The Possimpible

Barney Stinson talks a lot of shit but The Possimpible makes sense to me because I’ve actually had people ask me to look for a needle in a haystack.

Funnily enough, I’ve found the needles too. Twice. 

And who are these people? Why, my own parents! Thank you for asking.

One day my mother sat me down and told me that back in the day when Electric Veng Aizawl had been called Tuitu Veng, she had attended Primary School there. In that school, she had a friend Partei. Partei’s father was a policeman. The memory she has of her is of Partei telling her that her family eats “double roti”. Whatever that was. In any case, Partei’s family decided to move to Champhai and they relocated.

Enter 2017 and me packing to move to Champhai to be Treasury Officer there. My mother said: look for her, look for my old friend. I said yes. She nodded. I was completely being sarcastic but she took the yes as a yes. And so every once in a while, she’d ask me if I’ve managed to find Partei. I always said no. But she never gave up. And then one day (I want to say 2019 or thereabouts) I actually randomly found her! I was talking with the father of a friend and he said his wife’s name was Partei. I got excited and asked him if she’d ever spent her childhood in Aizawl. He said: no, but her cousin Partei did. So I told him the story and he said it was possible that Cousin Partei was also Friend Partei!

And she was.

I told my mother about it and she came to visit me. I’d talked to Pi Partei before and she dropped in. Her house was actually walking distance from my house! She came by and they took a picture together and we ate dinner at Nu Partei’s house (Nu Partei, not Pi Partei by now) and everything. The funny part was that I had already known Nu Partei because she has a school in Champhai that my friends’ kids attended and also because of her son who I’d known for long because he was part of NGOs and we often met at meetings at the office. Small world!

My father got very excited over this result. And so he set me a task of his own. There was a man in Lianpui called Sangthuama. He said: find him, I want to meet him. This was easier. I had a name and an address. It turned out he was a model citizen, which I learned after I talked to the VCP of Lianpui. I had no idea it would be the correct Sangthuama however because Lianpui could have multiple Sangthuamas and whatever my dad knew of him was from a man who was once a guest in our house who didn’t even speak Mizo and who told him the name back in 1999. This was 2023. He could have moved out. He could have died. He could refuse to meet us.

In fact, since the VCP had told him the DLAO Champhai and an ex-IGP wanted to talk to him, he was on his guards. Rightly so, I suppose. He was highly cagey when we first got to his home and we asked him if he was who he was. But it was a friendly visit. We had a good chat. And when we left, he and his wife gave us sticky rice and zawngtah from their garden. That was nice of them.

Impossible? No, more like possimpible.

Speaking of guests, the pair of them have decided that in my next posting in Hnahthial, they want me to find a dead man’s family. They had never asked me to look for anyone in Aibawk but I guess I was home a lot during my Aibawk posting so probably they didn’t think much of it. Anyway, this Hnahthial man had died in Delhi and the family had once been guests in our house the night he died. My parents don’t know his name. Or any of his family’s. All they know is he was from Hnahthial. And that his mother had said he liked the taste of river crabs. So yes. Quite a challenge once more but let’s call it one of The Possimpibles.

Wish me luck.

Pawprints On The Heart: An Eulogy

I buried my eleven years old fat calico cat one August evening in 2024. Her name was Nihawiparmawii. I did not come up with the name nor did I like it overmuch. She had once belonged to an old lady in Sikulpuikawn. But the woman could no longer house her because I think her house was already overrun with cats. My sister’s friend asked if we could home her. I said no. My sister said yes. So we brought her home in a cardboard box one cold, rainy winter afternoon in 2013. The woman was sad to give her up and asked that we retain the name. I thought the name was ridiculous but I agreed.

It is human to name their pets. But all cat owners know cats don’t really respond to their human-given names. Besides, how do you even call anyone Nihawiparmawii? So I cut it short to Nix. And Nix she remained. Nix knew her name. She was one of the few cats who actually responded to the name. When she deigned to, of course.

Nix bonded with me easily. If you asked me proof of cats having nine lives, I'd point you to Nix. She fought odds and won. Until the end, she was loving and sweet. Very definitely she was cantankerous and dramatic, too, but she was so pretty we always forgave her. She liked big fishes, hated small fish and would never touch smoked fish. She liked maize and wet cat food. She grew so fat her last couple of years that people often thought she was pregnant. She even started resembling a fat-bellied koi fish from the top. She liked to purr and rest her warm paws and belly on my thighs. 

