The Butterfly and The Worm

The Baking Ventures

2012-01-17T01:57:00.003+05:30

When it comes to me being a cripple in some womanly skills, I always resort to the lines "I grew up with three brothers" somehow blaming my heritage for my 'unwomanly' ways. This last resort may work for my embarrassment with my lack of make-up skills (until about 14 months ago) and the battle with the high heels still on-going. But with cooking and baking, I cannot say I'm unskilled because I grew up with boys. In fact, growing up with boys should somehow make me more skilled because I'd be the one 'expected' to do all that. But sadly, I'm a bad cook and a worse baker.

I've often been told that no one will ever marry me because I'm such a bad cook. But somehow, my dad and my brothers are delighted with whatever I spin out in the kitchen last summer when I was home. Ah! Love! Who cares if a man never marries me because of my cooking (un)skills? I still have four men who finishes whatever I kept in the plate.

With baking, I, however, have no experience. My mother bought cakes rather than bake them and the only time I've ever helped bake a cake was when I was in college. We were baking a birthday cake for a girl in our hostel and all I did was beat the eggs. But a few months ago, a Mizo family (here in Delhi) I have as my own bought a new oven - bigger and better than their previous one. So with the thrill of the new toy, we decided to bake. On the first baking try, I couldn't even reach on time because of my late class. By the time I reached, everything was done and all I did was peek from the oven door at the batter changing color and consistency. The cake turned out delicious and I feel it's because I didn't help!!

I was at the same home a week ago when suddenly Muani (the daughter) decided that we should bake. Her mother had bought a new baking mold (a double-heart mold ) and she wanted to try it out. We peered closely at the cake recipe and suddenly decided to be health conscious and that the butter and the sugar was too much. So we cut down on the sugar and added only 1/3 of the the butter from the recipe. The sad part was that we didn't cut out down on the flour and even added more eggs to make the batter more consistent.

After 40 minutes in the 180 degree oven, guess what came out??

Yes! I put the picture on X-large just to scare you!!

I could have sworn the cake was laughing at me! I could have sworn I could hear a boisterous "Haha! You're never meant to bake. Look at me, your failed creation, and go marinate yourself in shame!!"

What the 'failed creation' tastes like?? Cheap dry bread which smells like burnt eggshells!! Yes I know! Why do I give out such embarrassing details? But the comments we received that evening was worse than all these details.

"Kawngsira cake an zawrh chi hi a ang e... 15 man chi ngei mai kha." - Biaka who still nibbled and ate a piece.

"In kua a puar ange... ei lo mai rawh u." - Nu Mamawii, the mother of that home.

"A tui lutuk. Mahse artui hawng ut rim a nam" - Pa Hminga , the father.

I later learnt that no one in the family would eat it and in the end they gave it to some kitchen staff in Mizoram House! I'm sure the laughing cake got thrown out but I didn't want to hurt myself by confirming my suspicions. After that, Muani and I had to endure a week of jokes and fun made at our expense and our stint at baking. Expert bakers like U Rimawii told us to be extra lenient with the butter and later restrict our portion size if we are indeed 'health conscious'.

So anyways, as stubborn as I am, I know that I'm going to give another go. Today (more like yesterday) is Pa Hminga's 52nd Birthday. And Muani and I decided that we'd bake him his cake. So we started out as usual.

I can't even begin to tell you the concern everyone had once we put on our aprons. If there is any unlikely sound while using the grinder, Pa Hminga, the birthday boy would peer from the living room and ask "What's that sound, Zuali?" "Is everything alright, Zuali?". I looked at him and decided that I will not poison him this time around. At least not on his birthday!! So we went whisking and mixing and tasting the batter until it finally went into the oven.

Whisking! Yeah! We hafta make sure we do it right!

The first attempt turn out much much better than the last creation but not without flaws. And by flaws I mean, charred bottoms! Heh!

First attempt! A huge burnt chunk had to be scraped off!

Still happy that the cake didn't have the smell of burnt eggshells! :D

The second attempt no longer had the burnt bottom, smells like a cake should and looks good enough to eat. This made it to the birthday cake! :)

Attempt no 3: No burns yeay!!

Ok! This one breaks into a shy grin " I taste much better than your last attempt. I can't laugh at you now"

The third attempt was named 'Slim Jim' by Muani and we left it untouched to be served later to their numerous visitors. (Pa Hminga's house is the unofficial Delhi Mizo Youth Den).

Slim Jim without a crack! Yeah!

There we go!! I should've known that everything becomes perfect with practice. By the time Muani's birthday comes around in March, I told her I'll bake her a 5 tiered birthday cake with chocolate layers and cream roses. Ha!! I have such high expectations of myself!

And until then, The Baking Ventures continue...

Happy Birthday to Pa Hminga! You deserve a much better cake!! Sorry we couldn't get all 52 candles in there! And please excuse the icing, we still need a lot of practice! :D

The Chronicles of Gopuii

2012-01-14T21:44:00.000+05:30

I have a friend. A very dear friend in met here in University. And if I were asked to use a single word to describe her, I would chose nothing less than the word 'unique'. Yep! I've never come across anyone even remotely resembling her or her one-of-a-kind personality.

It has been a tradition between our friends in campus to christen each other with 'Miho' names - names that we give each other once we came into campus. Some of our names have stuck well with us and among those is her name - 'Lalgo-i' which we lovingly 'pet-named' to 'Gopuii'. I will not explain why she has been given this name or what the names means. I hope the rest of this post will make the name slightly comprehensible.

The first time I met her , I was reminded of Sarah Connor from the movie Terminator 2. But then soft spoken bespectacled girl proved that her smile is the only thing she shared with the gun-trotting woman from the sci-fi movie. In my six years of knowing her, I've never heard her speak an angry word. Yet I've seen her getting pissed one night when the bunch was cooking in a room in a boys hostel and we decided to fry only one kilo of potato. I remembered her pulling her face taunt as she peeled all the three kilos and fry them all by herself. She wasn't going to be short of the loving carbs!

