all be the bridge to a much stronger family.

As I often said, my family is far from dysfunctional even thought there are many resemblances. But these past few weeks had turned our world topsy-turvy and I’m no longer sure what is going-on in my family. The most unlikely situations took place, and totally changed our stands.

A few weeks ago, my big brother went through a nightmare, that too publicly. I thought this could be the end and feared he will never recover from it. But I thought it wrong, not only he comes out much stronger, the whole family comes out much stronger.

When it comes to big brother, we always put him in a different category, because he’s a little more adventurous than the rest of us. But when it comes to this ‘nightmare’, we were more outraged than him. We called each other and consoled each other. We talked like we never talked before, and we discussed things like we never discussed things before, and we all realize that he had been our inspiration all along.

I often thought he is the one responsible for breaking my family apart, and putting us in the situation where we are now, and I’m blubbering not without justification. But he’s the central of our universe right now and I pray he will do so in the future as well.

There are other changes, positive changes that are nothing sort of ‘miracles’ happening in my family after that ‘nightmare’, but I’m not going to this easily give-up my ‘pessimism’ tag, so I’m going to ‘wait and watch’ before I holler about them.

Still, I’m happy. We are far from the prefect family, but we all are happy with the way things turn out. It will sound a little ironic or apt to say ‘thank you’ for this ‘nightmare’, but I definitely am thankful for the changes it brought about.

T h a n k Y o u ! ! !

Secondhand Drinking

Secondhand Drinking: n. A negative effect that a drinker has on a non-drinker.

I was so irritated to stumble through this word last night I just wanted to pull-out my few remaining strand of hair. All along there had been a single word that could save me an entire unpleasant decade trying to explain my foul moods and nobody tell me of its existence..?

My irritation was fuelled by the realization that I no longer have a use for this new found word. On the other hand I’m also glad that I have no use for it. But the problem now is, my moody phases which I always attributed to Secondhand drinking still continue and I have to find a new single word that would explain it all, and I haven’t stumble upon it yet.

If you are a little confused by what I wrote about, it is like this. My father is a total teetotaler and I take after my father. But my Brother used to drink and many times he brought home his drinking friends and they would all get drunk. I can’t stand any drunk around me; they can only topple my mood. In fact, I often see drunken people only as a lesser human (i.e. about 50% functioning human).

Now, you want to admit it or not, we all suffer from secondhand drinking knowingly or unknowingly. Be it cleaning after someone’s vomit or being left red-faced by your friend’s drunken stupor in the street, or unknowingly inhaling Class-A Carcinogen emitted by alcohol in the air you breathe. That’s nothing.

For many, secondhand drinking has a lifelong impact. For instance, a friend’s education was interrupted mid-way because of his father’s heavy drinking. His not being able to achieve his optimum capability and the subsequent consequences like not having a job, impregnating a neighboring jobless girl, having more babies, not able to make ends meet and never able to climb the social ladder, etc. can all be traced back to his father’s drinking. That’s second hand drinking…

There are also high chances that secondhand drinking is responsible for your friend being categorized as Physically Handicapped. If your alcoholic neighbor is giving you sleepless night, or you are victims of car accidents, assault, fights, stupid arguments –then chances are high that you too are one in the list. Say, a Bollywood actor ran over some beggar sleeping on the pavement, their plight: secondhand drinking! In one sentence, any negative effect caused by drinking to its environment is called secondhand drinking.

Well, by now, I hope you understand what secondhand drinking is. It indeed is a serious issue that should be taken up by many housewives, and some husbands, of course. But for my poor spirit’s sake, let’s cut-out the serious part as I don’t want to sound like those moral teacher, and let’s put some twist to the above paragraph.

Section A
Q. Why don’t you get a good job?
A. My parents can’t afford to school me, they are alcoholic. (or Secondhand Drinking)
Q. Did you rough-up the neighbor’s girl?
A. No school means I got nothing else to do (or Secondhand Drinking)
Q. Why do you try to commit suicide?
A. My parents drink everything (Secondhand Drinking)

Section B
Q. Why don’t you get a good job?
A. I got kicked out (‘cos he’s alcoholic)
Q. Did you rough-up the neighbor’s girl?
A. I was Drunk (oops!)
Q. Why do you try to commit suicide?
A. I got nothing to drink.

Well, I hope you find the difference –see, the difference is there’s no difference at all. They are the same. The bottom line is -Alcohol not only harms the user, but those surrounding the user, including the unborn child, children, family members, and the sufferers of crime, violence and drink-driving accidents, so it definitely is a serious issues that need to be tackled. If smoking can be banned, why not alcohol… Secondhand drinking wrecks more homes, more marriages, and more lives than smoking.


