MIGHTY ME

Standing there in the beach

The mighty ocean bellows
Furiously it rolled, threatening
Showing off its might with every tidal wave.

I stayed there, calm and small
Mesmerized by the mighty roll
As if it were calling me out
For what that I don't know.

But I stand there watching
As the waves guarded the ocean
Shouting and screaming,
Daring me to make a move.

So I said to the ocean,
Why are you threatening me;
Have I ever done you any harm?

Then the infuriated wave rose
And in one swept took me away
I fight with the ocean, cursing and crying
Till all the strength and life in me drained away

Then comes the swimmers in their boat
Propelling through the angry waves
And dragged me back to the shore

As I lay there in the beach
I saw the boats and the swimmers
I saw the coastal embankment and the hotels
I saw the light house and the ship anchored away
And suddenly I realize what the ocean said

I stand there watching as the oceans rolls
Threatening, screaming and crying, helplessly,
A thousand years of humiliation to cover,
Caused by mighty me and my kind.

Of the secrets, lies and the closet

A walking radio, a head of mouths
A casual encounter, a day in the counter
Says 'I know you, I know you'.
A talking head, a head of mouths
Screams ‘I know you, I know you’.

But how can anyone know me
When I know that no one truly knew me.
May be I told you tales
Perhaps tall tales...
Perhaps a day in my life.
But how can you know me
When I never told you of my secrets?

For I'm a keeper of secrets
And I have countless secrets
Secrets I never told
For I'm a keeper of secrets.

So how can you truly know me
A life full of hidden secrets
A life that's a lie
For I no longer know what's secret and what's lie
And what lies cover what truth
Or what truth is hidden in that lie?
I'll never know...and I can never know.

So how can you know me,
When I don't know who I am?
How can you truly know me?

Racism: Why I am a reluctant Indian!

It is scary being a minority in India but it is intolerable being a racial minorities.  (A quote from one of my blog post in 2007)

Growing up in the hills of Manipur, I never have had any problem calling myself an Indian. Every once in a week, in the private school I attended, we would be asked to sing the national anthem of India and we would mumble the words through despite not having the slightest clue about its meaning. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember ever questioning my nationality while I was living in the North-east, not even a single time.

But once I left the north-east to pursue higher education in Delhi, I was constantly forced to answer the question regarding my nationality. I don’t have any problem with curious people asking my nationality –if they ask, I can always clarify.  But it is just too much to tolerate on everyday basis the ignorant masses that are too stupid to have any curiosity or the audacity to ask, yet still call you all the names that they can think of.

You can dismiss them as ignorant, but when they chose your facial features or skin colour to call you names, it’s nothing but pure racism.  What most people don’t know is that racism can be mild, coated or blown-out abuses, or that it can come in the form of silence or unspoken gesture.  One of my blog posts in 2008:

In India, more than the majority doesn’t even know what racism or discrimination means. The lower caste people are so used to the abuses they only cursed their lot instead of fighting for justice, while the upper castes are used to abusing the lower castes who legitimatize by accepting the abuses. So you can forget about expecting anyone from knowing what little and minor things, words, expression and gestures constitute racism and discrimination. (Read the full article here)

Around 2007-08, I used to blog about my ordeal (see my blog posts here) in Delhi, but what hurt me the most at that time was the ignorance and self-righteousness of the Indian masses, including the media.  The piousness and self-righteousness of the media over their own racism at that time was almost nauseating.

In 2008, I wrote:

Mainland Indians’ anti-racist gestures come out of the woodwork only when they perceived themselves as the target, or if it happened in the west. Just take a look at the Shilpa Shetty’s or the Lakshmi Mittal’s issues.

They stereotyped themselves only as possible victim that they forget to look home and notice that they are ruthless perpetrator themselves. If you don’t understand what I meant, you don’t have to look further than the 10 pages of matrimonial advertisements coming with your newspaper every morning. (read the full article here)

Despite the fact that I have lived over a decade in mainland India now, I continue to face the question of my nationality. But now I work in the rural areas and interacted mostly with children, I used it as an opportunity to build rapport or to start a conversation, so it benefit me with my work, and they too learned something.

But I’m tired, tired of being questioned about my nationality all the time. I'm tired, tired of proving my Indianess every time.  Because the more people ask me about my nationality, the more they make me feel alienated. And forgive me if you think I am not a patriotic Indian no matter what I really feel inside, because I cannot, and they would not let me be an Indian! 

(Read all my blog posts related to racism/discrimination)

The Land I Once Knew

The land once familiar to me,

The roads I've walked,

The fields I've surveyed,

The trees I've climbed,

The hills I’ve hiked,

Were no longer familiar to me.

I failed to remember when

The land is coarse and dusty

The fields are barren and dry

The trees are old and creepy

Or that I am but a stranger!

Perhaps we've parted our way

One early morning, long ago

When I left the land,

In search of a dream,

Only to return a decade later, or so.

The land had been my dream,

In the day, and in the night,

And I promised myself

That I’ll return one day, soon

To live with the land.

But later in a sleepy slow

And the tricks of the sadist memories,

Little by little, the dreams began to change

And get buried away, deep

The land, with other memories!

A decade later that dream resurfaced

About a land that I once knew,

It tugged my heart,

And it tugged my soul,

Until one late hour in the setting sun,

When I finally kissed its feet.

But alas, the land has forgotten me!

I had walked these roads, pleaded I,

I had surveyed these fields, screamed I,

I had climbed these trees, begged I,

I had hiked these hills, cried I,

But an eerie silence was my answer!

So I walked the roads and surveyed the fields,

I climbed the trees and hiked up the hills,

But the missing feeling of belongingness,

Can only gulf the sense of being forgotten.

So I made this promise that one day

The land will never forget me again,

For I'll be one again with the land

Head to toe, bone and skeletons,

Never to part again, one and whole,

deep in the heart, in mother earth!