Gopuii is always a second slow, but she's never behind. The guys love to say that her processor's a second late. But she never gets into trouble for it. I guess it's because that's just the way she is and whatever force overlooked her simply accepts her and loves her for it. Sometimes I feel that the universe and its contents stay aligned just for her and her own timing. One such episodes would definitely be what I'd call the 'Cheraw episode'. I've never seen Gopuii dancing Cheraw with the rhythm of the drum. And if you've known or seen what the dance is like, it's rest assured that she will get injured with each beat. But then of course, with the universe wildly rearranging itself to her timing, she never has any practice accidents. It's always the men who has the accidents. In the end, I remember some of our guys closing their eyes while beating the bamboo, the very moment Gopuii gets into their lane. That way none of them got hurt. Yep! sometimes I'm almost convinced that time waits for Gopuii!!

But sometimes, just sometimes, the universe doesn't always go out of its way for Gopuii. One such 'sometime' would be the Taekwondo class. She couldn't get a belt in her Taekwondo class because she counldn't finish 'the dance' with the right movements and most importantly with the right timing. She practiced so many times, even in bathrooms while brushing her teeth. But she couldn't get it right which in the end made her drop out of the class. The first failure of Gopuii, I must say. The other day, I walked into the Taekwondo class after a badminton match and I realized the class was for kids around ages 10 and below. It made me admire Gopuii for having the persistence to take classes with kids where she'd definitely be the biggest clumsiest one who couldn't even finish the dance.

But why is Gopuii so interesting?

I was told that once she wrapped and packed her desktop with elastic threads for a train journey. She makes sure she wears a Burqa-like covering whenever she goes out in the heat. Well, we all do that in peak heat don't we? But his classmate Biaka, once refuse to catch up with her because she was wearing a towel on top of her baseball cap and an umbrella on her way to class. Gopuii firmly refuses to use an alarm clock because it is always the best to wake up naturally without pushing the body.

Once someone asked me if she's stoned because he saw her walking with her head high, her neck elongated turning slowing from side to side and her lips curled up in a slow private smile. Another friend quickly jumped to her rescue before I could say anything, 'She's always been like that. I bet she doesn't even understand the meaning of getting stoned'. Ah!! She's well loved by all.

And I kid you not. The love can be seen in another episode. Gopuii once contested for the post of the School Councillor in the Student's Union election. I told her I'll help her with her campaigns anyway that I can, but what I could do was little as I wasn't from her school and I don't know many students. But anyway. once we were going towards the school basement to get handouts printed when she suddenly disappeared as we turned a curve. I went hunting for her and found her half an hour later, writing out her name in a piece of paper while talking to people sitting in the computer lab. And needless to say she swept the votes at the School of International Studies squeaky clean. She came out with the highest votes in the seven membered body which was elected.

But the thing which prompted me to write this post is her recent incident at the airport. We all do weird things when we're broke, right! But Gopuii is the only person I've known who asked for a 10 rupee discount in an airport coffee shop because she's broke. She later told me 'unamused' 'An la phallo zui '!!

I'm glad to have someone like her. It reminds me of the different, unique and lovely ways that God created us. If Gopuii had somehow tried to conform or tried to fit in a box, and be someone else. I'm sure she wouldn't be loveble, endearing and funny as she is now!

A few nights back, I texted her asking if I could do a blog post about her. She texted a positive reply with the line "Don't destroy my future".

Gopui... No one can touch you or your future as long as you have such a kickass attitude. Have a long long blessed life and continue being who you are!

^_^

Here she is, the beautiful (inside and out) Gopuii, still with remnants of her stint at martial arts!!

(BTW, her real name's Mapuii and nope! She ain't single... :P)

Of Facebook profile pictures, friend requests and the borderline Misandrist.

2012-01-05T14:23:00.002+05:30

A Facebook friend vain enough to sport shades and a self-mobile-clicked photo as his profile picture once admitted to adding girls because they looked cute in their PP and later deleted them after he saw them in real life. And he later complained about how misguiding PP's can be.

Need I repeat the very funny fake account that took the Mizo Facebookers by storm just a couple of weeks back? I won't. Because I refuse to let that insignificant episode taint my blog. But then again I think that episode explains a lot about men and Facebook PPs.

Anyways, the fake account with the pretty PP and the vain friend's complaint triggered me to write this post.

Let me tell you my side of the story with my Facebook profile pictures. Both untouched, both 'un-photoshopped'.

This picture is me.

The picture was taken about a year ago when I spotted this felt mustache at a friend's place and decided to fool around with it. I have no makeup on, my hair is uncombed, my thick glasses are perched on my button nose and this picture was taken with a 2mp phone camera. I liked this picture a lot. This is sooo me! The felt mustache and what my Sunday School students called my 'rubber face'. One particularly bold student told me later 'You're old but fun' after coming across this picture. Coming from a 11 year old, I took it as a major compliment.This picture was my Facebook PP for about three months before I switched it.

Let's go the other picture.

This picture is also me.

This picture was taken in November last year at the backstage of the campus Confluence Night. I was in traditional costume, full-on makeup, good lighting, good angle, my glasses are gone and the man behind the expensive camera is a man in love. (Ok!! I just got corny!). I think I look very pretty in this picture and I liked it but not as much as I like the first one. This picture was my PP for about a month until I changed it to this.

This caption is something I wish to be.

Yes, it's a bible caption but who hasn't ever dreamt of being the Proverbs 31 woman?? Well, I have!

But my main point is that the amount of friend requests I received while using the 2nd picture is overwhelming. Overwhelming as in up to 13 requests in a day!! . But then after a month of deleting friend requests (I'm sorry, I don't add people I don't know), I got tired and changed the picture to the bible caption. And the friend requests drop down drastically to only one in a week, which came from a girl I know in North Delhi who realized she hasn't add me yet! True Story!

I get that the second picture is appealing to many people. I think I look pretty in the picture too and that is exactly why I use it as a PP. I don't think I look pretty in the first picture, but I love it because one look at the picture will describe who I am - a person who's fun and who's not scared to make a fool of herself. And if I have to pick which one is more me, it's definitely the first picture. I am the person in the second picture once a week (Yep - I wear make-up only on Sundays and special occasions.), yet, nonetheless, it is still my picture. I've been told I'm photogenic and I heartily agree that I'm not as striking in person as I am in pictures. But that doesn't mean my pictures aren't me! I have the right to post both these two pictures because they are both me. Inspite of that, I've decided I will continue using captions as PPs until I recover from the shock of the superficiality of men I've encountered through the single PP!

A close friend of mine famously quoted about men "They are ruled by their vision and they have brains between their legs". Our male friends love to hate that quote but can do nothing much about her attitude because, I feel, they know she's right in some aspects.

