The 5th Chavang Kut Tripura, 2014

"Are you guys on a different time-zone?”.  (a chuckling smiley)

"Yes, we're… considering Bangladesh is just stone's throw away". (a mischievous smiley)

That's the transcript of a Whatsapp conversation I had with a friend. Upon learning that 'Eimis' -Chin, Kuki, Mizo and Zomi in Tripura will be celebrating Chavang Kut come November 9, he hit back satirically and equally satirical was my response. I told him that when you couldn't be the first, it ought to be ‘better to be late than never’. It s our shrewd ploy to be the one trying to have the last hearty laugh when all about Kut elsewhere is dwindling from public memory. Celebrating Chavang Kut (Kut) on any given day provided it is, during autumn, suits me just fine. Aren't we?! It's very unlikely that our forefathers who traced their d.o.b. to the cultivation of a certain crops in a certain patch of land during certain seasons would have celebrated 'Chavang Kut' on the dot on first of November each year. That's not rocket science!

Preparation from the word-go

Within a week's time, preparation for Kut made headway; spearheading this post-harvest festival of the Eimis was the executive members of Eimi Fellowship, Agartala. They tapped in all the available resources- the technical knowhow, 'hisaping and kitabing', debits and debentures vagera vagera from the experiences and expertise they had accumulated over the years in their line of work and profession and laid it on the table for discussion. Several meetings were held to chalk out and execute the mammoth task ahead. Given their professional acumen and credentials, I suspect they must have plan A-Z in place, had one of the plan didn't come off initially.

Social Work

In such meetings they resolved unanimously to observe and celebrate the The 5th Chavang Kut,Tripura on the 9th of November, 2014 at ESC Compound, Rajghat. Following this, a social work was organised on the eve of D-day i,e on November 8. Since morning, Brothers from Rajghat and Lefunga were cutting bamboos and carrying it all the way which was about 2 kms from Rajghat. Our pastor, Rev. L. T. Gangte generously doles out his stock-pile of tools, bamboo, mats and tarpaulin. When the tarpaulin was laid over the skeletal hall-frame, it was almost sun-down, each volunteers sweat an honest brow to produce the desired result, leaving no room for complain and untoward feedbacks from the hoi polloi.

D-day

By 11:00 hrs November 9, 2014 ESC Compound, Rajghat was bustling and buzzing with a pleasant number of foot-fall. Children were going haywire with either too much joy or excitement; one shove the other at the back and they gave each other a wild chase until their mothers would yell at them, from afar, to stop. After the crowd exchanges pleasantries to one another, they quietly settled at their own designated place. Kut-pa Pu Mangkhup Gangte and Special Guest Pu B. K. Hrangkhawl were among the few early birds.

Session I (Not In Alphabetical Order/ Merit)

I felt an instant connect with Kut-pa, Pu Mangkhup Gangte, when he relate his state of discomfort, in being 'suited-booted' for the occasion, to a boy named David who was panting for breath after putting on those heavy armour of a soldier. I was also choked by my own tie and shirt but kya karein it's Kut and I had to dress up a weeny bit. Like Bapuji, I too believed in ‘Freedom of Movement '. Though in my case, it is about one's own body movement. In any gathering whenever a Gangte brother or sister speaks, our stomach always bear the brunt of their superlative wits and banter; always a laugh-riot or laugh-a-thon. Intriguingly, their trait is felt, even in their absence, as the mere mention of ‘Tong-gou' during my High School days would make me and my friends split our guts out. Tonggou was Lamka's answer to what Russel Peters is to Canada or closer home, he was what Vir Das (weir-d-ass) is to some stand-up comedy aficionado in India. I have a compelling notion that Kut-pa must have been warned by his better-half not to 'multi-task' on stage but to stick solely to being a Kut-pa and the baggage it comes with. Nevertheless, his speech made the skin on my face retrieve its elasticity. (Way back into suppleness). I admired his powerful word-play when he stressed that Kut today is still in tandem with the Kut of yore by stating "Our forefathers wine and dine and make merry and we take tea and bis-'kut' (sic), in the place of 'ju leh sa', and make merry". In his prism of observation, Kut of the bygone era and Kut of today is strictly on equal footing.

Pu B. K. Hrangkhawl is an ex-MLA and his cavalcade (security scout) secured the perimeter of the venue. (Don't ask me what B. K. stands for; I've a very strong 'dil-logical' inclination to say that B. K. is the acronym for 'Boi-Kho'). He was and still is the front-man of the marginalised tribals of Tripura, a much revered and respected in the community he fought tooth and nail for but was once a 'wanted' man by the government and was jailed four times.

(Welcome to India!, where advocates of the underpriviledged and minorities are labeled 'wanted' and jailed by the corpo-cratic government; corporate-politician nexus). This, only Arundhati Roy has the credentials and the audacity to bring it to the fore, thread-bare. Surprising as it may sound; a man of the masses was scorned and abhorred by the 'majority' community on this Indo-frontier state with Bangladesh. Following the subsequent arrest warrant and the bounty on his head, he had but to go underground along with his wife and had to survive with a monthly ration of just 5 kg of rice. In his own words, "there was no breakfast, no lunch and no dinner; the only meal of the day comes only at 8 PM".

The tell-tale signs of his ordeal in the jungle can be seen even now. At 68 , the ex-MLA is bespectacled, frail and but speaks articulate English. His voice is calm but still commands a tone of enthusiasm and awe coupled with wisdom. He said he had taken 40 children with him to Churachandpur with the sole motive of giving them proper education. "It wasn't easy" he elaborated, "considering the treacherous terrain and the unforgiving road".  It was a wise and bold decision, on his part, taking into consideration the sorry state of education then in Tripura. Those children are now bigwigs in the tribal society of Tripura; some of them are IAS and TCS officers while others are elite professionals- doctors and engineers. He told every student he met and to the students present on this auspicious occasion "to study not merely for degrees but for education and to bring about positive changes in the society". Raju Hirani or Chetan Bhagat, for that matter, must have heard such inspirational lecture of his and imbibed it in 3 Idiots. I listened to his speech with rapt attention from the 'last bench' and few minutes into his speech I already admired him. A great deal. But I didn't go up to say hi or shook his hands afterward. I find myself oddly strange sometime.