For More:

http://speakeasyforum.com/eve/forums/a/tpc/f/518607732/m/8891070791
http://www.purdue.edu/UNS/html3month/2006/060814.T.Chester.drinking.html
http://www.spiked-online.com/index.php/site/article/324/

Ah, Just to Get Some Attention..!

Looking around our so-called Zogam (rather rough, isn’t it), it is simply evident that we caught ourselves in an isolated island where the theory of evolution fit us to the hilt. ‘Survival of the fittest’ is the war cry, and naturally, while the poor risked their head and tooth in digging out wild roots, fruits and leaves for their daily survival, the richer and fitter class come, straight facedly cheated and shamelessly snatched them away.

Even though every square metre of our land is infested with Churches, the absence of morality and ethics seems to make them nothing but a fraud, and indeed, they are. It seems like we have a chronic diseases that will never heal again. The people, who needed the prescription didn’t realize that they really are sick, and even those who realize their sickness, are helpless without any help insight. On the other hand, those who are capable of making a prescription are too busy chasing scholarship money, or prefer to live outside, lest they will be infected as well.

So, hey how about a blind man leading another blind man? The only thing is, we just have to trust each other, hold our hands and be ready to fall down the drain, in case we fall down the drain. Here are a few suggestions from a blind man for the blind men on how to overcome the vicious circle of trouble that we caught ourselves in.

• Insurgency is often cited by the government as an alibi for not doing any developmental work, but isn’t it rather the outcome of it. Well, till now we flocked towards the government since it pay us more than the insurgent groups, why don’t we threaten the government that we will flock towards and give full moral and physical support to the insurgents, don’t you think that will at least force them to take a little notice provided we beat the drums loud enough to reach the mainland media?

• Give a toy gun to everyone, from grandmother to granddaughter and take picture of ourselves and put them up in youtube, blogspot, wordpress, facebook, orkut, myspace, flickr, etc like it is the actual ground situation and try to get some international attention.

• Apparently the butch of women protesting naked in front of the Kangla Fort had stirred worldwide attention, why don’t we think more on that front to get some ‘official attention’ (of course, to our situation, Idiot!). (The men can also do, there are quite a number of influential gay men especially in the west).

• Some of us in Delhi can get arrested while plotting to kidnap the Prime Minister (or better still, Sonia Gandhi) and said desperation forced us to do this, i.e. to get national media attention.

• Why don’t we all go back to the jungle, i.e. to the wild with lion cloths and no sign of settlement? We will at least catch the attention of some anthropologist and well, environment conservators as well as social activist.

• Talking of conservators, why don’t we all become green i.e. vegetarian and environmentally friendly, etc., and write to all the major newspaper of the world crusading as if we were Chief Seathl’s children, and we can ask the PETA and the Green Peace to adopt us.

• In the other extreme, we can shout to the world that we eat Dog’s Meat –at least we will get the attention of the PETA and Bridgette Bardot.

• The most practical one, and seriously, is to join the Marxist. Marxist have the best grass-root level organization, and gosh, since we won’t be able to climb to the leadership level or as they said, the politburo level, it might just suit us fine. And with the excuse of capitalism, we can lynch all those corrupt officials getting damned rich with bribe money, and the best part, we will have the like of the Karats and Yechurys standing up on our behalf in the Parliament and justifying all our actions.

• Talking of bribe, why don’t we do more of what we have been doing all this year to get us into the World's Most Corrupt State? After facing so many hardships because of this, it’s disappointing to still not make it to the list! Come on guys, this is our speciality!

• Let’s do ’97 again… Oh! No-no-no not again! Sorry I started this… My Sincere Apologies… (Even thought the attentions Darfur get and the Celebrities involved in are something… Blah! Never Again. Sorry, my Sincere Apologies –once again…).

Okay, now I said ‘blind man leading another blind man’, so if you are offended by what I wrote, which is not intended at all, I want you to know that you’re not blind –and that you are reading something that isn’t for you. Anyway, thanks for reading…

No Pun Intended!
No Harm Intended!
No Offence Intended!

A Thought on Anti-Child Labour Day

Today (June 12th) is World Day against Child Labour (as recognized by the UN), but for most of the child labourers around the world, it’s just another working day while the social activists continued debating on the definition of Child Labour. The definition of child Labour vary from country to country, but generally speaking, Child Labour means any work that harms or exploits the child in some way (physically, mentally, morally, or by blocking access to education).

