Kismet

Atu told me a story the other day of a couple who met because the woman dialled a wrong number. His number. I don’t know the details but surely, that’s some high grade Universe interference, no?

Fate.

Now I don’t trust destiny at all. I find I look at it with a healthy dose of scepticism. I tend to think of it, in Whovian language, as a tool the Master would use, and not the Doctor. For the uninitiated, this simply means I squint my eyes at Kismet and question its intents.

Take this couple. Of all the random numbers in the world, what possessed her to dial his number? Who moved the pieces? Who rolled the dice? Who threw the stones? 

Cherry on top – they did get married, but then divorced bitterly.

I find it worrying. It would appear that the Universe really wanted them to meet. My question is why. Why did the Universe want them to meet that badly? What nefarious intentions did it have with them?

Because it is one thing if the couple had stuck together. But they didn’t. So what was so important that they needed to meet? What would have happened if they didn’t? What got prevented because they met? All the whats and whys bother me a lot.

Sometimes I think the Universe gets bored and finds torturing us amusing. So I remain wary of kismet.

All of this is not to say that I don’t appreciate kismet. Things happen. Sometimes things work, even when everything seems against it. Sometimes even when it seems like everything is working out, things fall flat. I whole-heartedly believe in invisible hands enabling us. I believe in Fate and things happening for reasons, even reasons we don’t understand. I even believe in Karma.

So yes. I do believe in Kismet. I just don’t trust it as far as I can throw it. And who has ever heard of anyone throwing kismet?

Muttons and Cakes

People make them wrong.

I hope I am not a snob when it comes to many things. Like luxury brands. Or cultural elements. Or occupations. But forgive me for this slight on my character (which is maybe why I haven’t been canonized yet because otherwise I am basically a saint) but I am a snob when it comes to dessert and randomly, mutton curry.

I blame Delhi for this.

In Delhi, I ate a lot of dessert items. They were wonderful. Defence Colony, Greater Kailash and Connaught Place mostly. Now more people who have travelled wider and experienced more than me would have more to say on the culinary arts of baked goods, but for me, Delhi was it. But it was a good it. As far as I know.

I talk here about tiramisu, opera pastries, black forest cakes, cheesecakes and red velvet cakes. 

When I returned home, I found there were a few people in Mizoram who made wonderful cheesecakes that could even compete, on good days, with The Big Chill. Otherwise? People just don’t make my favourite cakes well in Mizoram. Not consistently, at least. Vanilla based cakes they manage quite well and I love some of them, definitely. But with chocolate, something is always missing. It’s too heavy, or too dry, or too sweet, or the moist-ness is wrong, or the cherry is less (with blackforest), or something. It’s always not-quite-right.

There was The Twisted Sisters in Aizawl who made amazing bombolinis. Now that could compete with Dunkin Donuts, no problem, and emerge on top. What a winner! Do they still make it? Or KT Bakery in Lunglei who make heavenly rum balls. I’d happily rake up my calorie intake for those bad boys. 

See this is the thing about calories when you get older. Your metabolism isn’t as good as when you were seventeen. So if you risk fat for something, let it be worth it. There’s no point eating sub-par food and gaining weight and all its accompanying health concerns. The moment on the lips should be worth the forever on the hips. YOLO.

With mutton, I don’t have a lot to say. Good mutton curry should be cooked well and tearing apart with the tenderest touch. It should be seasoned well and not just a masala dump. If it has potatoes in it, the aloo should never overpower it. The general colour should be more a deep red (more soy-sauce-y) than haldi-esque. It should smell clean and subtle, and not heavy and overwhelmingly spice-laden that you can’t even smell the distinct aroma of the meat.

See I’m not snobbish about most food, even fast food, not even with the rubbish chow and momo we sometimes get in Mizoram. Even when the boiled egg is sweating beads because it was just pulled out of a fridge on a hot day. Even when the samosa in the little village is so ginger-and-red-chilli hot that I start sweating. I appreciate people who make food and I usually just eat what I eat and if I don’t like it, quietly not eat. I don’t usually judge food and their makers. So I don’t know why I am this way with cakes and mutton. But it is what it is. I remain very snobbish about mutton and cakes.

And books too, maybe. If your favourite Indian author is Chetan Bhagat, I’m sorry but I judge you.

Winning Metaphorical Cattle

I could be wildly wrong but I have long felt that “Ṭawngkam ṭha in sial a man” is less about sycophancy as it is about courtesy.

