Tunge Pawimawh Zawk?

Kumin hi Sunday School ah, “Ka awm nghet ngai chuang lo, hming ka ziak lo mai ang,” ka ti ve ngawt a, nimin chu ka va in ziak leh hna hna a. Zirlaibu pawh ka nei lo reng bawk a. Vawiin zirlai pawh sawiho tur kha ka chhiar lawk ve lo a, Hruaitu in a chhiar chhuah chiah khan mitko ka lo san deuh awk.

A va ril ve, ka ti a. Political Sociology ah ka rilru a lut nghal a. Thesis tham lawih mahni rilrua lo luh dan anga han sawiho mai chu a uiawm lek lek anih hi, ka ti a. Ka va hrilh ruk sar sar ka laizawn te lah chuan an ngaihven lo dun nasa. An bu liam mai mai.

Ka ngaihtuah zui leh mai mai a. Tlai lampang ah chuan “Sorkar tha nei turin sorkar hruaitute nge pawimawh mipuite?” tih chu zawhna dik vak a niin ka hre ta chiah lo. Pawimawh zawk awm thei ngaiin ka hre ta lo a. Sociologist ho hi chu kan vague ṭhin a, kan thu hi a fin aiin a frustrating zawk mah mah ṭhin. Tunah pawh Sociologist ṭawngkam takin ka thutlukna chu: Mawhphurhna hran kan nei a, pawimawhna chin a in ang lo, tih a ni leh ta tlat pek. AVBT.

Bureaucracy lam kan ni bawk a, heti zawng lo chuan thil thlir a har a, ka thlirna pawh a zau em em tawk lo ṭhin. Bureaucracy – Mizoram ah chuan sorkar hnathawk kan ti awlsam mai a – ah chuan red tapism hi kan mutan a ni a. Hna thawh ṭhata thawh tam aiin ziakin a fel em, tih hi a pawimawh em em mai ṭhin a. Kan hun tam zawk pawh hetah tak hian kan hmang ral a. Mi thluak ṭha em em, red tape a tang, an full potential ang taka thawk chhuak thei lo an awm leh ṭhin. Mipuiin kan entawn te hi US ram te, capitalist economy dang te lo ni leh si ṭhin bawk sia, anni nen India sorkar hnathawk te min khaikhin pop hi chu a fuh ber lo ve ṭhin. Kan Pathian leh Kaisara te an dang ve tlat. Amaherawhchu, kan mutan chu red tapism ka ti nangin kan dawhkan luah lai kan inthlak fo a, kan hnathawh kum te kan lo hmang zo a, kan dawta mi te tan kan awm kher lo pawha sorkar kalphung a chawlh chuang lohna tur chuan ziah fel erawh chu a lo ṭul viau zel bawk si a. AVBTQ.

Democracy ram, inthlang ram kan ni a, sorkar hruaitute lu ber chu Sorkarna Chelhtu Thlan Lal te an lo ni a. Anni nen hian in hnimhnai takin hna kan thawk a, sorkarna an chelh a, an sorkar her dan azirin a hnathawk te kan kal a, an programme leh scheme te hlawhtlin theih dan tur bureaucrats ten kan ngaihtuah pui a. Sorkar hi Motor ni ta se, a hnathawk te chu engine, a driver chu Thlan Lal te an ni ang chu. Thlan Lalte zawk hi kan Zirlaibu in a sawi hi a ni em aw, ka ti a. 

Chutiang a nih chuan mipuite aṭang tho a Aiawh thlan te an nih thin vangin sawi hran vak theih a nih ka ring lo a. Party hrang hrang ten an mi leh sa te an thehchhuak nachungin anni pawhin mipuite hneh thei tur, an vote an pek theih tur mi an thlang ve a. Chung mi te, keimahni zinga mi tho, kan aiawha rorel turin kan thlang ṭhin a. Midang an ni lo a, mipuite darthlalang lian ber chu kan Ram Hruaitu te hi an ni reng a ni. 

Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy ah fiamthu in political leaders te hi class hran anga an awm tawh hial na society ah chuan leader te hi Daidep an ni a, mipuite chu Mihring an ni a. Mihring te chuan Daidepte chu an haw em em a, mahse an chunga rorel turin Daidep te an thlang ṭhin e, a ti a. Chuti te chu engatinge Mihring te chuan Daidep chu an thlan kher a, tih zawhna chu, “An thlan mai loh chuan Daidep ṭha lo ten ro an rel ang asin,” tiin a chhang leh mai bawk a. Cynical takin a nuihzatthlak ka ti ṭhin a. Ngaihtuahna pawh a ti kal thui ve duh fu. 

Sorkar hi tunge? tih hi zawhna hmasa ni ta se, a chhanna pawh ngaihtuah a awlsam zawk ang em aw, ka ti a. Sorkar ṭha nei tur chuan keini society leh political system angah chuan lungthu pathum a dik a ngai: (alphabetical order in) mipui, sorkar hnathawk, sorkar hruaitute. Kan in khalh ngil tawn a, hnathawk theia kan in siam tawn a, hna kan thawh ho a ngai a ni.

Corruption kan ti a, kan do fo a. Midang tih atan kan phal lo a, keimahni tih atan chuan kan duh, an ti fiamthu ṭhin a. A dik em aw? Pawisa chungchang ah ni ta se, “sorkar pawisa” kan tih hi public money/mipuite sum tihin kan hriat chian hun chuan kan thik thu pawh a chhiat zual ka ring a. A hmanna leh hmangtu dik takin an hmang em, tih pawh kan chik zual a, kan zir peih ka ring. Hna chungchangah te ni ta se, sorkar laka kan dawn tur leh sorkarin min tihsak ngei ngei tur te hi kan zir chian a, kan hriatchian chuan tun ai hian hnathawk turin kan in tur nat ka ring. Lungthu pathum te hi sawi hran theih loh an ni. An pawimawhna ki a in ang tlat lo a, tu ber nge pawimawh ber tih zawhna hi zawhna kim a ni theiin ka hre lo a ni.

Sunday School zirlai ngaihtuah zelna atan chuan a Bible thu-hla ta chiam lo mai thei. Sociologist ho chu kan heti leh tlat ṭhin. AVBTQ+.

In Defence of Rote Learning

For someone who hated it, it comes as a shock to me to defend rote learning today. 

Far be it from me to criticise the collective wisdom that guides the education reforms and processes of a state, but to play Devil’s Advocate, I don’t necessarily think rote learning is bad. Bad is also a loaded term in and of itself anyway. But especially here, with rote learning, “By-Heart System” as we call it, I believe it would be highly erroneous and simplistic to categorise it as “bad”.

I was never very good with memorisation. It always takes me longer than normal to commit things to memory. It is not entirely fair, then, that it is so easy for me to lose these memories too. So the few things I have indeed memorised, I cherish. 

I always think of Ozymandias when I think of rote learning. I memorised the PB Shelley poem because it was part of our syllabus in Primary School. The poems I first encounter in my college years are hazy now and I may recall a vague analysis here and there but that is it. In college, we no longer memorised. When I consider how the analysis of Ozymandias that was suitable for 10 years-old Me seems quite shallow when I revisit it today, I think of that proverbial home you can't return to, or the river that you cannot cross twice. They were right; the poem hits different now. 

This is exactly it – my defence of rote learning. It would never occur to me to revisit the poem if I can’t recite it from sheer memory. It is not analysis I experience with an Ozymandias musing; it is the poet’s words that have survived inside my head. These lines resurface in my memory and find new meaning in my adult life. Mere analysis could never.

I’m not saying the current system we have in Mizoram of rote learning is good. But in itself it is not the death of education. I know a ton of Australia trivia because I learned it via “Answer By-Heart” system in Class 6; I got a lot of detention for it too, @#$%^. I remember Times because of rote learning. True, if the teachers had ever even once explained to me that all numbers are abstract; and that when we say “za” it is in fact English and we are saying, for example, two twos are four and not two two za four, it would have made memorising easier. But be that as it may, even though I didn’t understand it, I memorised Times up to 12. I still retain most of it. It helps.