I've been a borderline misandrist for quiet sometime now. So many times have I been disappointed by shallow men and their choices in life. So many times have I been bruised by men whose visions ruled their world. Just these experiences would have been enough to drive me to the border. But there are just two things that kept me from crossing over to the island of Man-Haters:

1. I cannot judge a man because I'm not one. It's just the way we are wired. Just like men cannot get what gets us women going and what ticks us off. You cannot generalize it. Everyone is different.

2. And most importantly, I have a few good men in my life who still amaze me and surprise me with their decisions, their train of thoughts and the way they choose live their life. These handful of men keeps me from portraying men as disgusting creatures.

But then again, this is for all those men who add girls because of cute PP's and delete them later. _____ you. (I use the F word only in my mind.) Don't complain about the girl putting her best picture in her PP, she has every right to show her best to the world. It's not as if you didn't put up your best picture for your PP. Stop accusing others of being a hypocrite when you are one too. There's more to life than being an arse!!

Ah!!! That's liberating!! :D

A New Year's Post : Happy 2012!

2012-01-01T02:19:00.000+05:30

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So my resolution-free New Year started about two hours ago! And even though I'm well aware that feelings are deceptive, I have a genuine 'undeceptive-like' feeling that this year will be a Great Year! I spend my New Year's Eve having a potluck dinner, a get-together and a midnight service with families nearby campus. And my 'teetotalling' New Year's Eve continues!

I've been tweeting that the smartest thing I've done in 2011 is turn on my e-blanket before I left for the New Year's midnight service! Now I'm safely tucked into my warm bed, calling it a night. Tomorrow (or today??), I'll be up early to help cook for the New Year's Feast. Ah!! I can't count the years I've been a ruai fatu, let me recall, my first ruai fatu year was in 2000, back home. That's more than a decade ago!! But I've been singing praises for the Christmas ruai fatu(s) a week ago, so for New Year's I decided to join them and be part of the team that feeds the multitude.

And though there's no resolution this year, there has to be a bible verse. I'd be lost without my Yearly Verse. So this year, I picked a well-known verse I've been dwelling on for the past month!

Yet those who wait for the LORD will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary.Isaiah 40:31

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"Waiting". A theme much needed for someone as impatient as I; a word to reflect upon for someone like me who doesn't know when to slow down!

So before I run away with my lines and stay up for another hour,

Happy New Year 2012

May you have a blessed and fulfilling year

May your Sorrows be less and your Joys abundant

May you learn to be thankful for each day this New Year holds!

My New Year's No-Resolution!

2011-12-28T22:06:00.001+05:30

Unlike Calvin, I don't think I'm perfect the way I am. However, my New Year's Resolution in 2012 is not to have a New Year's Resolution.

Am I making sense at all?

Statistically, The third Monday of January is the most depressing day of the year. By that time, New Year's Resolutions have already been broken, the lull after the festive season have just set in, you're in the middle of the work humdrum and yet summer sun is still nowhere in sight.

I've never remembered following each of my New Year's Resolution list throughout the whole year! I consider myself pretty strong willed but sometimes I feel I don't take my New Year's Resolution seriously! Why should I when I'm just following trend?

On my birthdays, I always have a list of things I want to do for the next year. Through the years, I realized I have a habit of procrastinating my lists. A few months before my next birthday, I'd go through the list and rush to make sure I marked off the list that sometimes, I admit (sheepishly), I do the things on my list just because I want to tick them off. Does that make sense to you? My whole point of making the list in the first place is to venture out of my comfort zone and enjoy and live in every single moment of it! FAIL!!

And to think that I would have two lists every year?? Who am I kidding?

This year, the day after Christmas day, on the darkest shade of blue Mondays, I woke up late, a bit sore and a blocked nose. I knew my week of reflecting on the passing year and making my New Year's Resolution has started. As I took out a sheet pad and a pen to start jotting down, I realized the first on my list was "Have Breakfast at breakfast hours ". Ironic isn't it? The first Resolution in my list is, but, something I am sure I will break on the first day of the New Year!

Let's keep it real here!!

I, therefore, bask in the last days of 2011 and wait to say 'Hello' to a resolution-free New Year!

Top Six Things I'm Thankful for in 2011

2011-12-26T20:50:00.001+05:30

Just a few days left for 2011. And though I'm excited to enter a New Year, I feel I should reflect and jot down the things I'm thankful for during this year. I started with a detailed list, and after writing a really long list, I realize I'd never finish writing this post. So I rounded off with my Top Six. What surprised me is that my Top Six things are things that I've always taken for granted!

So here it goes:

1. Academically, this year has seen me gain another degree (or at least half of it). I finished my MPhil's Viva Voce and embarked on yet another (scarier) journey- a PhD.

2. My Family. Especially my dad. Even though I will forever long for a sister, my brothers make a 'helluva' butt kickin' siblings. But when you have only one parent with you, you learn the value of having him for another year! I'm really blessed and immensely thankful to have my dad with me for another year of my life! I hope and pray I have him with me for many many more years to come, spoiling my (future) kids and sharing them his struggle stories when they reach their difficult teenage years!!

3. No hospitals throughout the year! :D I visited the Campus Health Center plenty and yes! I did fracture my ribs on 'the great fall' but I wasn't admitted in any hospital! Gone are my years in Shillong when I'd be admitted in a hospital every year! I was admitted thrice in a hospital during my final year of college! And though I've been to a lot of hospitals this year, thankfully, I was never the patient. To think that I'm hospital free for a year while I live in a polluted and unhealthy city! Ah! That's something to be thankful for.

4. Sunday School. When The Delhi Mizo Christian Fellowship branched out to three services in May, my heart sank for Sunday School. I was apprehensive about the number of children who would come to class and where we would meet. For more than six months, we have been meeting in the Chief Minister's Committee Room in Mizoram House, Vasant Vihar. Although a bit small, we can somehow manage by taking some of the classes in the corridors. I am particularly thankful for my class of teenagers who have made the best number of students in their Department during my five years teaching Sunday School. I know I'd sound tacky but this year, I've realized all over again that I've given my heart to Sunday School ever since I've started teaching in it since my college days.

South Delhi Mizo Inkhawm Naupang Sunday School: Group picture just after our 'interesting' Nativity Skit!