People like to sneer upon it, though. I have met people who think that this is an outdated and outmoded phrase. Well-placed words will win you cattle, I suppose. The phrase is from pre-money Mizoram economy so you replace what you need. The baseline is you choose your words properly, you gain favour.

This leads to people translating the phrase to mean chamcha giri. You fall all over yourself, kiss people’s ass and you get your job done. This is deplorable so I do understand when people sneer at this behaviour. You never want to meet, much less have to deal with, even less compete with, someone who does this.

And it is understandable in this light to then hate on this particular phrase. As long as you take it to mean that. But life is a curious little PR venture. You might have legal power, or money power, or muscle power, but sometimes all of that falls flat if you don’t have soft power. PR. This is when you realise that a little courtesy can go a long way. People are willing to go an extra mile for someone they like or respect. In the same way they are willing to risk censure for someone they loathe. 

And people can be, let’s put it this way, very creative.

A wise person understands that civility can calm temperamental people. That a show of gentility can make a person think more of you than you are. That, as with the Rings of Kula among Polynesian tribes, gift-giving is reciprocal, even when it is not commensurate. I believe in English, people say about gift: it is the thought that counts. All jokes aside, it really is. In an office, you are so very much more predisposed to move the file of someone you share kuhva with than someone who chide you for eating kuhva. It is what it is. If you’re smart about it, you accept it. Fighting this is not a hill you should fancy dying on.

Of course, there are always people who pervert this polite, dainty gesture to further their own causes. I have in my adult life realised that some people would not only do what it takes for them to survive, but also throw others, not just under the bus, but actively to the wolves, to ensure their own welfare. I find this despicable. But again, it is what it is. For them, the phrase is definitely about sycophancy. However, I would add that insincerity does not last. People usually recognise empty flattery for what it is, sooner or later. Besides, Karma will find them.

There is another phrase that comes to mind: “Mi kuta rul kaw zen”. I am not the best translator so I would just put it as attempts to reach into a snake’s burrow using someone else’s arm. It’s very straight-forward. Not much explanation needed in terms of advisory warnings. Basically, beware cowards.

And beware sycophants.

Funny thing is, they’re usually the same people.

Cowards are very dangerous people, come to think of it. Tivolians come to mind. Another topic for another day!

Animals

“What? Of the dinosaur?” my sister asked me indignantly.

A response to me asking her to take a picture of the animal in front of us. The reptile, I suppose. It was the largest I’d ever seen. We were driving to Serchhip from Hnahthial and I was on the wheels so I couldn’t whip out my camera. I asked Feli to quickly take a picture.

Enter the first sentence of this blog.

I was super amused. Apparently, Feli had never seen a monitor lizard IRL. Tangkawng. I didn’t know! In my family, us siblings – especially us girls – spend so much time together that most of our experiences are shared ones. Or at least relayed back to the others in nice details, enough for things to feel like we were there ourselves. But I suppose we’ve grown up and have experienced many things separately. I also didn't know she didn't like big lizards necessarily. I should have known. She doesn't like geckos either. She calls them dinosaurs as well.

Anyhoo, seeing animals in the wild has become my corner, what with me spending so much time outside Aizawl these days. I remember seeing a really fat, sleek Sanghar near Kelkang, one night. I remember, too, me musing out loud that Kelkang poultry farmers must hate it. I feel like it stole a lot of their chicken. It was so shiny and plump. Adorable. Shaped like a friend but I bet it wasn’t remotely friendly. 

A few nights ago, I once again saw a really fat Zawbuang with its too-long furry tail on my way back from Tuipui D. It reminded me of King Julien of Madagascar, the rascal.

I am always delighted when I see these wild animals. I take a quiet pride in having seen a Phivawk one time too near Sateek. Crossing the road as calm and damn-care as possible. I bet it knows no one wants to eat its stinky meat.

Birds, too. I am scared of birds in general but mostly that’s because of chickens. Scary tiny dinosaur descendant with no fear. Yeesh. But as long as I don’t have to touch them, I love them. No matter how many times I see birds, be they wild pigeons, crows, eagles, even sparrows… I still marvel. I love them. I once saw a really plump Vahrit on my way to Tualte. That was brilliant. It was really early in the morning so it felt like a gift. I saw, too, a really nice, brightly coloured Bawng in Aibawk during one of my morning walks. A robin, I think they call it. That made me so happy. One of my disappointments in Champhai was that I never got to meet the vultures that sometimes gather near Vengthar. I was there for so long and I went to birdwatch for them once or twice but I was not lucky. 