I mean, how many of us kids truly understood an “I wandered lonely as a cloud...” or a “Miles to go before I sleep...” or a “Do not go gentle into that good night...” but today, on this side of 30, feel it in our very soul? These are lines immortalising their creators. We remember them because we learned them in school. Because we memorised them. Because our teachers made us. Because it was important for year-end exams. Because those grades dictated our next steps. Some things can serve dual purposes, surprise surprise!

Exams and Grade Scores are not for everyone; I will never argue that they were. But a little competition never hurt. In fact, these healthy competitions become the things that toughen us. Competition is not bad. Schools that are good are good for a reason. I believe they will also still be good if the system changes. They are good because they know what the system demands, and they supply it. If the system changes, I am convinced the good schools by way of saying the ones that deliver “Top Students” will still be “good”. 

I attended three schools in Mizoram – Nazareth English School (Aizawl), Sacred Heart School (Lunglei), and Mary Mount School (Aizawl). They all competed competently at the state level. All three taught us things beyond textbooks. They taught us AV Learning, cross-stitching, public speaking, leadership, sports (yeugh!), patriotism, music, arts, etc. And yet, all of them also focused heavily on rote learning. Thanks to which I have a bunch of facts and art forever stored in my memory banks. I do not complain.

Sometimes I think there is something fundamentally off with our society where no matter how much education you can cram inside a child, Society with a capital S will cure them of it sooner or later. Society will always be the best and worst of us. Because our Society does not want individuals. It wants sheeple. And sheeple we all become in the end. We will always blow with the strongest wind. It is good when the winds are good and then we all become this giant good thing. But woe betide us when the ill wind blows. 

This is why we don’t learn. Instead of taking things into context, we reduce all debates to What Aboutisms and Over-corrections. It is always extremes with us; never a sweet mid. We throw the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak. Our education system needs correction, yes. But it is not Education System alone that requires it. There are so many moving factors at work that it demands a certain level of detached Non-participant Observation to point out the problems inherent and figure out ways to fix the holes. And not throw the baby out when we throw out the bathwater.

All of these to say that I, for one, do not think rote learning is inherently bad. Or even a ranking system. As long as we find a Mid-Point that works, and stop this maniacal fundamentalist mindset, we should be good. That applies elsewhere too, come to think of it.

People Don't Listen

The Beckhams, Victoria in particular, being in the news recently got me thinking of how people don’t listen. Then they misunderstand with the confidence and entitlement of a middle-aged white man in the USA. As vocally too.

Not about her, actually. At all. I do not have such an intense parasocial existence with celebrities that they take up my time. Not even Taylor Swift, or Shania Twain when I was younger. I do enjoy keeping up with their news but it’s with detachment. Perhaps a certain level of joie de vivre, but not this maniacal fanatic engagement with celebrities and their lives like I see on the internet, as though they personally affect my day to day, like they were kin or neighbour. I do enjoy a gossipy girl sesh or a Sociological musing or two but then I just shrug it off and say: hey, celebrities are not real; they only live in my phone screen. 

The reason the Beckhams got me thinking about people’s listening skills is because their PR team is on overdrive and pushing a lot of nostalgic 90s Spice Girls and Girl Power era on my FYP and a lot of those reels are set to the song Wannabe. Slightly going off tangent is my specialty.

Now Wannabe is always touted as a nonsensical song. Because why? People. Don’t. Listen. 

Wannabe is actually not a nonsensical song at all. It is very upbeat, no doubt. And an earworm especially with the zig-a-zig-ah, which is also the reason why people think it is nonsensical. Additionally, as about 97% pop songs of that era, Wannabe has a lot of repetition of words. Which is because the tune demanded it. 

The chorus is definitely an earworm. If someone were to straighten out the chorus as a standalone conversation, it would read simply as “I will tell you what I want.” The rest of the song – the verse and the bridge and the rap – is telling you exactly what she wants. It is very clear. If you want to be my lover, this is what you need to do; if you want my future, this is what must happen; if you want to get with me, you must do this.

This is what happens with the Meatloaf number I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That) as well. Drunk intellectuals love to joke about how he just keeps saying he won’t do “that” but he never tells you what “that” is. But if you listen right, every time he says he won’t do “that”, the preceding line tells you what he will, in fact, do like run to hell and back, that he’ll never forget the way she felt, or take a vow and seal a pact. This is when he says he will do anything for love, but he won’t do those things; that, in other words.