5. Choir. I'm thankful to be a part of the Delhi Mizo Choir. Being a part of the Choir has taken me to places I'd never have the chance to go had I not been a part of it. Plus I've met some of my closest and most loved friends in the choir. I know I don't have a powerful pair of lungs but I'm happy to be there for song practices and singing my heart out in the choir! I didn't think of the choir this way untill that day in November when I lost my voice to laryngitis for four very deafeningly silent days!

The Last DMI Combined Choir before branching out. (2011)

DMI Choir in 1983. I wasn't born yet when this picture was taken but we have one member who's present in both the pictures. To that person .... SALUTE!!

6. The Roommate: Sharing a very small living space with someone makes you realize the value of a good roommate. I'm extremely thankful for my present one and it's not just because of her love for karaoke! :D

Ah! The list is even more generic than I thought it would be!! But then, when it comes down to list out the things you're grateful for, I realize it's always back to the basics!

2011, You've been a good year!!

A Christmas Post.

2011-12-24T02:20:00.000+05:30

Recently, a friend of mine who moved to Australia a few years ago wrote to me and told me that she still can't get used to Christmas in Australia because it's falls in peak summer over there. I read her mail while bundled up in an electric blanket while an old wool cap itched my forehead but I couldn't help but being thankful for the cold Delhi evening because the dipping temperature makes it even more festive for me. Unlike my friend, I have never spent a warm Christmas in my life yet despite all my cold Christmases, I've never spend a snowy Christmas either.

It will be my fifth Christmas away from home and my third consecutive Christmas here in Delhi. Until a few days back, I didn't long for home. But since last night, I have been very very homesick. Though I didn't want to admit it, there's a tiny voice in the back of my head screaming at me, telling me that I should have fought to be back home this time around.

What is it with Christmas that always makes you long for the things you don't have??

When I was six, my uncle passed away in an accident. My mom and my uncle were the closest among their siblings and it was my mom who supported my uncle through engineering college. My uncle's demise left my mother so shattered that she couldn't even sit for her Master's finals. I learnt, years later, that was something she wished she could have braved through. The last thing my mother told me before she passed away was not to let grieve get the best of me. The Christmas after my uncle passed away was the saddest Christmas for my family especially for my mom. I remembered hearing her cry on Christmas morning and I remembered us visiting my uncle's grave soon after Christmas service got over.

The most painful Christmas I've ever spent was the first Christmas without Ma. Since my mom and I were the only two females in the family, all the festive decorations and the cooking usually fell into our hands. That Christmas, I remembered decorating our tree, hanging the silver bells that my mom and I picked carefully from the stores just a year ago. If anything was difficult that Christmas, it was hanging a silver bell without bursting into tears. Even a single red ribbon held too much memory. I remembered sitting by her grave that Christmas Eve, wondering if she'll like the flowers I brought for her. I remembered asking silently 'I didn't let grieve get the best of me, Did I, Nu?' while I helped with the Christmas Church Feast that year.

That was 8 years ago, but even tonight, here I am in the wee hours of the morning, punching this line with a lump in my throat because I long for the mother I no longer have. Why is it that this pain always gets magnified when Christmas draws near? I wonder if it is the same for anyone else!

I've told myself many Christmases ago, that I should be thankful for the things I have and cherish the memories of the loved ones no longer with me. I tell myself that, every single Christmas for the past 7 years. I'll tell myself that very same thing tonight too!

Dear,

This Christmas, take time to cherish the memories, take time to remember them, relive the moments in your head. Take time to remember her face, her smile, her voice, her laughter. Take time to remember how she called your name or how her hands felt on your hair. It's OK to shed tears and laugh through the funny memories in your head. But, take time to thank God for those memories. Take time to be thankful for having the experience of receiving a mother's love for 18 years of your life.

Take time to be thankful for what you have. Take time to thank God for your family. Take time to thank God for taking you this far. Take time to thank God for the things you usually take for granted.

But most importantly, take time to look inside to see what Christmas is all about.

Take time to remember that Christmas is not all about you, your pain and your loneliness. Christmas is, but, about the Gift of Life that has been given to you. Take time to be thankful for and rejoice in the Ultimate Gift!

For if you spend Christmas without the Ultimate Gift, Christmas would just be another cold and lonely day in December.

Love,

Merry Christmas one and all!! May you spend Christmas with the Ultimate Gift!

Of Parikrama, the 'high-note Toes' and being a choir member

2011-12-14T01:57:00.002+05:30

It all started last Thursday afternoon. I had a late lunch at the Library canteen and walked around the campus, stretching my legs and killing time before my five o'clock English classes when a friend called me out of the blue. He wanted to know if I'm free for the evening for a song practice for background vocals for Parikrama. I paused. Parikrama??? "Yeah. The rockband." he replied.

A few hours later, four of us, Apuii, Moses, RC and I (one for each part) were whisked away in Sonam's car to a bungalow somewhere in Sainik farms. We came to learn that members of the band had a project for a movie soundtrack and they wanted a choir singing and humming in the background of the song. So after Sonam (Need I say he's the band's guitarist and married to a Mizo?) gave us the lines, we sat together preparing and harmonizing the notes. I must confess, we didn't do anything mighty for it was all of three lines and a bridge.

The recording, it turns out, was for a presentation. So until it got approved by the director of the movie, it's not the 'real' thing yet! But that didn't stop us from going into recording the next day. We spent a good couple of hours in the studio and wrapped it up as the band has a show the same evening and we had a funeral to attend. It was only for a few hours but were we proud to back up even just a demo recording for the band!!

What surprised me was how pleasant the guys were during the practice and the recording. They talked a lot, laughed and joked with us and were so pleasant to work with. During the practice, either one of the three guys present there would pop in every ten minutes asking if we need anything. And during the recording, if there's one thing which amused everyone, it's my multicolored skull socks. And I thought I was so rocker-chic sporting them!! And before I could get over the amusement, Sonam would point at my toes yet again and laugh!!

When the recording started, My-oh-my, was I nervous!! Apuii was the first one to record her part and she didn't have any problem with it. But when it comes to me, my first take was all pitchy and flat! And I realized I was shaking when I couldn't hold a note for a mere three seconds. But a few more takes, a lot of deep breaths and bouncing around the room helped me gain back my confidence until I came to a particularly high note. Then the choir girl in me broke loose. I tiptoed while working to hit the high note, silently wishing I had my high heels on!