I did watch in silence for long two Safia dancing with each other happily in Champhai once. That felt almost like a Disney feature.

I’ve always loved animals. I’d pet them all if they’d let me. I get this mad desire and itch to touch them and hold them. I remember feeding kuhva to does/deers back in Luangmual, Lunglei; that was lovely. Monkeys too although I am scared of them. I am scared of snakes too but even so, I once petted a live Rulngan because it was beckoning me. Roma held it immobile for me but it was definitely alive. Snake skin looks like it would be slimy but no, it’s just smooth and cold.

Like a Gecko’s, actually. Now that’s dinosaur looking.

People sometimes say it is a general rule of thumb that if someone likes cats, chances are they like most other animals as well. Because cats are highly unlikable and for domesticated animals, have too clear set boundaries. I like cats. A lot of people know me for it and call me a Cat Lady. I accept the honour. But the rule of thumb holds true for me. I’d pet a polar bear if I could. If I ever got fortunate enough to hold and play with a panda bear one day, I would be so happy.

In fact, on the main, my desire concerning going to heaven is to be able to pet and cuddle up to all the animals I want. Imagine snuggling up with a grizzly bear without fear of being mauled to death. Or hugging a tiger with its huge murder mittens. Or riding a rhinoceros. Fun.

There’s no point to this blog. I just like animals.

An Intro to the Mariah Carey Season

Atu has been MIA the past fortnight because of Manipur and its restrictions on the internet. This sucks because she is my emotional support friend and I run most things past her. And these past two weeks have been, to put it mildly, busy. For her part, the first text I received once she got her internet back was a curse on the universe for having inflicted this shit on us. And a query as to why the asteroid that doomsday scientists keep warning us about never reach us and obliterate life on earth as we know it.

A few years back, the pair of us with my sister and the boy who would one day be her husband decided to team up and have a Shimla Christmas. Moshil was already a friend at that point but that trip was supposed to be the hard launch of their relationship to me. He passed the test. Aside from the fact one day we were walking around, the four of us, and Atu and I got worked up over wine, and he shoved us. 

There was so much choice in terms of local fruit wines in Shimla. But about 80% of the wine we’d tasted the day before had been dry and not at all tasty. If you wanted to get knocked out, they probably were fine. But in terms of taste, they sucked. Which irritated the pair of us when we passed the wine shop again and we started ranting.

I have a shrill, annoying voice. Atu is the same. And we get very nasal and high-pitched the angrier we get. And the wine selection got us properly stimulated to the point that maybe only squirrels could hear us. We did not drink a drop that day but we were standing near a wine shop, facing each other, arms flailing (we’d learned this as we were learning to be Delhites) and talking so shrilly dogs started getting agitated around us (I’m kidding), and Momo was embarrassed. We looked and sounded properly high. My sister was already pretending she did not know who we were. Which was a joke on her because we look very similar and often could pass for twins. 

So, in his mortification, Momo shoved us and herded us away like cattle to a more convenient location. We were highly offended (again, I kid). I forgive Momo, but mostly because he shared his glass momo with the three of us that evening. In Shimla, you should try this; it’s quite tasty.

I forced my garden to listen to Christmas Songs this evening and the fact Atu is back online took me back to the Shimla Christmas, is why I decided to blog about the Mariah Carey season. It is a good time of the year!

Phawngpui

I’ll make this short. Mostly because I was playing with the dog and I don’t really have a lot to offer in terms of directions.

So what you do is, if you’re not from Hnahthial, you spend your night in South Vanlaiphai. That's about 2 hours South-East from Hnahthial. There’s a Tourist Lodge there. And there’s a nice man called John who will take care of you. Granted I haven’t spent the night there but I plan to soon. If I do, I’ll let you know. (And if you want to book your stay there, get in touch with me and I’ll see if I can get you Pu John’s contact details.)

I’m not talking about scaling the heights of the Blue Mountain. I just have plans for the picnic style route. From South Vanlaiphai, you leave after breakfast and you’ll reach Sangau after about half an hour’s drive. From there, you push on ahead to Thaltlang. About a half hour again because the road sucks. At Thaltlang, you need to rent a 4-wheel drive. And when I say you need a 4x4, I mean that you should not drive your own 4x4 up the hill but that you make sure you hire one. The drive up is very challenging and you really need someone who knows the road. And knows it well. Be safe.