The day I placed her in the coffin my dad made and my mum placed laces on, her paws were ice cold. It broke my heart. In the eleven years I’d known Nix, I’d never known her to have cold paws. Her paws were always pink and warm. Sometimes, when I was wearing shorts and she slept on my legs and she finally got up, her paw prints would leave an imprint on my thighs. I always loved that. 

Nix changed houses thrice in her life. She was always enraged every time that happened. In all times, my sister was the one who placed her in boxes. As a result Nix never trusted her. Me, she trusted and loved though. From the first day home, she followed me everywhere. When I wouldn’t let her sleep in my bed, she’d climb on my mosquito net and nest there; it was just easier to give in and allow her bed space. She’d follow me to the bathroom every time I went in to take bath and inspect all the water she’d find there with curiosity. One day I decided to give her a bath. She didn’t know what to expect so I could manage. But never again. I don’t know if you’ve ever been scolded by a cat. If you have, you’d understand too exactly what they meant. We came to a truce. No one ever gave her water baths again, but she would remain impeccably clean the rest of her life. I guess I remain the only human who gave her a water bath in her 11 years alive; let's just call it a feat of love on both our parts.

Nix was my little fat and angry Sunflower. It is funny to reflect on how we didn’t speak the same language but over time learned to communicate anyway. Mostly with her getting angry and me giving in. It feels wrong and empty to come home and not have her greet me at the door. She always had a lot to say. I’d have liked more days of her losing her temper with me. But I count myself blessed she chose me as her human. I’ll hope to see her again beyond the rainbow bridge. 

The sky shed tears over her grave the day I buried her, the same as it had sent showers of blessings the day I brought her home to me. Maybe it was the same rain.

Nix, b. Monsoon 2013, d. 6th August, 2024

Miley Used To Be Young

I watched the Grammy’s 2024 performance of Miley Cyrus and was highly entertained by it. I was also pleasantly delighted. She seemed happy and in control of her stage. I have nothing to say about any part of her private life so it was nice to watch how she dominated that stage and made it hers. The only thing that even brought her private life into play was because her private life and relationship was so public. I especially loved the part where she changed the “…started to cry but then remembered I can buy my own flowers” line to “…started to cry but then remembered I just won my first Grammy!” 

As ever, Taylor Swift with a drink in her hand was cheering her on with glee written all over her face.

This was her area. This was where she shone. Revenge songs, petty vendetta, messy lyrics… Taylor is the Queen.

People like to hate on Taylor. It is very in. They want to dismiss her songwriting to revenge, adolescence and sneer away saying her songs ‘all sound the same’. This is my argument though: the woman has written over 200 songs. Some of her lyrics and the beats, the music itself is bound to be similar. In other artists, this is often called a niche, or their style. Think Dolly Parton, ABBA, Shania Twain, Max Martin, or even Meghan Trainor… their music is all called their “signature style” because it often is instantly recognizable. However, I am yet to see online critics call Taylor’s art such and show her this same grace.

A long time ago, in a Creative Writing class for English Lit., my teacher told me that if I wrote about what I knew, my writing would be many times more impactful. She told me: the more of yourself you can share with your readers and the rawer you can share your feelings – your passion, your pain, your happiness – the more others can connect to your art. Because ultimately, human beings are social beings. We are usually empathetic. We have the ability to find ourselves in other people’s lives. Sometimes, devoid of all the lived realities and the differences in our lives, our feelings and emotions tend to be universal. Especially devastation and love.

This is what is Taylor’s niche. She connects with people because her songwriting is based on her life. We will never go through an emotional affair with Jake Gyllenhaal or John Mayer, but a lot of us have gone through shit with someone that even with time, we remember. All too well. We might not have had a Scooter Braun steal our work, or a Kanye West stealing our spotlight at the Grammy’s or a Kim Kardashian who egged her millions of followers on to call us a snake, but we have known bullies. All of us. Her lyrics are cathartic for a good number of us. Her reflections have made us reflect as well.