According to the International Labour Organization (ILO) estimation in 2000, around ‘246 million child workers aged 5 and 17 were involved in child labour, of which 171 million were involved in work that by its nature is hazardous to their safety, physical or mental health, and moral development. Moreover, some 8.4 million children were engaged in so-called 'unconditional' worst forms of child labour, which include forced and bonded labour, the use of children in armed conflict, trafficking in children and commercial sexual exploitation’.

The ILO has estimated that 218 million children between the ages of five and seventeen work in developing countries. Of these, 122.3 million children work in the Asia-Pacific region, 49.3 million work in Sub-Saharan Africa, and 5.7 million work in Latin America and the Caribbean.

In India the Government banned the employment of children below the age of fourteen years in factories, mines and hazardous sector, and regulates the working conditions of children in other employment. The Child Labour (Prohibition and Regulation) Act, 1986 seeks to achieve its basic objective. But the act does nothing to protect children who perform domestic or unreported labor, which is very common in India. In almost all Indian industries, girls are unrecognized laborers because they are seen as helpers and not workers.

Child labour should definitely be condemned but somehow, there should also be room enough for the child to make his/her own choices. In my opinion, prohibiting people under a certain age limits not only discriminate, but also violates his/her human rights, it reduced the child’s options and leave him/her at the mercy of those with money.

One of the inherent causes of child labour is parental poverty. And more often than not, the child is happy to contribute his/her share at the dinning table. When I was young, every Saturday, my mother would drag me to the paddy field. I hardly was capable of doing anything except fetch water, but looking back now, I am glad she did that. Those few things that I learned at that time were the few things I knew about farming. I am glad that I contributed my share instead of whiling the time away in the village.

I once read about a butch of inspired youths rescuing some child labourer and leave them at the police station, leaving the police totally helpless not knowing what to do with the children. Yesterday, British clothing retailer Primark axed three Indian suppliers for sub-contracting works to child labourer. And last year, fashion house Gaps banned a certain export house because of employing underage worker. Such actions and/or boycott may make senses but also have long-term consequences and actually harm rather than help the children.

For instances, a UNICEF study found that 5,000 to 7,000 Nepalese children turned to prostitution after the United States banned that country's carpet exports in the 1990s. Also, after the US introduced the Child Labour Deterrence Act, an estimated 50,000 children were dismissed from their garment industry jobs in Bangladesh, leaving many to resort to much more dangerous and exploitative job.

Child labour is present universally. But it is mainly rampant in the developing countries because of widespread poverty. The quickest solutions is for the government to enforce the anti-child labour laws along with compulsory education laws together, while making the education system more widespread, affordable and relevant while increasing the income level of the parents enough to compensate the child’s earning potential.

It is the dream of every child to go to a good school and have no work to do, but any thoughtful child is equally happy to contribute his share to the family meagre income, so the government must take the child labourers on-board to construct a solution for the problem. Ensuring that all children go to school and that their education is of good quality are keys to preventing child labour.

…misfortune alone can’t bring down the bridge

Sometimes, misfortune also brings about a realization that can make you feel much better or worse. Most of the times, the best of imagination, feeling and understanding are not enough to comprehend a situation, and, as always, first-hand experience is the most realistic and reliable experience i.e. if it doesn’t break you down.

It was exactly a week ago, a Monday night, on my way back home from office that I was attacked by 4 men on my way. I had always taken that route since we moved to this south-west Delhi area a few months ago. It is not a main road, but well lit and less crowded. I barely noticed them hanging around there until they started attacking me from behind. One of them caught hold of me and another keep punching and pulling my hair. The other, their leader, I suppose, keep shouting and abusing me from the side while one of them try to snatch my wallet and mobile phone from my hand.

Fortunately enough, I spotted a PCR van passing through the main road and I shouted for help. I thought the two policemen would rush, but they actually walked –walk, in its slowest version, while my attackers make their escape. But to surprise me more, I noticed six or seven men standing near the wall watching me being attacked and didn’t raise a single cry for help –forget about attempting to help me.

We have a saying that vaguely translates to –misfortune brought down the bridge. It was the last thing I expected, to be abused, assaulted and attacked. I am no tough nut nor is my slender frame made for physical fighting. Maybe all they want is my wallet and mobile phone or just to have some fun while robbing someone. I don’t know why I just don’t let go my phone and wallet, when my wallet is close to empty and my old phone will hardly fetch them much, but I just hold on to them as if my life hang on them –maybe my consciousness is not willing to be abused and robbed.

But the final blow comes with the Police. After ‘inspecting the situation’ (it’s their word), there’s no visible physical injuries and since they failed to rob me, there’s no need to register a case and I should just go home. They lectured me on sets of rules which I should observe as a minority living in Delhi and the first rules is to avoid this sort of places. I just want to tell them this is the sort of place we live, but it’s my nature to keep my mouth shut and spent some time in solitude when any sort of emotions passed me. They offered to drop me home; I just picked up my bag and pieces of eye-glass and went home.