Cultural Troupe from Abhicharan, Lefunga, RIPSAT (Regional Institute of Pharmaceutical Science And Technology) and Fishery College tells the story of yore and more of lore through their cultural dance. The techno-beats blaring from the 1000 W speaker must be the only new thing but their every moves and steps were those invented and choreographed by our fore-fathers and depicts our one-time way of life. One performer caught my attention; it was a boy (sorry ladies!). I don't know which dance troupe he was; he seems to be having two wrong feet. He reminded me of an old friend who dance for the first time; my friend had never before in his life-time put on a dancing shoes. It was Fishery College students who dance to the popular Hillsong's number ‘Every move I make/ I make in you/ You make me move, Jesus/’ that made me missed, for a split second, my Sunday School students in KWS, Delhi. That was their favourite song, both teacher-student alike, would jive to this song and it doesn't matter you 'moon-walked' or B-boying it.

JNU empowered Ng. Theim Kipgen, now a guest lecturer at Tripura University, dons the mantle as compere, with a mic in her hand like sceptre, she commands the programme both Session I and Session II with aplomb. She doesn't left any stone unturned to spice up the crowd who were too stiff, though just initially, sitting at their comfortable chair. In Session II, Pa Robert Haokip lent her a helping hand. At times, when the boisterous 'jodi' call someone to occupy the dias, to my loi-nah vu lou' (just a metaphor; untamed calf/buffalo) ears, it sounded like a butcher chopping meat in a hurry. And more often than not, their request almost seem like a court summon to me. Well, that's just my aural reception or deception. As a matter of fact the crowd loved them; they often went into a tizzy at their every utterance.

Session-II (Not In Alphabetical Order/ Merit)

Barring the sound system playing spoil sport in the intervening phase of Session-II, the programme as a whole was top notch and a class apart. This I go by the crowd's reaction and who could be the better judge than them; they went frenzy when our priceless artistes were called on stage.

When Pa Khuplal took centre-stage and sang 'Lunghel pul' in his own inimitable style, the likes of which would put Bengali's Bill Withers Kishoreda to shame, I was walking down memory lane. Wordsworth wondered about the theme the maiden sing in 'The Solitary Reaper’. I, for one, here wonders what motivates our own 'Don Williams' to sing this song; it was so soulful that each word of the lyrics pulled each valve, arteries and veins of my cold, cold heart. Does it have something to do with his current emotional state (of mind)? The needle of my otherwise inquisitive mind points to the absence of Mrs. Hauzel. The faintest memory I've had of this song was a dubbed version where Amitbah Bachchan was digitally synced and forced to sing 'Lunghel pul'. Trust me, what I heard today was more authentic and did justice to the lyrics a hundred fold. I almost missed somebody or was it 'The Girl from Yesterday'?

Pa Helun melancholic rendition of 'Nitin ka subject' was a tad emotional but to a point where he pointed towards someone I couldn't help cooing and bellowing. I wasn't the only one. I craned my stiff neck to the direction he was pointing and saw a lady, grinning from ear to ear, beside her li'l Alice was trotting nonchalant. If both mother and child were in the hall instead of being on the porch of the chapel, which is a furlong away from the epicentre, I bet I would have seen her blushing.

Minlien's 'vaisohlu apah tengle' made Pa Letcha a 'jumping jack'. Little is known if he was one in his formative years. But Kimkim dad's almost stole Minlien's thunder or should we say his full throttle act? One thing though is obvious, Pa Letcha's court skill (Lawn-Tennis) comes handy at the stroke of such clarion call. Minlien's 'Kanam jem' too was making waves among the crowd and the ripple effect could even be felt by the caterers and security guard on the premises.

Pa Kamthang's gospel number was no less devoid of admiration and cheer. It appears to be striking the right chord with audience too as most of the aged were glued to the stage with their mouth wide-open and nodding their heads with the rhythm.

Away from the 'glitterati' and the paparazzis' flashes was li'l Suosuon (s/o Pa Lunlal, IB) who was cackling, screaming and hopping on his daddy's lap. Emboldened by his ecstatic act, I screamed and cheered once or twice. Perhaps, even more, I lost count.

Retrospect

At night, when I lie on the bed and looked back Chavang Kut, Tripura 2014 I mumbled to myself "yeh kalval kaha milega". Not just because I enjoyed it to the hilt; it was, in retrospect, the underlying truth that no matter how hard we tried to build walls between us in a place we fondly called 'home', we're one and the same in the nut-shell. And no matter how each tribe or community claims who our progenitor is, we hailed from the same womb. We're like a breath-taking flower garden laden with roses, dahlia, marigold or periwinkle; each projecting our roots deep beneath the same humus, the little sapling shielded by the towering plant. Each swaying to and fro in the billowing wind; absorbing the same moisture, sunlight and a sprinkle from the clouds when it thunders and pours down. In the dialect I called my mother-tongue, there is a maxim- "Nga in atam athipi in, mi in atam ahinpi e". Unlike any other place where we're numerous as the stars that shine on a cloudless night we are here just over a ton but our bonding and cohesion is impeccable and immaculate. Do we need a rethinking of the afore-mentioned maxim? I don't say the adage is wrong. Who am I, in the first place, to say or even think likewise?! But unfortunately, it's a different story altogether when we returned 'home', where we are in multitudes and equally diverse and numerous is our differences and problems between amongst ourselves;  the close-knit entity we have here in Agartala lost its sheen over there. It's just sad and sadder; we can't do anything about it.

Supplementing what Rev. L. T. Gangte said, when he took the podium following the lenient comperes ‘opening the house’ for the crowd, it will be a welcome gesture and a milestone celebrating Kut along with the 'Old-Kuki tribes' of Tripura (the  Darlong, Hrangkhawl etc.) . This could bridge the gap between us and our one-time brother and promote further cordial relationship and closer ties with them.

P.S. One man lackadaisical observation couldn't cover everything and anything that had unfolded under the 'Chavang toni’ but this is all I could recollect. Perhaps, a day or two or a fortnight down the line, I may remember a thing or two more but as for now I gave it my all.

                                                                                   

A tale of Robbery, 'Sob-bery' and Again Robbery

Robbery

It was very unfortunate and shocking, of what happened, post the Semi-final bout between Laishram Sarita Devi and the local favourite Park Ji-na in Incheon Asian Games' Lightweight boxing. The jury's controversial verdict denied Sarita an entry into the final. The video footage showed the tell-tale sign of partiality and 'home advantage'. The Manipuri pugilist knocked Park out in the Third round and also had a convincing Fourth round but the viewers, as much as she, were in for a rude shock when the umpire raised Park's hands instead, at the end. In short, it was highway robbery. No ifs and no buts.

