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.