In fact both songs actually randomly go deep. Meatloaf bursts into sheer poetry, in fact.

And some days it don't come easy

And some days it don't come hard

Some days it don't come at all

And these are the days that never end

And some nights you're breathin' fire

And some nights you're carved in ice

Some nights you're like nothin' I've ever

Seen before or will again

And maybe I'm crazy

Oh, it's crazy and it's true

I know you can save me

No one else can save me now but you

As long as the planets are turnin'

As long as the stars are burnin'

As long as your dreams are comin' true

You better believe it

Meanwhile, Wannabe delves into philosophy. A proverbial stance, you could say.

If you wanna be my lover

You gotta get with my friends 

Make it last forever

Friendship never ends

If you wanna be my lover

You have got to give 

Taking is too easy

But that's the way it is

If you take things out of context, things seem off. But listen properly and consider the whole, and you might be surprised that what you’ve never understood suddenly makes sense.

Honestly, you can’t tell someone anything if they’re not willing to listen. 

Little bit like ranting and raving about celebrities and how they live their lives. If you shave off their frills and put them in context like they were your neighbours, a lot of the things they do actually makes sense. It’s just difficult to see this when they’re so much prettier, richer and more famous than you are. 

Besides, recently I’ve started thinking perhaps one of the reasons so many of us are having such godawful days is our Karma for the gleeful way we consume the misery of celebrities. True they are serving out their karma for whatever hustle they pulled to be where they are. But perhaps some of our bad days are us serving Karma for how we treat the stories of the actual human beings behind the people that live in our phone screens.

Anyhoo.

My Best Friend, My Abductor - a short story by Mavena and Esther

We had not always coexisted but the aliens are clever. We did make the best of it, though. We are of earth where evolution is the order of the chaos. We learn to adapt. I have to admit – the takeover was intelligent. We never realized what was happening. First, they took some of us, then they took more of us… When intelligence was the design of the being, it is almost impossible to resist. Nature was always on their side. It was like the earth was waiting for their arrival.

That was a long time ago, something we have pushed to the footnotes of not even history but perhaps anthropology. Cohabitance and Coexistence have become so normalized – the aliens and us, living together. 

My mother often told us about losing her own to them. She said she used to remember them clearly earlier but maybe they do something to us when they take our kind away because she could no longer remember what they even looked like. My father says nothing of the sort ever happened, that it was all an old wives’ tale. He said if abductions were truly a reality, there would be clear signs. Memory wiping was always too clean and neat a solution for him. 

If they could only see me.

It is strange but my mother seems to have been right after all. I wonder if they remember me, because I can’t. If I met them right now, I would not be able to pick them from a row, like in those movies with police and criminals. We watch those movies a lot. My abductor is very fond of them. Then when we see someone that looks like me, she’d pat my head and say some gibberish. I never know what she means. But I like to think she says something like: hey that’s you! I don’t know. It hardly matters.

Everything I used to know is so far away from me now that all I know is her and her world, this strange new universe that I am not sure how to navigate.

I have made myself at home here in her world. I never knew such places existed. Every time it changes. Every few moon cycles, we change locations. The first time she put me in her Transport Pod, I nearly puked, I was so disoriented. But it has gotten easier with constant repetition. I also think perhaps that first time has to do with me not knowing what to expect. I was just chilling with my mother and my elder brother and younger sister when she randomly appeared, picked me up and away we went in the Transport Pod. 

These days, I actually like the experience, although any movement that’s prolonged for too long becomes taxing on a body. That should be understandable. I get very fussy. And she makes soft apologetic noises so I try to be understanding but honestly, transport should be easier with their high-tech environment.

Besides, she often travels through portals. She has a lot of them. I never know which ones are the travel ones, though. Movies like to portray portals as circular or oval but her portals are always rectangular. Sometimes she does take me through them and we explore her world. I seem to thrive better in her natural habitat than she does, something that always seems to amuse her. I run faster than her, I hear better than her, I interact with her world with more enthusiasm than her, I even make friends with her kind easier than she does.