What was equally shocking and more saddening, was the absence of Indian officials to support the inconsolable Sarita after the verdict. That was not all, no official was forthcoming when she decided to protest against the decision compelling her to borrow $500 to lodge her protest. But even, that was turned down and rejected by AIBA (International Amateur Boxing Association).

David Francis, AIBA supervisor, said the Indian team had not followed the proper rules regarding protests. He was quoted as saying "The Indian Team submitted a protest, however the Indian Team did not follow the AIBA Technical Rules and protested against the Judges’ decisions, though the Rules only allow a protest against the Referee’s Decision." If what Francis said is to be trusted, it brought to the fore, the ill-equipped and illiterate Indian officials on that front. It also shows Indian Boxing Federation in all its 'shining armour'.

Sob-bery (Sob-story)

While moral support from every right thinking Indians was pouring in from all corner, home and abroad, thanks to the Indian media featuring the bout and her tale of woes non-stop. Sarita turned out to be a tad too emotionally ridden, sobbing on the podium, and rejecting outright the Bronze medal at the Medal Ceremony. If her behaviour at the podium was not ugly enough she walked up to Park Ji-na and tried to drape the medal around the stunned, Silver medalist's neck. That despicable and avoidable act of her proved to be her 'only' undoing.

Sarita Devi trying to drape, the Bronze medal, around Ji-na's neck

It was totally uncalled for and very unbecoming of a sports personality of her stature whose 'wall of fame' includes a former world champion title (Lightweight), Arjuna award (2009) and a Silver medal in Glasgow 2O14 . Not to forget, she was also a national champion. When the whole world points finger at South Korea and the officials of foul play, her melodramatic behaviour created the much sough after opportunity, as Son Cheon-taik, The Deputy Secretary General of Incheon's Organising Committee, was quick to respond by stating "She (Sarita) needs to respect the official ruling and show sportsmanship. Her actions were not sportsman-like." He seems to be making his point heard across the table now.

It is difficult to comprehend what actually compelled Sarita to behave in such manner, at the podium, after all what needs to be done had, already been done. And her protest too, not yielding any positive result. Keeping in view, the  media attention and the fan following she garnered, following her 'sob-bery', she is now at par with Mary Kom, who holds the record for being the first Indian woman boxer to have won Gold in the history of Asian Games.

Again Robbery

I can't help but think, of a larger ulterior motive, Sarita might have had, in all these 'dramebazi'? A leading English newspaper in the home-state of the two famous boxers, Manipur, had lavishly devoted three-fourth of its Front page coverage entirely on Sarita Devi while Mary Kom is forced to eat a humble-pie going by the the 2nd October edition of the Imphal based daily. If the robbery of her promising medal, nothing less 'glittering' than Silver was not enough, her 'sob-bery' now has in robbed 'Hmang-nificient Mary' of the media coverage and attention she so richly deserved.

And What's Next?

But all said and weighed, her determination to continue boxing, despite the unfair treatment meted out to her, is praiseworthy. I hope it's not just mere emotional ranting, which I'm tempted to suspect of, at the end of the day. However, that would materialise only and if she doesn't face a ban by AIBA. And in all likelihood, in the present scenario and if what is reported in Reuters is anything to go by, the AIBA is to issue a decision regarding disciplinary procedures immediately after the Games, which end on Saturday. If AIBA is unforgiving in its afore-mentioned disciplinary procedures, Sarita's promising boxing career could end right here with Incheon Asian Games. And that would be a huge loss for India, in general and Manipur in particular. 

It is however, too untimely to predict anything following the unfortunate turn of events. Whichever way the pendulum swings, for better or for worse, only time will tell.

Suhel Akhtar and The Memories of My One-time Classmates|

In remembrance of my classmates, 1995-96, St. Mary's H/S, Tuibuong, Churachandpur|

            (File photo: St. Mary's H/S, Tuibuong, 2002 batch with the Principal and teaching staff)



I'm not sure which teacher it was who asked "Who is the Dy Commissioner of Churachandpur?" in the class way back in the year 1995. Was it B.C. Nangpu (Bungmual City) or was it Sir (L) Mate?

None of us had a readymade answer barring one-Hringsolal, who later became a well known footballer of Churachandpur, Ccp in short. Only once had I the rare opportunity of watching him in action, in Kholmun ground. Boy, he was good!. But even he got it wrong, I still remember him having said "Suhel Langtar". He said so not as a response to the teacher's query but as to himself and to those seating around him. I asked him again, more than twice, so that I could jot it down but he himself was as confused as I was. Even Dayananda, the class topper, couldn't meet the teacher's roving eyes for an answer.

And Ompuia a.k.a. Ompapa was also silent. His bete noire, Vungthianmawi, the teachers' pet, but known popularly among the boys as 'Complain Box' hasn't had enough reason to protest too. Very unlikely of her. Whenever 'Ms Complain Box' said or did something Ompapa was never shy to retaliate in equal, befitting measure. Admit it guys! We like their chemistry or tiff whichever was true.

I remember having flipped the pages of 'Thinglhang Post' newspaper that evening to avoid 'getting cane' the next day. That didn't helped me much though. Luckily, the teacher, on having seen most of the students without doing the home-work, refrain from using the much dreaded cane. He spared himself the after effect he might have sustained by beating more than 30 odd students. Instead he made us write 15/20 times the name he wrote on the blackboard: Suhel Akhtar. He was the Deputy Commissioner of Churachandpur that time.

Now, as I recalled it was like Achilles (Brad Pitt) in 'Troy' saying "Men fights for Kings they don't even met" (This may not be the exact words spoken in the epic movie). Similarly, because of the man we don't even met or know our tiny li'l fingers were sore writing his name.

At times, I remember some of our old class-mates, in fact, as I write this, I see some of their faces, donning Navy blue trouser, 'Ujala' brighten white shirt and a red-tie; it's not that I'm particularly fond of them nor dislike them. I don't even thinks a lot about those bygone era. It just barge into my mind randomly. But it always leaves me, thinking, how they'll be doing or where will they be now???