I hardly feel anything at that moment but seething anger at the spectator who watched me like a beaten-up stray dog too frightened to even run, and at the cold advices of the policemen and their inaction. But late at night when I lay down to sleep and the day’s episode slowly passed my mind, I feel my heart beat fastening and sweat started to cover me. The thought of my attacker made me tired than the day’s work and the cold advice of the policemen made me shudder, and the whole incidents makes me nervous about the next day.

My attackers are no different from the average people whom I met in the street, or the people whom I work with. The mute spectators are not different either; they are the same faces I see when I look out of the window, when I turn left or right. How can I ever know this or that person will attack me and which one will not? I doubt I’ll ever find the answer, so I’ll have to live with the fear until time and memories sympathize with me and make me forget all about the incident.

I had always been concerned about my sisters and nieces, but it seems I hardly understand their feeling. Fearing about something that we never experience and fearing something that we had experienced is totally different. Looking back now, I’m especially angry with my self and at the policemen who advised me to quietly go back home. I had run away from seeking justice, thus failing not only myself, but my sisters and nieces and everyone else who might face the same situation in the future.

But when I asked myself –if something similar happened to someone in my presence, will I be the same mute spectator? I just don’t know how to answer that. I had been a mute spectator to many incidents unless it got anything to do with my immediate family, of course, they were much less minor, but my stand had always been –it’s better to avoid any sort of trouble as long as it can be avoided, and I still think that’s the best policy especially when living in the mainland.

Do I still think that’s the best policy? Well, I don’t know. A week has passed now, and I still dreaded taking that same route. I took only the main road, fighting for spaces with cycles, rickshaws, scooters and cars. But do I feel any safer on the main road –no, the incident still haunts me. And, something tells me that if I’m attacked here, no one would help me either but there’ll definitely be lots of spectators. After all, how can I expect anyone to get involved in a trouble that got nothing to do with him?

I think you must feel the same way I feel. This is a deep rooted problem facing not just you and me but everyone else. My case is not one of a kind, it happened every now and then, though it’s probable that my facial feature may make it easier for me to be selected out of the rest. But I still must maintain that it’s just my misfortune that the bridge would fall just as I passed.

I think such incidents would continue to happen until people get more educated and civilized enough to respect one another for what they are. And I sincerely hope our policemen learnt a little bit more about policing and instead of dissuading, they should encourage and try to earn the trust of the people. After all, misfortune alone doesn’t bring down the bridge.

No comment please, I’m recovering…

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

In the Footstep of an Angel

My little job requires me to move and work all around the country and there are many instances when I found myself in some extremely isolated places deep in the mainland of the country. And I must tell you there are quite a number of times when I found myself being the exotic one. People would come to see me or stare at me forgetting whatever they are doing, and as if they expect you to know their language, they would talk to you and laughed heartily at whatever you said.

I remember working for a little over two week in a small town in the tribal dominated state of Malkangiri in the south of Orissa. My job doesn’t require me to go out much but my boss and other consultants from our firm have to go all over the sub-division for meeting with all sorts of people to discuss their problems, what can be done, their conditions and standards of life, and they asked me to come along and help them since I hardly have anything to do at that time.

I don’t have to attend any meeting and thought of spending the days inside my room in the state guest house. But after the first two meeting on the first day itself, my boss have to send for me since the villagers enquire too often about me. After that I was part of every meeting though I hardly have any role in those meetings nor do I have anything to spoke about, but as soon as the meeting is over, everybody would come first to me to shake hand, and if there is anything to be eaten, it was started with me.

When we work in the makeshift office, I, and my laptop are the most exciting thing to watch, all the staffs in the guest house would stand behind me to watch me working with my colourful daily schedules in excel sheet. When I went out to buy some fruits, if they do charge me, they ensure that I get more than I paid for. On the roadside, they would ask me to taste some fruits or food, and even if I grimace, rather then being offended, they laughed heartily.

At first, I was embarrassed at the treatment I get, I know pretty well that I am a nonentity, I have no rank and I am no consultant. This is in total contrast to the treatment I got in Delhi which was etched in my mind like a scar. Then I started getting curious and suspicious else they are expecting something from me.

The consultants were also curious but they said it was just because of the difference in my face, but that don’t satisfy me so I started enquiring by myself. One day I happened to meet a man who spoke a little English and it was from him that I learned of the Doctor.