She does not engage with her outside environment very much except to large bodies of liquids. Different colours – blue, brown, one time even green. Maybe her job has something to do with liquids. We’d take the Transport Pod and go to these places. I like the places but they are not very friendly back. 

We visit the hills sometimes as well; that is always a friendlier trip. She’s not very adaptable to the outside environment at all. She gets out of breath very quickly; I think her kind was meant to stay indoors. Maybe they colonized a wrong planet that does not support them as optimally as they require. Maybe one of the reasons they abduct so much of us is also because it reminds them that once upon a time, they were good with their environment as well.

She also has a few portals that she does not allow me to cross. I can’t ever tell which one is which. And the house is big and scary without her in it because she is all I really know. Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps. I sometimes cry for what seems like hours and days and then she calmly just reappears at the other end of the portal, sometimes with no visible change, sometimes smelling different, sometimes in entirely different outfits. It is very disorienting.

You have to understand why I do this. She is my best friend and over time, my whole world. We may not understand each other’s language. But she did pick me among many others. She feeds me, she exercises with me and she takes care of me when I am sick. This is my life now. Maybe my life might have been better left to me and my own kind, but how would I know? You cannot live two lives in one.

She does a lot of experiments with me, her and this one man who always wears a white coat. Sometimes they give me injections. Sometimes they put me in strange metal platforms. Sometimes they push at my bottom. It is never pleasant. But I take it as perhaps my labour to her – maybe I am performing some sort of medical tasks for her studies. So I bear it, even though I don’t enjoy it. I don’t think she likes these visits either because she always makes gentle shushing noises to me when the experiments begin until they end. 

One of the strangest parts of living with your strange alien abductor is that we sometimes randomly meet people like me! My mother was right, after all. These creatures do abduct a lot of us. I’ve never seen my exact kind, though. We maybe a dying race. Or the creatures never came abducting in our part of the world. I meet people larger than I am, smaller than I am, never my exact kind. I even made a friend although we don’t speak the same language and he’s a bit dumb. He tries to escape constantly and I try to tell him to just remain where he is because this world is not kind to our kind. I don’t think he understands me.

My other friend is an old man who I think gets lost sometimes. My best friend talks to him and he just smiles at her. I don't think he understands her either. And then there are these three siblings who always aggressively shout hello to us, then run away if we approach them; weirdos. Most other friends of my kind are transient. They come and go, each with their own aliens.

Sometimes when we are outside, her vivid purple sky calls to me. I remember things I should not. But more like dreams in the morning than actual memories. I am in a world I probably should not be. And my best friend is an alien who came to my world one day and just straight up abducted me.

And then I wake up from my reverie and return to this world. She pats my head and murmurs in her language to me things I don’t really understand but it clearly soothes her to talk to me, so I just listen. She protects me from others of my kind who are hostile to me and waits for me when we meet friendly ones and I interact with them. In return, I choose her above all the other aliens, even the ones who treat me as warmly as she does.

We play games together. She tries to teach me things that are silly to me but I comply because they seem important to her. I try to teach her survival methods but that is all lost on her. She is afraid even of the rain! I can’t even teach her that during sunshine is the best time to run around outside for exercise. I fear she will never learn how to survive in the wilds without me.

The stars have changed positions since she first brought me to our home. She does not seem to have aged a day. Meanwhile, I have grown from a fat little toddler to a fluffy but otherwise well-adjusted teenager. I am close to my prime, and can protect her when she needs it. I worry about her when she goes off to the world outside alone because she barely knows how to navigate it. However she often insists on it. I argue my case but alas, she does not understand me.

I am her family, and she is mine. It is her and me against the world, my best friend my abductor.

A Short Sociology on Postal Addresses

When I studied in Mary Mount School, our teachers exposed us to certain extra-curricular activities like subscription to magazines which catered to North-east teenagers/youth, Christian youth, Indian youth etc. Aside from their own material and content, these magazines and comics taught us colloquial English that textbooks do not offer. The teachers even provided us the opportunity to make foreign friends via International Youth Service, what we called Pen Pals those days. These days, all of us are Screen-Mates, it seems like. Facebook Friends and IG Followers, all of us.