That 'Suppandi' Lianmuanlal. O! I still see him, in my mind's eye, with that remarkable head of his and the woolen school sweater he used to wear. Mischievous, combed and oily haired, Martin. Kamlalmuan, whom I sat with, on the same bench and write on the same desk. He speaks fast and writes even faster. Thangminlen, who is etched in my memory, as the one who said "Moirang singju pang hau hau ee" too often than necessary. He had a knack for saying that before hitting Johnson of Tuibuong not the other Johnson from Khomuoi. And Kamkhansuan, I did once chanced upon him at a railway platform in Delhi but he no longer remembers me.

Adison, Bidyasagar and Rishabh Sharma, the pioneer, as according to Sir Kalamu. Are they still alive?! And I don't know her name but she was better known as 'Mar Bank'. If I remember correctly she was a newcomer, like  me, in Class IV of St. Mary's H/S, in the year 1995. Sir Mate, our History & Civics teacher, then, asked her to write on the board where she was from. And lo! She wrote 'Mar Bank' (Hmar Veng) just like the way she pronounced.

Samuel Zabieklien and I were fond of singing 'mehbooba' from my all time favorite B'wood movie Sholay in the classroom though furtively. Neither of us aspire to be a singer. We don't even like our voices ourselves. The two Joseph, one was smaller and the other was James Darngawn li'l brother. Ronald Khupminthang whose handwriting was like that of a lady; neat & tidy. I hope they are doing well. These guys I do meet once or twice and it was a warmly feeling they still remembers me.

And very much later, a year or two after perhaps, in Class VII or VIII Jangkholal a.k.a. Jewish spirit and Sonminlun a.k.a. L.S. were vying for the attention of the same girl. 'Irene' was the bone of contention between the two buddies. However, L.S. later shifted gear and changes direction, setting his eyes firmly on 'Chongphens'. By then Jewish spirit too, failed to live up to his illustrious name; he aborted 'Mission Irene' forever. I never ask him why, he never told me why.

Seilenlal was one restless prick I got to know. I once told him "it's Rexona deodrant you're using" 

and since then, we sort of became friends. His side-kick or vice-versa Lalsawma was witty and a jocund company to have around.

George Thangcrosslien became Thangcross-'lion' after Sir (L) Francis told him to write his name on the board. His 'e' had an 'o' appeal hence, 'lion' replaced 'lien'. One day, 'gul-hit' (It's more like a reddish tick, I don't know its English equivalent) 'flew over my cuckoo nest' (sic) and all hell broke loose. I couldn't sit in the class, in peace, it was itching. I ask for the teacher's permission to take a leak. I met Thangcrosslion on the way, he too had been out for 'passing  #1'. He  did a yeoman service to me by removing the 'gul-hit' using a grass stalk, laboriously. I'm forever indebted to him...hahaha

Until now, I don't understand why Siamchinmawi and Paochungnung couldn't see eye to eye during those years. They could fight anytime, anywhere; their bout was nothing less than a Jackie Chan's movie or any Chinese action flick. May be, they fight just for the heck of it. Or 'training' to be a professional fighter one day. If it was for the latter their cherished dream hasn't seen the light of day.

Forgive me, friends, if I'm wrong or disclosed more than what is basic and essential. Else i'll be doomed. Wait, why am I even writing this in the first place? If i say, i did just to empty my head? Does that makes me selfish? I don't know, you better be the judge. I just wanna say wherever you all are- May God be with you all!

(P.S. Due to 1997 misunderstanding between hill-brethren in Churachandpur, our class and friends were torn apart and scattered elsewhere; since then, our path hardly ever cross again. Even if it did, we hardly recognise each other now)

Born a Kuki, Die a Kuki | In Memory of September 13, 1993 'Joupi Massacre'|

Over the misty hills of Joupi and far away;

Into the lush wilds of Gelnel-Janglenphai terror sway.

Doom knocks door to door; chickencoop to pigsty.

'Nagalim for Christ' was never one's ally.

Devil in NSCN-IM clothing clamped upon 'em 'Quit Notice'.

Plundered their farm-produce, torched their home-stead as they so pleases.

Tense dark clouds hovering the murky skyline;

As hapless hermits gawked, choking in agony.

Despair blooms in never ending treading line;

As they flee, knowing not where, but to safety.

Weary and teary, trudging along the winding treacherous path.

Pebbles underneath their bare-feet couldn't prick the already half-death.

Sultry roving sun shut its oft piercing eyes.

Frozen at the ghastly sight.

Fountains of blood sprinkles, no bar, haywire.

Like plantains their bodies slashed,

And as gourd their tied limbs sliced.

Their heads chopped and in to the water deep, plonked.

As despised as kitchen trash, disposed.

Infants tossed in the air;

No loving hands to catch 'em.

Upon protruding spikes and machetes they land.

On September 13, 1993 alone 104 Kuki civilians butchered;

Three hostages survived with wounds utterly ugly.

A woebegone memento they couldn't simply stash away;

Memories of the deceased stings now like a disease.

O! Sons of the soil; ye, daughters of the land!

Song of thy toil no more sung;

Thine merry-making no longer heard.

Born a Kuki, Die a Kuki; we'll always sing.

Mary Kom, The Movie Trailer

Come 5th September Mary Kom, The Movie, besides painting the glitterati town red-red with oozing bloods, punches & bruises will 'knock an ear-deafening punch' at theatres near you but until then those who are upbeat about this biopic has to content with Mary Kom, The Trailer. Co-incidentally the slated release date will be celebrated as Teachers' Day in India, it will be a double whammy for many young wannabe boxer or world boxing champion who considers Mary as their guru & idol. But sadly, Mary's own pupil at her academy in Imphal won't have anything much to look forward to as Hindi films had been banned in Manipur since the leader of a proscribed militant outfit was shot dead by Indian armed forces more than a decade ago. Even her own folks will be devoid of watching the movie in theatres. Thanks to pirated CDs & DVDs that dotted the roadside in Imphal city, her home-folks may have a silver lining.Without further much ado, let's get to the task at hand (or is it the gloves in her hands?)-judging the movie by the trailer. And don't forget this could only be the tip of the ice-berg as no one has an inkling what the movie as a whole has in store for us. It has to speak for itself, hain na? (That's Ibobi's trademark remark, got it?) I watched the trailer in the wee hours of the night but i felt like i'm being cheated in some mysterious ways. Mary Kom without Mary Kom herself is enough reason to feel something missing. 