Well, for people who didn't get the tiptoe, my way of hitting a high note is by transforming myself into a string puppet - neck stretched, shoulders pushed back and low and working every muscle in my legs down to the toes. I didn't even realized I was doing the string puppet posture when the room bursted out laughing. Moses and Apuii were quick to point to my toes while Nitin confessed that even though he was staring straight ahead, he couldn't help but notice my colorful pointy toes. Then he quickly added that his way of hitting a high note is by tilting his head with a slight neck twist. Ah! I should remember to look out for that move when I go back and stalk him! Hee Hee!

This experience will go down in my CV for a lifetime. And whenever I come across another Parikrama fan, I'd tell them of the experience. But then again, coming back to the main motive for this post, I'd never have this experience had I not been an active member of the Delhi Mizo Choir.

I was 16 when I left home for my studies, and hardly active in my own church and choir. Even though I was a member of the church worship team during college, I didn't get the chance to be a part of any choir until I came to Delhi where I decided that I would not waste my time by NOT being a choir member. Of course, being a choir member here in Delhi takes a lot of your time, your money and energy. You have to pay for your own travel expenses to and fro practice, sacrifice your leisure time and most of the practice evenings, you miss dinner hour in campus. But then again, we all have to make sacrifices for the things we love doing and I LOVE singing in the choir. But it doesn't take long to realize that those little sacrifices pay off. My closest friends are people I met in the choir. They are people I rely on and people who pull me back on track when I needed it. My five years with the Delhi Mizo Choir has seen me, of all the people, singing for the President of India, the Prime Minister of India and countless other religious dignitaries. And now, a contrast, a Rockband.

I know for a fact that most parents back home, send their children out with the line " i zirna zu ngai pawimawh ber la, kohhran leh khawtlangah zuk inhmang tam suh ang che ". Even my family is not free of such parents. My uncles, still have a problem with me being an active member of the choir and a sunday school teacher. But then I thank God for a father who told me 10 years ago " Theihtawpin i zirlai i zir anga, mahse kohhran leh khawtlang hmantlakloh lehkhathiam nih hlau hle ang che". If I'm bragging, then please let me brag, because 10 years later, I'm just beginning to realize what a sound advice that was.

But then coming back to Parikrama, I decided that night that I'm way too old to be a screaming fan girl. But I now regret. I should've taken a picture with Nitin Malik. Apuii and I developed a huge 'old maid' crush on Parikrama's frontman but we decided to stay classy and composed!! Who were we kiddin'?? The composed girl wasn't so composed when she spotted the Les Paul Slash Signature that she stole a moment during a tea break for a picture ! Ah! How well do I know myself ?! I guess I was a bigger fan of the guitar than the vocalist! Sorry, Nitin, we still love your no-hair! :)

The Les Paul Slash Signature and the 'amusing' skull socks! :D

Of 'imperfect' families and 'fitting right in'!

2011-12-05T00:03:00.000+05:30

At first, I thought it would be a quiet dinner for two friends who hardly have the time to catch up. Since there's no song practice after church, we had an impromptu plan where we'd catch up over a plate of crispy dry chilly lamb. The evening turned out to be more than we expected.

My friend, a very responsible daughter, soon started outing tearful tales of her family problems - problems, I know, bad enough to be shared with someone who's not family. While I listened to her, wishing there's something I could do, I also somehow admired her for having the strength to share problems so intimate and personal yet I felt so inadequate to be the one hearing all of the problems. We went for a short walk after dinner and she took an auto home.

On my way back, as I closely hugged my jacket against the dipping temperature, it got me thinking about the complexities of life and family and about my own in particular. I don't have the perfect family. And I will lament on the incompleteness of my family for a lifetime. After all, losing a mother can never be fair to any human. There will be certain personal clashes in the family. After all, despite the fact that we share bloodlines, we are all born with different personalities. But at the end of the day, as dysfunctional as we are, we are still family. And in times of need, we will somehow turn to each other and stick by each other.

My mother was my role model. Right from the way she was active in church to the way she used to dress only in neutral colors. Till today, I look at situations and problems and try to envision my mother handling those and I try to do the same. She was my superwoman who could defeat everything that could even slightly harm her family. My father is my hero. When I was a child, he was the man who could do no wrong and the invincible man. But it took me 18 years to realize that my parents were also human beings. My mother was but a woman who loves her family fiercely but who also, in the end, succumbed to cancer. My dad, somehow, was also just a man who was lost without the love of his life, his wife and the mother of his four children; a man who somehow struggled to stitch his life back together after burying his own heart.

It turns out, my mother was no superwoman and my dad is nowhere near the invincible man I envisioned him to be. They turned out to be just human beings after all, prone to mistakes, problems and who could also be haunted by the bad decisions they made years ago. And my brothers... ah! my brothers! I could write books and books about their irresponsible behavior and how frustratingly human they can get.

The funniest thing about life and family, I feel, is that in life we don't get to choose our roots yet we get to be a part of them for the rest of our lives. And as dysfunctional or imperfect that our families are, we get to be a part of that imperfection for our lifetime. I've heard of people who've turned their backs on their families and choose to face the world alone. Definitely not me! I'm such a loser when it comes to facing the world alone. I don't want to face the world alone, I don't want to face problems solo. At the same time, I don't want to celebrate success alone and I don't want to go through milestones in life without someone to share it with. I need my family behind me, to celebrate with me and be proud of me when I succeed and to fall back on in times of loss.

I know I don't have the perfect family. But I have a family who stands by each other, a family who loves and respects me. My brothers and I don't always get along but we all want the best for each other. I have a Dad who loves and values me in a way no man ever will. I had a mother for 18 years of my life and aunts who worry over me, sometimes too overwhelmingly. 'Overwhelming' meaning setting a meet-up between you and some 'eligible bachelor'.

I have nephews and nieces who all fight for a sleepover since I am the cool A Ni who lives in Delhi and comes home once a year. I never slept in a bed during my summer in Aizawl, my bed or even my dad's giant bed was too small for 3 sometimes 4 little bodies who'd suddenly take up four times the space of their body size when they fall asleep. So we always end up sleeping all over the floor!! I have a niece who's the spitting image of me and who even sounds like me, and another who shares my name (at least half of it).