In the 00s, Snail Mail was still popular. We knew our addresses because we kept writing them on envelopes. We bought stamps in bulk. We bought paper and other stationeries scented by potpourri. We received them constantly too. These days, all the stamp buying I do is for office dak.

How things change!

We lived in Armed Veng in the days of IYS Pen Pals. Esther Leihang, M40 Armed Veng, Aizawl 796001 was the address I scribbled at the “If Undelivered, please return to” space at the flipside of the envelopes I’d mail to Europe and America. I don’t know if all the letters were delivered; if they were undelivered, none of them ever returned to me. However, mails addressed to that address did find their ways to me. 

We talked about veng/locality names quite often in my friend circle. Sometimes I still think about them, especially when I move to a new town/village.

Take Electric Veng, for example. It is where I stay in Hnahthial. There is seemingly an Electric Veng in every slightly bigger town in Mizoram. Apt too because that would usually be the localities where the Power & Electric Dept. run their sub-offices.

Or Chanmari in almost every big town. That I figure would have been named for where people used to, you know, mar the chand. Hit the bullseye. Target practice places evolving to proper localities. 

Or an ITI Veng which would develop quite naturally around any place that has an ITI institution. Like a College Veng in many places as well. Or even a Sikul Veng (for older schools, perhaps?). 

My old locality as well. There are not that many Armed Vengs in Mizoram. I know of no other than the one in Aizawl. Armed Veng was named for the establishment of the 1st Batallion Mizoram Armed Police in the area. The Veng developed around it. Leitan, by contrast, appears to exist in other places as well, not just in Durtlang. Rock-cut areas for roads, you understand, literally lei tan.

This is the way many areas have developed – around an institution. Not just in Mizoram but even back in Delhi. INA Colony and Defence Colony come to mind.

It happens. 

Hermon, is another common name. It is also the Lane where we currently live in, within Leitan Veng. In many places it is the name of the Veng itself. As in Hermon Veng. A bit more Biblical. There are few Vengs like that. Bethlehem Veng, for instance. Or Peniel Veng.

There are a few Republic Vengs here and there. I wonder where that is from. Also the few scattered Nursery Vengs. Is Nursery here for kids’ education or plants? I don’t really know.

In Mizoram, other less creative but natural occurring common place names for localities would be your Vengsang, Venglai, Vengthlang areas. That would be Upper Area, Middle Area and Lower Area – where the town expanded. Very natural. Very easy to understand. In this way, you’d also have your Ramthar and Ramhlun, Vengthar and Venghlun – new areas and old areas. 

There are the Adjective variety as well. For instance, your many -kawn(s); you know, junctions. You’d have your Sikulpuikawn, Bungkawn, Bawngkawn, Serkawn, Ramrikawn – junctions named for identifying markers: Main School, Banyan (?), Cattle, Fruits, Border, what have you. There is a Kikawn in Lunglei; I have no idea what a Ki is.

For that matter, quite a few villages are named this way. After a brook, for example. Selesih and Kelsih come to mind. Brooks where mithuns and goats, respectively, drank? Maybe there are more -sih(s) I can’t remember presently.

There are also quite a few Zotlangs and Zonuams here and there. Go figure.

Addresses are quite interesting. It would be nice for a little Graduation thesis in Sociology. Maybe someone from MZU or College Level Sociology can pursue it for term paper and make a little Sociology of it. It should be interesting. Research on names of places. I’d read that.

Speaking of education again, schools have changed so much. I don’t even know the academic year anymore, leave alone syllabus. In all honesty, it has become harder for me to relate to teenagers today, my age finally catching up, as it must, as it happens to every well-adjusted human to their appropriate ages. I don’t know what ECA schools lay out for their kids. In the days of Facebook and Instagram, IYS Pen Pals are probably a thing of long ago. Snail Mail, as we called it. I had a few friends in Italy, USA and France. We’d send each other stickers, collected the stamps, exchanged pleasantries. At one point in college, I even reconnected to an old Italian friend in Orkut, though it did not last. We had become different people by then. 

I appreciate what the school did for me and all I learned from the ECAs of the more literary bent, for introvert kids like me. I wonder if they still do it, one way or the other.