At 00:00 viaCOM 18 motion pictures gatecrashed on the screen followed by Bhansali Productions (logo whatever), in shining armor & glamour, seconds later. Each with their disparate background musical score. It's like rotten eggs smacking against the windshield of your brand new imported car. (Pardon, my rudeness,; old habits)

A bell tolls amidst cheering crowds. Two girls in the boxing ring. The girl in blue gets knocked by the girl in red. Powerful punch it was-you can feel it.(You may cover your ears with both hands). Her 'knocked-out' unconscious body flies in mid air & before it falls you saw what appears to be the pugilist childhood: her father enquiring "Kya chupa rahi hai pichche?! Yeh ladki logon ka khilona nahi hai" (What are you hiding at the back?! This is not something for girls to play with). The li'l girl now becomes PeeCee in Mary Kom's avatar wearing shabby school uniform. A roadside romeo seeing her wearing a boxing glove taunts & push her around. Poor lad, he picked up the wrong girl & ended up bruised, cowering & begging for mercy. Bottom line: nobody messed with natural boxer which most Manipuri girls are! ;) (Guys, beware! DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME.. You'll not be as lucky as I was)

Now, with a great impact, the flying but 'comatose' body falls on the ground with a loud thud.

Next follows what appears to be the treacherous road to professional boxer:

"Tum boxer hai?" (Are you a boxer?) looking down from the ring, a certain coach asked Mary still in her untidy school uniform. "Abhi tak to sirph phaiter hai, lekin agar tum sikhayega toh boxer bhi ban jayega" (Until now i'm just a fighter but if you teach me i can be a boxer). Then, in a jiffy, begun her arduous boxing training alongside the boys of the academy. Later she is shown falling in love, becoming a world champion at international event & getting married, walking down the aisle. Reel wedding dress conspicuously has uncanny resemblance to real wedding dress. The costume designer, who ever he/she is, has learnt his/her home-work.

The following dialogue speaks for the rest of what is to unfold:

Someone,most probably her coach, is heard trying to knock some sense into Mary "Ek time World championship jeet kar bas ho gaya, boxing khatam?" (Winning World championship once and it's done, boxing over?)

Then an unseen man said in Mary's face "Aur waise bhi aap ka boxing career khatam ho chuka hai" (Anyway your boxing career is already over)

Mary is shown having 'me-time' saying this to herself "Duniya boxer Mary Kom ko bhool gaya hai, kya Mary Kom boxing bhool gaya?" (The world had forgotten boxer Mary Kom, has Mary Kom forgotten boxing?)

Then who appears to be Onler Kom, behind every successful woman; there is Onler Kom, instill confidence and new grit to Mary by saying "Tu ek fighter hai, Thoi. Aur ek fighter haar kabhi nahi maanta". (Thoi, you're a fighter. A fighter doesn't give into failure. Is it my hearing inability I heard 'thoi'; thoi is a Meetei word for 'dear')
Her coach, after Mary had twins, said with gusto "Ek aurat maa bankar bahut strong ho jata hai, aur tumhara takat ab do guna bar gaya" (A woman on becoming a mother becomes very strong and your strength has now increase two-fold)

What is supposed to be a narrator or a commentator traces the story of Mary with these lines "Ek chawal lugane wala kisan ka beti, Manipur ka chhota sa gaon se nikal kar teen bar World champion banta hai". (The daughter of a farmer, emerged from a small village in Manipur and become World champion thrice. I thought it's five, may be two more title yet to come in the later part of the movie)

Mary going berserk in what is evident to be the result of racial discrimination and step-motherly treatment meted out by the government-its establishments and its officials to people with mongoloid features in India and she says "I'm a (sic) Indian, India meri dharm hai" (I'm an Indian, India is my 'dharm'-religion, here country). This line could be a befitting reply to those Indians who calls Northeast Indians, their fellow Indians, a foreigner or refugees or for that matter chinkis.

A kurta pajama clad politician threatening the determined Mary "Tumhare sapne mein yeh jo boxing ka shabd hai na, nikal kar chodunga". (I'll erased/removed this boxing thing/word from your cherished dream)

The following line by Mary must be the one to reckon with, a pivotal one if not the climax. Trust me, it's worth a thunderous applause. "Kabhi kisi ko itna mat darrao, ki darr hi khatam ho jaye". (Don't ever scare someone so much so that one no longer gets scare).

Now, let me have the freedom to express my thoughts on the  movie trailer. First thing first, I'm not saying that PeeCee didn't pulled off the role of the five time World champion to the T but in a strange & inexplicable way i felt let down. The simple reason is: if Mary Kom, after at the receiving end of uncountable social, political & economical bouts could managed to punch her way into the hearts of many, i've a strong feeling that she too can act & deserve to be herself in a movie based entirely on her real life story. Provided she is/was the first choice & some acting guru is coming forth to give her some tips. That way, justice will be done to the role & to the viewers and most importantly to Mary Kom herself. I doubt she was ever considered or approached to play herself by either Bhansali, the producer or Omung Kumar, the director. Or without making headlines, she was approached but decline as acting is not her forte. We don't know.

Keeping in view her tale of woes & the arduous journey she has had undertaken to become what she is today the film which is about her doesn't required polishing & refining in the arena (read acting). 
In a biopic such as this film, 'flair' ,acting wise, isn't the most sought after 'punch'. A fair dose of 'raw '& 'crude' acting would not only be pardonable but welcoming. It will breathe life & authenticity to the character & the movie. 


For once Bollywood gets the rare opportunity to change its age old movie-making mantra , outlook & get real through this film but it lets the opportunity slip by for fear of 'acceptability'& trivial Box Office earning. The film ,no matter who stars in it, as long as it holds its rein will be received well. Very much like Mary earned the hearts of 1.2 Billion nation & millions worldwide.

Mary Kom did what she got to do. PeeCee too did what she has to do. And what is done can't be undone. No matter who is in & who is out, let's put our finger crossed, Mary Kom emerged the victor at the end of the day with respect to this movie. I hope that as much as her power-punch reign in the ring this film punch the cash register ringing at the Box Office.

All said and done I ,for one, will be missing Maneithangza's tribute song to the queen of boxing big time. The Kuki rock-star rendition of her tell-tale in musical form was gritty, glitzy and heart-rousing.

A Brawl With The Brawn... (Do i drive home some brownie point?)