It seems nearly a decade before I was here, a ‘foreign man’ (a Filipinos missionary named Dr. Santiago, I later learned) served here. He was basically a doctor, and died before he can fulfil his mission. But within the two years he spent here building up his base, he had done a lot of development work like a water harvesting reservoir for their farm, digging fish ponds and many well for the villages around here apart from working as a doctor without charging anything.

It frighten me to think that I was compared with someone of that stature, though in some way it saved me from the name-calling that I was very familiar with wherever I go. I thought the best way to deal with the situation was to continue being myself and do nothing to strenghten or weaken the illusion they had of that great man. Fortunately the Team Leader sensing my discomfort asked me to leave for the base office.

I thought of looking up for some information on the net about that good Doctor, but there was none and I never got the chance to go back to the place. This is my tribute to that Good Doctor, I only wish I have known his full name or at least some more information about him. May God increases his tribes! ©lyan

(An extract from my diary dated February, 2007)

For Our Tomorrow..?

Exactly a decade has passed since I last stand here. I can still feel the sting of the evening winds, it still whispers in my ears and the hustles of leaves can still be heard –but the smell, it smells different.

I sat down at the trunk of the old ugly oak tree where I used to sit. The tree –not deterred by age and change, sprouted new saplings whose buds are snipped by the mark of a sharp tool, most probably held by some itching hand.

I used to sit in one of its poking branch overlooking the whole village and its valley. A dry stump with marks of axe partially hidden by undergrowth is the remaining remnant of that branch which, to my childish imagination, put the village and its valley under my mercy.

I don’t care where I sit now, I don’t bother how much I have to bend or in what position must I put my foot to step over the village, nor do I bother to count the number of houses anymore. The voices of playful children coming from the village don’t lull me nor the call of darkness scares me, but the beckoning of my conscience makes me restless.

I looked around; the stark contrast between the two sides of the mountain ranges provoked my always helpless conscience. From the village, looking up at the vast green covering of the mountain ranges is a pure delight for the senses. As long as I can remember, this ranges of mountain has been a restricted zone as it was the main source of water that gurgle down the gorges through the little brooks that supply water to the village and paddy fields.

But looking at the leeway side of that very range is a different story. It had never been deprived of its green covering thought never a protected forest. I remember women folks climbing up the mountain to collect firewood –it was abundant enough, they never had to cut down any standing tree. But a decade has totally washed down its greenery.

Small dugouts –burnt and black, can be seen everywhere. In most of the dugouts, you can see people packing or digging-out the black burned-out remains of the trees that once covered the place, and nearby them, bags of charcoal lies in a haphazard row. Farther down the slope, clouds of smokes seeped out of small foxholes. The smokes come from the burning woods buried beneath the ground.

Those bags of charcoal will be transported to Lamka, and from there –they don’t bother. But the little income they earn from the charcoal is their lifeline. Times have changed; the land is not as fertile as it used to be. The hard, day long toil at the field can no longer sustain their simple existence.

The glowing rays of the sun can be seen in the far horizon; at least that horizon is still dense with trees. Just then I heard a voice calling out my name, it was my aunt. It would otherwise have been hard to recognize her blackened face if not for her shrill voice. She reminded me that I should be at home unless I wanted another bout of malaria. Indeed, it is funny to see what a tiny little mosquito can do.

Tags: mizo, zomi, zogam

BE A SUCCESS

(While going through some of my old notebooks this past week, I found this short essay which I wrote for an inter-school competition when I was studying in Standard –VIII. By the way, it won me the first prize!)


In our day to day life, we used to use many platitudes to encourage each other never knowing the real meaning. Such platitudes are not only empty but are also dangerous.

We used to say that there is nothing impossible. But in reality there are many things which are impossible. Our wishes, dreams and hopes are proofs to those impossibilities. If everything had been possible there would be no wishes, dreams, hopes, regrets, surprises, sadness etc.

The fact is there are things which are in our reach and there are things which are simply beyond our reach. Our capability, our nature limits the possibilities. The criteria are defined by nature and one had to accept them. Thus it is not only a failure but a suicide to want something which is beyond our reach.

My father used to tell me the higher you dream, the higher you fall. Now I understand what he meant. If you are to be satisfied by reaching the moon while you aimed for the stars, let me remind you –you are a thousand million light years failure!

It is our insecurities which give rise to these sayings. We could make our life more secure by focusing on the small matters. Why should we give room to failure when we can replete our life with successes? We should focus on the next step that we are to take, after successfully taking that step we can focus on the next and so on.

Life is not a bed of roses. For every rose, there is a thorn. Removing the thorn one by one will make our journey called life a bed of roses all along. After all it is not the star that we hold, but the journey that we happily called life. ©lyan