Addicted

I have a personality wired for addiction. It manifests in obsessions as well, I believe. I have no proof of this, though. It’s just a hypothesis I am working with. All I know if whatever I do or feel, I go at it hard.

There was a time when I was preparing for Civils and I was highly addicted to the sweet dye-red mango jams packed in tiny little poly-bags that we get in Mizoram from Burma. The ones that have a turtle on its little pocket. Usually we call it Hai-Um. Jams? Pickles? Pickled mango, maybe. I have no idea where the turtle on the packet cover was heading, but my sister supplied me with about a 100 bucks worth of them about 3x a week. My tongue was always red.

I got the job and then a year later I moved to Faridabad to do my MBA under a government programme. I’d stay the week in Faridabad and return to my dad’s quarters in West Kidwai Nagar for the weekend. WKN was next door to INA Market where they sold local-made yam chips. I devoured them. I bought them by the kilo. I had a salary by then. And being no real big spender, I threw it on chips. My metabolism what it was at the time, it didn’t show on my body but man, I ate yam chips like there was no tomorrow.

Momos I won’t even mention. I ate momos like God designed them to be my main source of sustenance. I have never really stopped. But I don’t eat momos like I used to. Majnu ka Tila, Amar Colony, and Lajpat Nagar momos were where all my student pocket money went. 

I returned to Mizoram and got posted in Champhai and living alone, and salaried, I began to fixate on sunflower seeds. Dear lord, how I consumed sunflower seeds! Most people share a 20 bucks packet together over a chat. I usually ate a 100 bucks worth in one sitting, watching a movie maybe. The speed and accuracy of my shelling skills became legendary. They are still quite something to behold, if I do say so myself.

That gave way to cheese wafers by Nabati. As with the sunflower seeds, I got them in bulk from the wholesalers rather than buying retail because the amount I was consuming, it did not make sense to buy retail. I saved 10 or 20 bucks here and there buying wholesale. But more importantly, it saved me the mortification I’d feel from the judgment based on my greed and gluttony over these snacks, which I could not truly fault. That, however, stopped one day when I was happily buying Nabati in bulk when the innocent woman wholesaler marveled: Wow, how do you sell them so quickly, it is very impressive! I was properly shamed because not one of those wafers had ever been sold or shared. I’d eaten them all. I have not eaten Nabati wafers since.

When I was in Aibawk, one time a doctor told me to cut off potatoes and flour from my diet. Suitably scared, I started looking for substitutes for potato and maida snacks. I tried these really umami packed peas but they came in really tiny air-filled packets. I didn’t feel good buying them in bulk. They were too conspicuous. So I started eating Kurkure. I figured as this was corn-based, it was some sort of a legit loophole snacks deal. I ate Kurkure like my life depended on it. I got them from RPi who runs a petty shop and she could never stock them fast enough because I ate them all. The only thing I was ever hesitant about Kurkure was that when I was in college, U Sangpuii had needed to get her stomach pumped after consuming too much Kurkure at one go.

So I decided to switch tracks and started eating cold sausages instead. RPi who was my dealer even warned me against it. These were not good snacks. They had too much MSG in them for that amazing umami flavour for them to ever be good for the body, per se. I didn’t care. They were really good snacks. I ate cold sausages till my sweat and pee started stinking of them. I knew I had to stop. The withdrawal was something awful.

I have been trying very hard to not feed into this obsessive nature. It always needs to be a very conscious effort because my god, it is easy to slip! I slipped in Hnahthial and started eating Kurkure again. My driver would buy them for me and at one point he bought 2000 bucks worth of Kurkure and he packed them in a giant cardboard box. And when Champhai was repeated with the shopkeeper asking him whether the DC Office was hosting some sort of kid-friendly programme, I was chastened and I knew I had to stop.

I believe that if I ever get addicted to booze, that'll be the end of me. I’d die in a month from alcohol poisoning. Or, to paraphrase Daniel Radcliffe, it could be hard drugs. So all things considered, things could be worse. I guess I am still fine.