If you think music erupts abruptly in the middle of a fight only in movies... think again :)

Feast of the belly and fist of fury :

It was on one Saturday night that one of my childhood dreams came true though not in the way I like it to be. I remember it was Saturday night not because I kept a journal or have a good memory but because I couldn’t go to church the next day. In Delhi we get to attend a church service only once in a week i.e. on Sunday. But at the time of this story I used to attend two services; one was UBF (University Bible Fellowship, Munirka) at 10 in the morning and the other was KWS (Kuki Worship Service) at 5 in the evening.

Well, this is what happened… we got the good news that friends in Munirka had uisa at their disposal and invited us to dine with them. It was around 10 PM already so we went to Munirka pronto from JNU, a distance of about 10 minutes walk, with a fairly good mood and remotely unaware of what was to happen later that night.

As we climb up the stairs to our host room. We heard some buzzing noise from above. On reaching, I was stunned to see the many chappals outside the room; it suggested that the room won’t contain us anymore. The room was crowded with the'machos' and they were having a good time; it was like ‘boys night out’ ! But still one of us barged in and doesn’t care to come back.

A friend came out of the room and took us to his room on the next floor and we cooked for ourselves separately. We’d a hearty and sumptuous meal and at the stroke of midnight a friend said he wanted to get a packet of cigarette badly before the shops down their shutters. The owner of the room offered me his white jacket with a hood. I gladly wear that without any second thought and we set off to the shop racing against time. (If this is about Bhagat’s ‘The 3 mistakes of my life’ this will be my 1st mistake).

After few minutes of walking into the alleys we turned left into the meandering lanes….it was bare and silent as we walked along, the two of them ahead of me and I walked behind; in the middle of the lane. Consumption of uisa makes you warm and I could hear blood gushing in my blood vessels.

After awhile four wasted guys with 'loose screw at their knees' came from the opposite direction; one of them was wearing a white banian (vest) and a chain around his neck. Staggering passed my friends was well and fine but as he passed by me he knocked my shoulder. I turned back and said “hey!”  he looked back and mutter “Sorry” with hic and slur. I said to myself ‘fine' and continued walking.

He stood there and yelled “I said I’m sorry”  it seemed this fellow wanted to mess with me. (He ought to be warned 'Don't mess with the Dragon!') I said “ok”  but he came toward me and mutter the same word but with a derogatory tone and started pushing me. I told myself let him push me once again I won’t just stand and watch. Sure he did. That was his biggest mistake! He wakes up the sleeping lion! I clenched my fist and grind my teeth… believe me, I could hear my knuckles cracking but in the nick of time I remembered the words someone told me “ You’ve got the hands of a lady; small, clean and smooth”. Smooth!? Hell No! (I’ve scars; a reminiscent of a‘fighter’ kid) Small! Yes, I realized using my hands will do me no good. I took a step backward and did ‘flying kick’.

Damn! Not only did I missed him, my shoes almost flew off. I was wearing an olive Converse # 10 which I bought from Sunday Mkt., a flea market near IG stadium and it was a li’l too big for my otherwise XL feet.

I sized him up and told myself if I go for ‘fist-to-fist fight’ I don’t stand a chance; I’ve got to do something so before he raised his hands so I grabbed his whole torso. I increased my grip on him giving him no space to either hit me or kick me. His two friends tried to hit me at my back but my friends take care of that.

However, after few minutes, I don’t know what the hell had happened but I realized I was all alone fighting three tipsy guys. Later, I came to know that my friends were doing the need of the hour; one of them gave a hot chase to the guy who darted off into the darkness (what if he comes back with a dozen afterward?) and the other one sensing this scuffle could escalated into unwanted large-scale 'Clash of the Titans' went for back-up. While I grabbed the tough guy the other two punches me on my back, neck and shoulder. I buried my head deep into his chest and hold him at his loin clasping both his hands.

In the nick of time I remembered Bruce Lee’s (my childhood idol) teaching “The stiffest tree is most easily cracked while bamboo or willow survives by bending with the wind”. I took the punches like a willow but I grabbed this guy more firmly… the slightest mistake would cost me dear. He tried to free himself but I don’t let him. So like in ‘Zanzeer’ & ‘Sholay’  fight sequence we grabbed each other and he hurled and pushed me against the iron-gate (shutter) and Idid the same while the other two fellows took turn hitting me. One of them hit me right on my temple and for the first time (also the last time) I saw stars in Munirka; forget about stars one hardly gets a good view of the sky in Munirka from the ground.

After about 10 mins of being a ‘willow’ I heard a strange sound approaching fast and the earth was shaking. It was like a pack of ferocious wolves darting off into the jungle as in the‘Twilight’ saga. I bet it would make your coffee on the table trots! I looked at the direction of the incoming sound and I smile. I thought music erupts abruptly in the middle of a fight only in movies but I was wrong it also does in real life too :)

What is music to you? Is it the one Mozart & Beethoven produced? Or closer home A.R. Rahman or one of ours Thangjangam make? Well, I heard one of a different kind...Someone once said “I heard the best music in the middle of a desert” and that moment I heard mine. :)

My ecstasy was cut short though, as I became the first victim once again. An early bird catches the worm so does the fastest wolf. I saw him leaping and raising his hand in the air and before I could say anything his fiery punch blow the smile out of my face. “Aaaarghhh!”  If that punch had landed on my eye, my eye-ball would have jet off from its socket. Though grimacing in pain I felt lucky as he missed my eye only by a whisker. 

“Damn! It’s me”. “Go,get them!” I told him. “I’m so sorry”he apologized when he heard my voice. I don’t blame him as I was wearing someone else jacket with a hood on.

What follow was no less than the action scene in ‘300’. In the midst of all the brouhaha and the melee I stood there a li’l numb and dumb trying my best to bring back some sense into my spinning head. Everything was happening in a jiffy; only me at the centre was in 'slow motion' and I couldn’t hear properly. As I looked around suddenly I felt pity for the three guys who a moment ago beat me to pulp.

Our 're-inforcement' reached us in the nick of time and to my rescue came around 6-8 guys. Things would have been different if everything was happening in the campus. They might have come walking with placards in their hands. SAVE THANG! Or JUSTICE FOR THANG! written on the placard. But lucky me! It’s Munirka…(lol) What are friends for after all? The three poor guys are outnumbered and they don’t stand a stance now. In fact they couldn’t even stand literally now; one blow to the left, another blow to the right. “Take this!” and“Take that!” was the rap (song) emanating from everywhere around.