I know I'm so much less than the perfect daughter. Despite all my goodwill and my 'genuine' love, I know I'm the daughter who stays a thousand miles away, the daughter who's hardly home for Christmas and the daughter who's hardly there for my dad even when he gets sick. I am but the aunt who disciplines the nieces too much that sometimes their mother refuses to speak to me; the sister who's everything but docile; the cook who's always close to burning water in the kitchen; the tigress who's ready to bite if anyone leaves a footprint on my freshly waxed floor and the sister who gives a long lecture while doing laundry for the brothers she hardly takes care of!

So somehow, I fit right in with my imperfect family. And I know that if I conquered the world or even landed at the bottom of it, my family are the people who'd be there with me. So what if we have problems we sometimes find it difficult to weather? We're in this for life! And while so, we'll learn to live with and for each other!

So here's to my dysfunctional family. I'm proud and thankful to be a part of the imperfection!

Christmas away from home... Again!

2011-11-29T21:52:00.000+05:30

We're entering December this week! And I'll welcome December with a very bad cold, sneezing and a low humming in my ears. I'm all excited and not so excited.. all at the same time! I've decided this year that I will be spending another Christmas away from home! This will be the fifth Christmas I spend away from home and I have quite a mixed feeling about this one!

The other four times I was away for Christmas was, once when I was in my secondary school in Chennai when I didn't have a winter holiday and, thrice after research when I felt going home for Christmas would distract me from my work. But this time, the case is different. I could somehow blame it on my (hopeful) impending synopsis interview in the first few months of the new year but mostly it's because I'm too broke to pay for my tickets back home. My student budget allowed me a trip home only once in a year, and I've already gone home during the summer. My family would want me home, but then again, I'm but too proud to ask my dad to pay for my tickets. Pride - it has always been my biggest vice, especially when it comes to asking for money.

After the 15th of December, only two of the Mizo students will be left in campus - The 'often misquoted' Zara and I. We've already decided that we'd team up during the holidays but we haven't decided on what we'd do yet. We said that we'd start by picking each other up for church. But with the Delhi temperature furiously dipping, I highly doubt if I'd want to sit behind him on his 'vintage' bike on freezing Sunday evenings.

So what do I do during the lonely month? In reality, I have a lot to do. I have to make sure that my synopsis is perfected for my interview; I have to kick start my exercise routine again (My latest visit to the doctor confirms my ribs are healed completely) and go for a lot of Christmas Carols. Christmas in Delhi is not too bad, I have close friends here where I know I can just bunk in if Christmas or New Year's Eve ever got too lonely. In fact, when it comes to social life, I have a thriving one here in Delhi rather than back home. I guess I've been away from home long enough to kill my social life. The friends I had back in Aizawl are mostly friends from church. And after 10 years of being away, you either lost touch or you grow out of that comfort zone into the awkward zone. My friends back home, if not married, already have their own circle which I can't quite fit into after this many years of being away. So when I go home, I take part in church activities like an outsider and the very church I grew up in already treats me a like a mikhual. But inspite of all that I can't deny the fact that Christmas is best when it's spent back home.

Ah!! The struggles of a student life!! When am I ever going to stop being a student? And I realized with the line I choose, it's for a lifetime!

My roommate, an UPSC aspirant, once told me about two filthy rich sisters from her hometown who are here in the city for their UPSC coaching. The sisters, used to their luxurious life, continued living so even after moving here. They lived in a flat so grand that it is decorated with chandeliers where they have their own group of staffs to take care of them and the house. I remembered my roommate's lips pulled up to a raw smile as she said "The whole point of clearing UPSC exams, apart from the respected job, is the struggle and the success story behind it". I agreed with her. Those sisters, given they cleared the exam, I reckoned, will hardly have any success story to top the cherry.

So stealing a line or two from my roommate, the whole point of fighting for a PhD is not just the degree in itself. It's the struggle behind it; the stress and sleepless nights and the sinusitis caused by it; the innumerable hours spent at the library; the painfully small hostel room you have to live in; the missed holidays and the Christmases you have to sacrifice; the stringent budget you have to live with and most of all, the success story you get to tell your future children. I know, a few years down the line, it'll be all worth it.

So in the meantime, let me go air out that super-mini Christmas tree that a friend gifted me a few years ago. The tree, too small, that when I try decorating with even the smallest ornament I could find, it topples over. So each year, I decorate it mostly with earrings! The person who gifted me got his Doctorate, I reckoned, after a struggle too. The 'Dzuvichu tree' which reminds me that each Christmas spend away from home will be all worth it in the end! After all, Christmas is still Christmas. Be it Aizawl, Delhi or even Bethlehem!

I'm sure Lipok would've given me a much bigger tree had he known I'd draw so much inspiration and strength from it! :)

Now and Then: Of 11 year olds and 'normal' childhood

2011-11-14T21:56:00.000+05:30

For a few weeks, I've been giving English Classes to an 11 year old. Lets call him Sam K. for the time being. Sam, an only child of two scientists, is in Seventh Grade and scores above 90% in all of his subjects except in English where he scored 84%. And I am brought in to give him an hour long class, four days a week after his school.

Sam : a voracious reader who reads everything from science encyclopedias to Harry Potter; a science wiz who can spend an hour just educating me about the black hole and also still a pre-teen who sometimes complains to me about his mother who, he says, nags him a lot and about a certain classmate who sometimes bullies him. Sam, the smart kid who argues with me for 30 minutes on why 'Scylla and Charybdis' should not be used as such an idiom because with Charybdis, the whirlpool, you still have more chances of survival. His argument? The right centrifugal force and inertia can propel your ship right out of the giant whirlpool. I didn't have a comeback for that because it's been eight long years since I've read about centrifugal force, inertia and all that jargon.

This evening, I just spend a couple of hours with Mrs. K discussing about Sam's progress and drawbacks. And I am taken aback by what is expected of him. I can't blame the parents. It's a competitive world after all. But somehow, deep in my heart, I feel pity for the 11 year old boy who is already in Seventh Grade and who is under a lot of stress and pressure at that age. Mrs. K talked about her concerns with Sam, his performance and also his relations with his classmates in school. She noticed a lot of personality change in the past two years and she, as a mother, is concerned when Sam refuses to discuss what is happening in school. In short, she literally wanted me to dig into Sam and learn about his personal problems in school, get him to talk and learn what is bothering him so that the parents can take certain measures. And here I am, with the overwhelming responsibility of 'shrinking' Sam, an 11 year old who is already fluent in four major languages of the world.