So! The Pick-Up truck will drive you to Far Pak. That will be about 3000 INR. The drive up is not pleasant but good for experience. The meadow there is to die for. The view is breath-taking. The air is gorgeous. Your IG will be flooded.

You can leave when the air gets a bit nippy. Or when your tuck supply runs out. Then drive back to South Vanlaiphai and have your dinner and rest for the night there. I think Pu John will be able to arrange a bonfire if you ask nicely. He makes really good fish curry, by the by, so make sure you tell him to prepare that. I don’t joke about food much and in my old age have gotten pretty persnickety over food so you know I’m good for my word when I say someone made good food. The chow in South Vanlaiphai town, however, is nothing to write home about. As in it is not good. And the boiled egg sweats beads because they put it in a fridge otherwise. But the fish curry in the Tourist Lodge is good.

Spend some time in the paddy fields of South Vanlaiphai before you leave the next day. The brook that runs there has fishes in it is how clean and healthy the water is. You can also make a pitstop at Darzo Peak for the history of it. It was where Fort Treager was before it burned down.

Not a bad way to spend a weekend.

P.s.: Unmanned veggie vendors are a big thing in this route. Come with change. Make sure you buy a bunch of the tiny bananas. Very tasty.

Popcorn for The Jio/Hotstar Drama

So! The Jio/Hotstar merger. Atu told me about it the other day. I was fascinated. 

I must admit right away that I am no authority on legalities and I have zero knowledge of international laws on domains. I barely can start up a Google spreadsheet. 

But from what I understand, Disney’s Hotstar and Jio Cinema is in talks to form a merger. Which, by the way, I support. I hope they have good movies.

Anyhoo, after it was officially announced, this one Delhi techie put up a note on the jiohotstar.com website saying that he bought this domain in advance when he heard rumours of a merger. And that he wants to study in Cambridge and all he wants is one crore INR for the site, which is nothing for Reliance. Which is true. 

But!

Ok so this is where it gets good. Jio already owns jiohotstar.in. But most corporations would like to co-op all versions of their sites so that people aren’t misdirected to the wrong one. So after his announcement, Jio came out saying that they have filed a legal case because this is domain squatting, which is illegal. 

I'm guessing if Delhi Boy was using his site for anything, then it’s still fine. Technical loophole and all that. But with his own announcement, he basically admitted to having bought the site specifically to get money from Jio. Sounds very extortion-y. I don’t think any mega corporation would want to look weak by caving to his demands. Even if the one crore was pocket change to them.

So instead of one crore, he got a legal case from a corporation that has bottomless money.

And then news broke that he has sold it through a third party to some other people in Dubai, which is now covered by international law. But people are saying that he could still be liable because the case filed against him happened before the sale!

It’s a lot of drama. Apparently his parents are also scared because they think he’s taking on the Ambanis and no one wants to do that. Also it seems he is facing a ton of hacking attempts on his site. Very stressful.

But this is what I’m thinking that one wants to support the underdog but some underdogs can be really stupid. Some people really can NOT keep quiet to save their lives these days!! It's like people need to know how brilliant we are. Or powerful. Or pretty. Or happy. Or rich. Or right. If anything happens to me, I seem to need to ‘tell my story’ which is usually code for ‘explain why I am right’. And social media has fed this narcissism like an IV injection straight to our veins. We all have our own platforms and we feel heard, like we have an audience, which is code in our heads for ‘fans’. 

Some people actually begin to think they are important. The idea that Pride goes before a fall has never been so universally applicable. Now that everyone has a platform, we all just keep falling off our own pedal stools. 

I don’t know how else to put it, honestly. What do you do when you want to support the Underdog but the Underdog is really stupid? Is it in the word? Because the response of an excited dog is to bark. Dogs don’t stay quiet. They aren’t like snails. Snails keep quiet. They don’t champion their ‘side of the story’ without thoughts of repercussions. More people need to learn this from snails.

I call it the Chengkawl Policy. I blogged about it last year too. I still consider it solid theory. Even when we are right, not all stories need to be told all the time. Some stories don’t need to be public. Some stories require a limited audience. Some stories need to brew for some time before they’re told. Some stories don’t even need to be told.

You know, returning to Delhi Boy, apparently domain squatting was made illegal after people started doing this during the early years of the dot com era. When big websites and tech companies were starting out. So tech boy did his research but not nearly enough. And he was bragging about his plot like he was Mojo Jojo or Voldemort. People had to know how brilliant he was! 

He didn’t apply Chengkawl Policy. He should have.