The noise woke up the entire mohalla/ building on both side of the alley; people in their undies and banian with puffy eyes and unkempt hair looked down from their balconies. One old man on the ground floor dared to open his gate and asked “Yeh kya ho raha hai?”.

 “Peeke marta hai isliye” someone amongst us responded. The old man then picked up a bamboo from the adjoining ‘under construction’ house and whacked him. As I regained some senses my sympathy for the three guys turned into a fit of anger once again. “It’s all because of his folly”  I told myself and faced him upfront and punch him right in his face. My blow had him dropped like a cow-dung on the ground and with that we left the scene.

The three of us, on our way back to the hostel, were stopped at the gate by the G4 security guard and one of us took out his ID and flashed it across the face of the bewildered looking guard while he looked straight ahead and spoke on the phone with his right hand. It was like a scene from ‘My Sassy girl’  where the protagonists in school uniform on entering a bar, the girl (Jeon Ji Hyun) flashed her ID with her head held high indicating she’s above 18 years and legally fit to enter a bar and drink a pint or two.

The friend on the phone after telling the Munirka friends to keep a low profile henceforth, told me “Thang, did you see my ‘Ong Bak’?”  and continued “If I’d known that it was you… you, my brother, who got beaten by those wasted fellow I would have hit them harder…much harder”. While the other friend hold me and walked me home… they asked me to stay over at their rooms. I almost forget to mention;they were room-mates then.

Once we enter their room the jolly fellow put on Miranda’s song “Nei ngaidam in lungdei…”  he sang and enacted the scene and made us laughed. But he didn’t know that he was torturing me by making me laugh.

Back to the beginning: To get into a street fight was one of my weird dreams as an unruly kiddo but what actually happened saw a slight change in the script. I wanted to be the one who rescue others not the one who has to be rescued. Anyway, I’ve had it all!

This is Nehkupedia, the narrator-cum-writer, signing off with Adele in the background singing “We could have had it all” (Rolling in the deep) but wait a second, Adele… let me change the lyric to suit my palate (story)… “I’ve had it all”.

Special thanks to Bruce Lee, Mozart, Beethoven, A.R. Rahman, Thangjangam & Mirinda! And lots of thanks & hi5 to the wolves & stars of that night who rescued me from the den of death (I’d love to mention your names but i guess I need to refrain from doing that)…  :)

NREGA/ MGNREGS: To eradicate poverty? What a mockery!!!

While i was in JNU, RaGa (Rahul Gandhi) paid a 'media sans' visit to JNU. 800-1000 strong research scholars, students & wanna-be political bigwigs scurried for a foothold space to greet & chant 'bhajan', also 'bhasan', to the Gandhi scion. No wonder V.I.P-giri has its day even in a rational thinkers & fundamentalists infested 'Live & Let Live' JNU campus. I saw from a distant one Economics research scholar questioned RaGa "What did the Congress govt. do for the 'aam admi' (the 'mango people' a.k.a. the common man, not Anna/Kejriwal's mobo-cracy)?" I heard RaGa quipped "NREGA" with gusto. That's RaGa's style, very much like my own, a unique man of few befitting words (response). I don't follow much of what was said, hailed and hooted that night as i was with a girl. (Well, that's another story & to put to rest your never-ending curiosity- she was 'Just Another Girl'; To substantiate this claim listen to The Killer's- Just Another Girl...lol)

NREGA has since then become the 'cherry on top' for the scam struck Congress to put down all allegations, infamy(s) & appease the mango people in general & above all, in particular to keep their political rivals at bay.

NREGA, with its shining armour & ready to wage war against poverty, had put C.C.pur, a nondescript dist. in Manipur (I don't know much of how things are done elsewhere but i bet it won't be a world of difference), in the good books of the govt. at the Centre as it was awarded the 'Best Performing' dist. (2009-10) alongside 9 other lucky dist. selected from throughout the country during the 'MGNREGA Sammelan' held at Vigyan Bhavan at New Delhi. (http://manipuronline.com/headlines/pm-awards-churachandpur-mgnrega-feat/2011/02/03).Well, that's now only history & the modus operandi for any administration (s)/ office(s) in Manipur with respect to public related works is first gain trust, then rust.

This is true of C.C.pur: Mango people now doesn't get to work 100 days a year, doesn't get paid the promised amount of Rs. 100-130 minimum wages & one doesn't get to keep 'Job card' under their pillow at home. NREGA works didn't cover the length & breadth of the entire village. Only some strategic location were given priority-constructed & painted to last for the next bill/fund to arrive; the neglected areas remain neglected as is the official norms with the Central & state govt.

I heard people lamenting that one village-chief/Thakur made his villagers work for his under- construction palatial building with NREGA's fresh & crispy notes. There are rumours doing the round too that scores of ghost village & villagers came into being. Such village & all villages alike is not free from extortion; self-acclaimed 'nationalist org' but 'proscribed outfit' by media had a plum share of MGNREGS fund. With the presence of uncountable outfits, it's beyond my calculation how much that would amount to.

Like most 'public related works' & policies, NREGA too is not free from irregularities & conspiracies. Smt. Lazarus, DC -cum- DPC MGNREGA, C.C.pur stole all the lime-light & amass the envy of all her colleague at Vigyan Bhavan, New Delhi but after all that laurels & accolades every thing related to MGNREGS went kaput & awry. It brings about a lot of changes; good on the outside, fatal inside.

Paddy fields make way for the creation of 'New Kholui' ('Kholui' means 'Old village';'New Kholui' connotes the perplexing situation,in naming, arising out of the ever increasing new village). Thakurs who once rode a cycle, now rides a mo-bike, those who rode a mo-bike now rides a car. The divide between the rich & the poor is now 'jaw-droppingly' poles apart-a trend which is not healthy for a close-knit society like ours.

The mango people had to come to terms with rampant honking & nausea-tic smoke polluting the once thin & clean air with the sudden appearance of heavy traffic on NH-150 & this further led to innumerable road mishaps & human casualties. It's rather not really surprising as the dist. has no authorised 'Driving School' & no age-bar to get a Driving license. If you could dole out a crispy 500/1k bucks without bating an eyelid, "it can be done'-in a jiffy.