On my way back, as I hugged my cardigan against the chilly evening wind, I could not help but compare the 11 year old me with Sam. I was in Class 5 when I was 11 and made my first major slip from 'O' grade to 'A' grade in my second term exams. My parents were unhappy with me but somehow let it slide. After all, there were only two 'O' graders in my class. I don't know half the things that Sam knows, yet I don't have half the pressure that Sam has. My mother, a high school teacher, never nagged me into doing my homework but helps me when needed. But if I didn't do my work, my teachers in school were more than ready to cane me or give me extra work. I was never forced to take extra classes or tuition classes after school as my parents were contented with my grades. I know it is unfair to compare my life with Sam's when I was his age a decade and a half ago, but I just could not help it.

My uncle in Aizawl wanted to put his 8 year old daughter in a boarding school in Delhi ever since she was 5. "I wanted her to have better opportunities" he told me. My cousin, a strong-headed girl for her age, strongly refused. Last summer when I went home, my uncle told me to somehow coax her to come to Delhi. "She looks up to you, she will listen to you" he quipped. When I talked to Esther, her little face fell and she cried when she said she doesn't want to live in a place where she can't see her siblings everyday. I stopped then and there. I never resumed the conversation again. I thought the coaxing is unfair to her.

I cannot say the way we were brought up was the best. My parents never raised bars too high for me and my brothers. One sibling is never compared to the other. 'Each of you have your own personalities and your own calibre' my mother used to tell me. So we grew up contented with whatever marks and results we got. My parents never had the finances to send us to boarding schools until we finished high school. My mother told me she never found the need to send me to a boarding school, when I got accepted in 'the best school in Aizawl'. I don't know if that would be the same, had we the finances.

Everyone in my generation grew up wanting to be doctors, engineers or IAS officers. Though we don't even know what those were at first. Kids, these days, grow up wanting to be much more - dancers, artists, rockstars, CEO's, lawyers, cardiologists, astronauts. I wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid but I decided I wanted to teach during my secondary school. My parents were fine with me when I changed my stream in college and my dad was ecstatic when I decided I want to go into research after a Master's degree instead of hunting for a job. The case, I believe, might not be the same for another generation.

I want to be a mother at least by the time I'm 35. Sheesh!! I cannot say I will have the same attitude as my parents with my (future) kids. The bars will certainly be raised by the time they get to high school. After all, it will be a more competitive environment than the one we had. But will I make my son go through the stress and pressure Sam has to go through everyday? Will I want to send my daughter away to a boarding school at a tender age in order to give her 'better opportunities'?

I know that my children cannot have the sort of childhood that I have. It's a changing world after all. But I would want them to have a stress-free, pressure-free normal childhood where they grow up with their siblings. I would want to share their test marks, their school picnics, their first crushes and their turbulent teenage years instead of sending them away to a boarding school. But then again, 'normal' changes after every decade or so. So by our kids' generation, maybe a stressed, pressured childhood would be the 'normal' childhood. To each his own. But then if the case is such, I will definitely teach them how to 'live outside the box'.

But then again, why do I even write a post on such topics?? I'm not even married yet! What can I say? I am, but, the myopic girl who suffers from perpetual hypermetropia.

When 'Sorry' meant something else...

2011-11-11T01:58:00.002+05:30

Remember these two boys?

Sawmtea and Sawmsanga who decided they wanted to pull a face for the picture!

My two Sunday school kids, the best friends with the magic words 'sorry' and 'please'??

Tonight the post is all about one of the magic words 'sorry' and a little bit more.

Let me ask you a question and I dare you to answer yourself in honesty. How many times have you uttered the word 'sorry' and not really mean it. What does 'sorry' mean in the first place? Isn't it a word you say when you regret what you did and wished never to do it again!? Now let me ask you again. How many times have you said 'sorry' and not really mean it? Have you said it just so you could get away, just so it would take the load off you for being the one at fault, or say it just because it's the proper thing to do? I must confess, I have, many a times.

But tonight, I looked at the picture of Sawmsanga and Sawmtea grinning with me and remembered the night we took this picture. It was at Delhi Mizo Kut when they spotted me in the crowd, both climbed into my lap and asked me why bamboos are used for the Cheraw dance, while repetitively telling me "Ka tlangval hunah U Autea saw ka ni duh" (Autea was beating the drum while Cheraw was performed). It dawned on me how life is still so fascinating for them and seeing them reminded me once again how many times we, and most of all, I have misused and abused one of their magic words... Sorry!

I remembered many a times, I say sorry after I hurt someone. And I use that mere utterance as my reconciliation with my conscience after I hurt that someone. Not that I made a note to myself to never do it again!

Sometimes I say it just because it's the proper thing to do. But worse of all, sometimes I say it so I could blame the other person for being unforgiving and holding the grudge. "Hey. I'm the clean one here!". So I could say 'I'm the one who apologized first' and paint the other person the darkest shade of black by saying so.

It's the same with those times that I do good for a person just to feed my 'Good Samaritan' ego. Sometimes I count the things that I've sacrificed for a person too much that if that person does not give back, accusations soon follow the him/ her. Ungrateful human, Thankless idiot.

When such situations arises, is my 'good deed' really valid? Or is my 'Sorry' genuine? If not so, what's the use of me doing the 'good deed' or the apologetic utterance anyway? I should not be saying 'Sorry' when it connotes something else. I should not be 'sacrificing' when I expect something back.

Self-interest. The culprit that perverts and negates all things good into something ugly and contemptuous.

And I end this post with a line which goes against something I always tell the girl in the mirror.

Never love yourself too much!

Before I turn 28...

2011-11-08T01:11:00.002+05:30

Happy Birthday to me.

I just turned 27.

My first 27th year pic and I had tired eyes! :D

When I was 16, I used to imagine that by the time I turned 27, I'd already be a doctor (a medico), married, settled and in control of my own life and finances. Well, I'm 27 now, I'm still studying to be a doctor (a PhD), single and in doubt to get 'double', still lives in a campus dorm with a roommate and financing myself with a meager research fellowship. If I could go back in time, I'd tell the 16 year old me to give myself a few more years!