This was what I thought about Miley Cyrus as well. I have not listened to a lot of her earlier works. I have never really been a Hannah Montana fan. Or a fan of when she was shedding her Disney girl image. But her recent songs that she’s written as an adult woman with real, raw emotions – Flowers, Used To Be Young, Rainbowland, Malibu, Younger Now, Plastic Hearts… I love them. Again, I do not need to have dated or been hurt by Liam Hemsworth to understand these emotions. These are very universal human emotions.

In the end, I believe art is defined by how it moves people. It lies in how it can evoke emotions in the observer. And I have come to believe that the point of art is to show other people that they aren’t alone in feeling these things. Doctor Who’s Vincent episode had been tremendously instrumental in me coming to this epiphany. But that’s a topic for another day.

When the Used To Be Young MV first came out with Miley walking out of the blank empty black canvas in her Mickey Mouse t-shirt, teary-eyed and enunciating her lyrics, I felt that. I didn’t have any problems with child stardom and its various evils, never abused drugs or alcohol, never really lived a life that raised eyebrows, and never grew up under public gaze. But I could understand her pain. I did my own growing up, and as tame as my wild days are in comparison, I had those too.

Anita ma’am was right. When you share your life in its raw form with people, it resonates. You create art. I hope to be brave enough to create art some day.

Ex-BDO Girl

Dear Reader, 

Of the life experiences I was exposed to during my tenure as BDO Aibawk, there were few things that have stood out that I want to share with you.

One, I used one gas cylinder for 13 months straight and it is still heavy. Once while I was in Champhai, one cylinder had lasted me 7 months and everyone who knew laughed at me for it. But this one lasted even longer.

Two, I participated in not one, not two but three elections while I held office; they took me away from office a bit longer than I’d have liked.

Three, we got two awards that I’m not sure how we got because we weren’t working towards any criteria. Perhaps a remnant of my predecessor’s. One was a little weird but we’ll take it. We got two.

Four, Cyclone Remal claimed five lives, several livestock, multiple houses and countless landslides, destroying crops and roads in its wake. If we were in pre-Christian days, we’d probably be sacrificing some large animal – a bovine or a swine probably – to appease some deity we didn’t know. I’d probably be heading the rituals. It really looked like Fury personified unleashed their anger on our hill range. Damn.

Five, in Samlukhai, I learned how to locate and check for aiawt, those bamboo thatched crab traps. Also found out in the process that it is illegal in Mizo customs to check someone’s aiawt. So don’t do as I did.

Six, again in Samlukhai, I learned how to identify and harvest bamboo shoots. This activity once more brought home to me how fortunate I am to be a salaried govt. employee because no way I am clever or strong or hard-working enough to survive on my skills and tenacity. I’d starve.

Seven, I learned how to make kurtai in Phulpui. This was very interesting because I had no idea how quickly and completely hmawngsawi turns into kurtai! If I may slip in a general advice here, if anyone asks you to make kurtai, turn up early. People work early to make kurtai!

Eight, I walked through the Sunflower fields of Sailam and my absolute faith in the majesty of sunflowers was redoubled.

Nine, I hoisted the National Flag twice in Aibawk. And received the salute in Sateek during Republic Day from the St Francis school contingents. That was a big deal. For me.

Ten, I attended Lo Zawh in Tachhip. That was a lot of fun.

Eleven, Sh. Kamlesh Pashwan, the Union Minister of State, Rural Development, Govt. of India was the last and most distinguished guest of the office during my tenure. He said the office and the area was really clean and tidy. He told me my staff was well-disciplined. He said our work was good. 

Twelve, I can’t remember the last time I’ve properly eaten roasted fresh butta with some syrupy sweet tea in the rain. I did that in the chayote gardens of Lamchhip. It was grand. 

Thirteen, some unseen being knocked on my door at 4AM one morning waking me up from my slumber. Spooky.

Fourteen, there were three births (all daughters) and two deaths (both men) among my staff during my tenure. Rather poignant.

Fifteen, a random man one day walked up to my quarters one day and asked me for glasses. As in spectacles. I was very confused. He said he’d lost his and asked if I had one for him. Quite aside from the optometrical issue, I remain confused if he was a bit mental or just drunk off his ass. This is quite aside from the fact too that he called me “ka pu”. Vanity took a nosedive! I was just happy I wasn’t wearing my glasses at the time or he might have asked me for it. And what could I have done? Give up the gift of sight? I don’t know.