We were known as hard-working & honest 'village-simpleton' as far as i could pee on my own. (That's a pee-lief (sic) to learn something as private & personal as peeing without troubling anyone). The fact is MGNREGS has made everyone lazy, idle & dishonest. None who works in MGNREGS's semi-skilled labour really works; they just show up with spades & daggers to put their names on the paper. Those abled & strong won't come at all, for reasons best suited to their rational thinking; only senior citizens, women & children would turn up taking up the gigantic work halfheartedly. Children learnt the 'golden tips' to be lazy & left the older ones, who sweat toiling under the scorching heat, fuming & cursing. The age-old tradition of respecting the elders & letting them work less took a back-seat & none give it a damn!

The result-apart from saying 'something is better than nothing' it has none. Some workers play 'hide & seek' literally while there are some 'you'll miss if you happen to blink' during working hours. There are some who came for 'time-pass', mostly teens, as they have nothing better to do at home or wants to escape bore-dom, study or domestic chores. While idling, the pillars of our future, becomes the much dreaded-devil's workshop.

NREGA corrodes us in & out, and in a hindsight it is only a mere vote-bank politics & a tool to keep the mango people a puppet in the hands of the govt.

A young widow and her son

Seven months following her husband’s untimely death Heshi one night remains fully awake lying on her bed; she couldn’t sleep a wink and many thoughts of her Lienpu, her husband and the first and the only person she fell in love with came flashing across her empty but sorrow-laden mind. She thought she had already overcome her lonesome ordeal with nights of sleeplessness but she was wrong.

She remembered him; his smile, his voice, his warmth embrace… She recalled him calling out her name in hush-hush tone during History class in High School at the initial days of their dating. She would blushed and she used to give him her most irritated and ferocious look to behaved, the persistent pest, lest he will get caught and would be made to stand with one leg holding his ears through the remaining hours of the class.

Without her knowing streams of tears were rolling down her cheek; she remembered him and misses him like she’d never miss him before. Her parents were pleading her to bring her 5 months old son and stay with them but she chose to stay at this house, the 2 BHK wooden floor tin roof her Lienpu had built for her with his own caring and loving hands; the last remnant of her doting hubby. Lienpu was not only her husband; he was also her best friend and soul-mate. Nothing in this world could make her change her mind. She was a stubborn girl since childhood and it’s her stubbornness that made Heshi and Lienpu walked into each other lives.

It was in the year 1997 while they were in VIII standard that their story had its unusual beginning. Story has it that while on their way back to school a guy of her class riding a bicycle pour the remaining water in his bottle on Heshi’s head, she chased him all the way up the climbing road and caught hold of the bicycle from the rear end and doesn’t let go until he apologized. Walking behind was Lienpu who  picked up her school bag which she had thrown away when she started chasing that naughty class bully. He walked briskly all the while shouting “You forgot your bag, miss!!!” but she doesn’t look back.

Lienpu couldn’t believe his eyes, at the back of his head he exclaimed with awe “What a girl!”. He knew her as they sat in the same class but he was not like those guys who are suave and had the skill to talk to girls. When he finally catch up with her he saw that her face were all red, he was a little intimidated and gave her the bag. She snatched the bag without saying anything. It was that moment Lienpu’s innate sense of humour took its long overdue birth and accidentally he blurted “a li’l thanks will do”. And for the first time they spoke to each other and became friends, then best friends, then lovers and soul-mate and finally they got hitched.

But life can be unfair and cruel to some people who are deeply in love. After 7 months into a blissful married life ‘selfish king of tragedy’ gnawed its sharp and pointed teeth into Heshi’s tender heart and shaken her small world topsy turvy.  Lienpu met with a road mishap and died, with a packet of ‘sohlu’ (Indian gooseberry) in his hands for his young and pregnant wife. After 2 months she gave birth to a healthy baby boy and named him ‘Haolunglen’after Lienpu’s father ‘Lunkhohao’; the  name Lienpu had written in his diary, in fact he had written two names the other one a girl’s name on top of ‘Haolunglen’. Lienpu wanted their first born to be a girl.

Thinking that her son will grow up to be fatherless she started sobbing, her tears soaking her pillow. She decided to go out to cry to her heart’s content at the back of their house but as she tries to get up her li’l son won’t let her go as he held his mom’s ring finger tight. She moaned “O! Lunglien, my son! Mommy is not going to leave you. I’ll never do that.”

She wiped her tears and lit the candle on the table beside the bed and lie down. She takes a good and affectionate look at her son. She always argued with Lunglien’s aunt, her sister, that he had his father’s face; oval shaped with flat fore-head, tiny nose and big ears but she believed what her sister told her: he had her eyes. She rubs her hand across Lunglien’s face and run her fingers through his curly hairs.

She watched him sleep, sleeping unaware of his mother’s suffering and the realities of the unfair world. She finds comfort in that. His chest was going up and down with every breath he takes. The sound of his breath getting louder and louder. “O! My son, you started snoring huh!?” She smiles and once again her face becomes full and red and her hazel eyes came to bloom. She matches her breath with his and soon she fall asleep.

Khuga Dam(n)-ed!

Damned you! Khuga Dam

Flawed from head to toe

Armed to the teeth.

What hast thou given us? Power?

Yea, to men-in-uniform with binoculars.

Water to quench our thirst?

Yea, the hot spot for the insatiable thirst: lust.

Water for crops? Nay not so; never.

Shame you brought us; despicable name and fame.

Your icy cold hands took away our young lives.

Worst; even the life out of the living.

Damsel in distress her fortress plundered.

Modesty of her's looted.

Her character now hooted.

Her image tainted.

Her soul for life maimed.

Damned you! I,R & Bs' where is your pity?

Is that what you did for security?

It's over now, your age-old impunity.

This devilish acts of yours be condemn by all society!

Fight the lone battle strong, girl

People, still with hearts, will throng

The streets and the meandering lanes

For you and for me; for justice.

Let someone with no blemish point fingers.

The rest blame her not.

Blame, if so keen, the flame that kindles the passion.

Flesh and blood we all are so is she.

Pity this city now lies awaiting Doom's day.

How much longer can one keep the ticking 'water-bomb' at bay?

Nature terrorist tell me when is D'day?

Save a soul or two I may.

No more lives, no more shame I pray.

Enough! Don't, no more, try.

Damned you! Khuga Dam

Flawed from head to toe, armed to the teeth.