Kumpui Sul A Lo Vei Chang Hian

Ka pi Santhiami leh ka pi Hauvi te kha an inkawm ngeih reuh khawp a. Lunglei Luangmual 2nd Bn MAP hmunah an rawn zin dun a. Thlasik zing kar nilum ai pahin Uipum tlang dung an en dun a, kan in unau ang ka ring, an han ti dun ṭhin a. Ka pa nu leh ka nu ni te an ni a, kan inah khan an rawn cham dun ṭhin a. Naupang ho an rawn awm ṭhin nge, ka hre chiah lo.

Gypsy-ah kan inhnawh khawma kan zin kual ṭhin lai chuan min zai pui ṭhin a. Ka pi Hauvi hian a khat tawkin “Pitar putar naupangte... kha sa leh ang u,” a ti a, hla a thlang a. Midang chuan U-A-Ma an tih hla kha. Hemi line hi naupang ho kan awm ṭeuh ṭhin vang kha a ni mai thei, a duh thei viau a. Ring deuh deuhin kan sa ṭhin. A hnu deuh lawkah keimah emaw Samuela emaw kan rui a, kan luak leh nge nge bawk a. Motor ruih hi zin hrehawmna ber a ni mai thei. Tarmit ka bun tak hnu khan ka rui chhunzawm ta miah lo bawk a, a va han lawmawm tak. Mi motor rui ka hmuh hian ka ngai lo.

I digress. What was I saying?

Ringtu Zawng Zawng Te U, tih ah kan awm tak e. Christmas lai ani mai thei thin an rawn zin/kan va lam ṭhin lai kha, kan sa nasa thei em mai.

Tun kum ang reng renga ka rilru a Christmas loh hi ka la hre ngai lo. Kum dangah chuan Christmas hi nuam ka tia, ka phur thei phian a. Tun kum chu Santa Claus aiin The Grinch ka hnaih zawk tlat. 22nd December ah pawh ka Christmas Spirit thei bar lo chu a ni.

Chuti chung chuan zinkawngah tal Christmas Carols ka la play ve ṭang ṭang a. Christmas hla hi an mak khawp a. Kum tluanin kan sa lo vang vang a. A hun a lo thlen hi chuan lyrics en ngai lova sak pui theih hi an lo ni ve leh zel. Kan memory hi a lo ṭha awm ngawt mai. Kan hria tih pawh kan hriat tawh loh te pawh hi ISIS Sleeper Cell ang deuh hian a hun taka kaihthawha activate theih nghal hi a dang pawh kan thluak hian a neih ka ring. Mi hming te hi ni ṭhin se a tha tur hi a nia. An hmel ka hriat si, an hming ka hriat tak miah loh te nena in mawl biak tawp chang a tam. A zia lo hret ṭhin.

Mahse 2018 Inthlanpui buai rum rum laia kan senior pakhat sawi ṭhin ang deuh a nia. “Esi, ti hian hun hi a kal ang a, a zo ve leh mai ang,” a ti ban charh charh zel a. A dik phian. Lalsangzuali Sailo te hla ang kha ania, kumhlui mual liam tur auh din theih ni hek lo, a kal ve zel a. Hun hi a liam ve mai zel a. Hunin hun hrehawm te a tihdam phei chu ka hre lo a, a liam thuah hi chuan a liampui ve zel a. A liam ve leh mai ang, tih mai hi a lo ṭha ta mai.

This too shall pass. C’est la vie!

Eng hun mah hi a lo rei tak tak lo. Hriat loh karah kan lo puitling a. Kan upa ve zel a, kan nu leh pa te pawh tar lam te an lo pan a. Mavena ringawt pawh thla sarih ka kawl hnu chuan kut khingkhat in ka chelh zo ta reng reng lo. Einstein-a theory of relativity fiamthua an sawi ang deuh ani, a tawngtu a zir hian hun hi a lo reiin a lo rei lo mai hi a lo nia. 

Kan nghah hun te a lo thleng a. Ni thei lo anga kan ngaih te a lo thleng bawk a. Ni thei tura ngaihruat nachang kan hriat loh te pawh a lo thleng a. Ecclesiastical takin kan hun hman dan kan ngaihdana kan fimkhur hi a lo pawimawh ber zel chu a nih hi. Midang vei hman pawh hi a lo ni tak tak lo.

Feliz navidad!