Sixteen, come to think of it, I don’t know what it is about Aibawk RD Block but in the time I was here, I got deliberately called Sir, as in short for Officer by the VCP of Lungsei. This has both amused and delighted me and my staff. I don’t mind it. I rather like it. 

Seventeen, Aibawk has never had a female BDO so I guess there’s something there in as far as the gender confusion I faced.

Anyhoo. I joined office on May 26th, 2023 and left on August 12th, 2024. It was not a long stay. But it was a lot. Some good, some bad. As always, there are people who I have come to count as good friends, and perhaps even as non-blood family. There have also been people who have been excited and happy to see the back of me. It’s all right. I am warmed by the kind people who get outraged on my behalf. It’s like I always say: you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. You have to learn to appreciate the good and accept the bad. You just have to let the good outweigh the bad.

So Long, Aibawk. Till we meet again.

Happiness

My innermost circle tends not to be absolutist. We tend to float through life shrugging off most things with ‘it is what it is’. Even with happiness. 

I don’t think we think of happiness in terms of ever-after. We accept it as a series of sporadic events, if we are lucky enough. In all the years I’ve interacted with the people closest to me, I don’t remember wishful thinkings along the lines of: if I have this, I’ll be happy; if I have that, I'll be good.

My circle tends to measure happiness more on the lines of stress levels. Less is good, more is bad. Sometimes, we are not even happy, per se, but less anxious. We can be utterly miserable, but not exactly anxious. We will take that too. It doesn’t even seem like we ever have that hope that something will lead to our “happiness”. We seem to be very accepting of that.

I’ve known some Christians who believe in suffering. Our old pastor would often chastise us saying we are so ready to suffer with Jesus during Good Friday but we can’t seem to revel in the glory of Easter and its promise. I like that. But this Non-Belief of Happiness is more puritanical. Ours is just resigned acceptance.

This POV is probably less positive in the sense HR people might mean it, but also, I believe, more positive in the sense of realism. In the sense that we don’t chase it. If we experience bouts of happiness, we enjoy it, but we also know it can’t last. And more importantly, we know we didn’t “achieve” it. Per se.

I feel like a lot of people chase happiness like if I get married I’ll be happy, if I have a kid I’ll be happy, if I have a job I’ll be happy, if I get posted in XYZ, I’ll be happy... But I don’t think happiness comes when it is considered the end goal. Besides, it is ephemeral so if it comes it comes. So just enjoy it if it does.

You can buy a book and be happy for 5 minutes. That counts! Happiness can’t be an endless orgasm that lasts for all times. I feel like this belief takes some bit of pressure off of the universe. Just like I hope (fervently) that unhappiness is not an ever after deal, I hope the same for happiness too. You can’t have one without the other. It might sound like I’m trying to score brownie points with the Universe. But anything I can do to ease up on the karmic shit, no?

Very obviously, some people have more of the happiness than the opposite. They just walk in the light I guess but they are the exception. For most people, it’s a mix of both, more so the bad side for some.

Over the years, we have been gaslit to believe that money does not bring or can buy happiness. I fervently beg to differ. Because if you can cover your expenses, and a little treat now and then, then yes of course, money buys happiness. Some people would argue that these are just short-term or whatever, but if you can do all of those, it really lessens up on the anxiety and that is always beneficial to mental health. It’s just dumb rich people who don’t know how good they have it that start this nonsense. It is so normal for them to have money to pay bills and such that they have absolutely taken it for granted and think it’s the same for everyone. Try being depressed and poor. Then we shall see if you really think money doesn’t bring happiness. 

Miller of the effing Dee, my ass.

Again, we’re not talking happiness ever after; just happiness for some time. Nothing brings foolproof happiness. Everything is comparative. But when you can’t even make ends meet, it stops being relative. You can’t go to a person struggling to stay afloat and tell them money does not buy happiness.

So! While I do not delude myself into thinking it will bring me happiness, I do have a list of things that I believe will lessen my stress level at the moment. One of them is to have enough money to buy my very own Jimny.

Ah, money, the root cause of all my unhappiness. The lack of it, I mean.