I don't mind ~~getting old~~ growing up even though with age comes difficult life complexities. Yet sometimes, I feel like a failure. Three more years and I'll be 30. I wonder where will I be at that age?? But anyways, let me take a look at what other people have accomplished when they are my age.

My mom already had a kid, my brother 2 and my sister-in-law 3. Baby Machines they were!!

My dad was already a Member of the Legislative Assembly in the Union Territory of Mizoram.

Cosmonaunt Yuri Gagarin became the first person in space. (Yikes)

Jimi Hendrix died. So did Amy Winehouse.

Norah Jones had already won 8 Grammies. (Yikes again)

Julia Child was an unknown government spy.

Mao Tse Tung was an elementary school principal. (What??)

Jesus Christ was a carpenter.

For some people, they've already achieved so much while for some, they haven't even heard their calling yet.

So here I am on this glorious night that I turned 27, jotting down my list of things to do for the next one year. I just got back from a movie 'In Time' where 'time IS money' (Appropriate with my night, isn't it?), I have a meeting with my thesis supervisor tomorrow and I plan to spend the day at the library and give my usual English classes to an 11 year old in the evening. Nothing fancy. It's not my first birthday after all! :D

I've already said my 'thank yous' to the Big Man above and and my 'readymade' roommate already had a delectable kiwi muffin waiting for me when I got back from the movies. Happy 27th to me!

So here's the list of things to do before I turn 28 and I have exactly 365 days to tick them off!

Learn to ride a motorbike (not a scooty). I conquered the bicycle... at the final cost of three fractured ribs. It's time to move on!
Learn how to pray in Lai. It's quite a challenge, I know, because I'm out of practice with the language and hardly fluent. But it'll be a good start in practicing it. I wonder how it will be like to pray in my own ethnic tongue.
~~Lose a few pounds~~ **Reminder** Keep it real.
Three words. Goa, Leh and Pondicherry. For Pondicherry, it's been 10 years already, a high time I conquer my fear of returning down South. Viral fever and typhoid fever will hopefully leave me alone this time. I know I'll get altitude sick at Leh, but I've wanted to walk on the roof of the world for so long. Remember my breathing problem at Malana? I still enjoyed myself , Didn't I? And as for Goa, I want to take a trip during the monsoon. I know it's off season but I feel beaches are prettiest during rainy season.
Pet a snake. (I have nightmares just thinking about it)
Make a snow angel. I've never seen snow yet :(
Paint my own version of a famous painting. I feel I should move beyond kindergarten art. I'll bribe my dreadlock-sporting artist of a cousin to help me with this. Any suggestions on the painting? Email me a picture.
Learn how to swim. I know, I know. There's a lot of 'basic things' I don't know how to do.
Mean it when I say "I'm sorry" and never repeat the thing that needs a 'sorry' afterwards.
BE happier and stay happy. Everyone deserves to be happy everyday of their lives. I know this point might be a bit difficult to tick off. But I think I need it in my list anyway!

In the meantime, I tell myself

"Be happy. Laugh a lot, smile always and Cry when you need to..."

My Stint at Chheihlam...

2011-11-06T03:25:00.001+05:30

So, once again for the Confluence - The North East Cultural Night in campus, we are asked to present a cultural item from our state. Over the years, we've done most of our well known dances. During my five years in campus, we've danced Cheraw thrice and Khuallam twice. Sarlamkai was also performed the year before I joined.

And since Confluence usually falls on the same time as the Delhi Mizo Kut and JNUCF Advance Christmas, people who are from the North East, who are a part of the CF and are also Mizos are always very busy. I happen to tick off every category I just mentioned. So, late October and early November are usually the busiest seasons in each of my five years in Delhi. By the time all three got over, I would be worn out from all the song practice, dance practice, football practice and Kutpui Ni. Eversince I came to Delhi, I remembered not being sick for exactly one birthday. And I blamed my sickly birthdays from over exhaustion from all the hype and crazy busy season.

So keeping all the busy schedules of the season for everyone into consideration, we decided this year that, at Confluence, we'd present something simple, easy to learn and something which doesn't need too much practice.

We all agreed on Chheihlam. We later learnt we couldn't be more foolish.

We figured we'd ask two of our off-campus 'dancer' friends to help us in leading the dance, engaging all the attention of the audience while we would just mindlessly hop in the background. We figured we'd have just a few practices when we'd get use to the dance, instead of a month long vigorous practice we'd have for dances like Cheraw. We practiced exactly for four nights out of which I attended three because I was busy working on a deadline.

I am not a dancer, but I am not a non-dancer either. I am not too bad when it comes to dancing, yet I have never come across a dance I felt more awkward with.

At the first practice, I realized my back, and my recently fractured ribs didn't quite agree with the dance posture where you have to stoop low and go hippety hoppety hop hop and flirt and smile at your partner all at the same time. I went home limping that night. I never knew that Chheihlam is the world's best lower body workout particularly for the butt!!! I woke up with a sore bum the next day and realized I pulled muscles in parts of my body where I've never felt muscles before. However, I was proud of myself that I got the dance technique on the first practice itself.

The second practice. I was confident but when we got up to dance, I realized I lost all my newly acquired dance moves!!! And I have to learn how to hop in that certain manner all over again. By that practice, we decided that we'd choose our permanent partner. Zara and I were quick to run to each other because both of us were not too good so we were comfortable with each other's pace. But by the end of the second practice, we were the proud- twosome who said that we danced the best!!

A few of the girls were quite good with the dancing but the attention always goes to the men. We have only a few men in campus and I don't think that they'd be hurt if they hear me say that they all have two left feet when it comes to dancing. Engkima doing the Chheih looks like he's doing the lengkhawm lam. Tetea, 'the scientist', was worse. He looks like he's doing a chicken dance. When we asked him to put his legs together while hopping, he said he didn't want to look like an old man. So there he goes, arms stretched at the back, stooping, legs apart and hopping! I haven't seen a more awkward dance position. Zara, on the other hand, thinks he dances the best. But compared to whom??

So after practices and several limpings and butt workouts, Confluence Night finally arrived.

And all hell broke loose!!

Out of the two off-campus dancer friends that we thought we'd leave all the dancing to, Jacinta had to cancel last minute because she couldn't get off work on time. So we had to shift and break-up the dance couples, just 20 minutes before the programme started. I was somehow paired up with Autea, the dancer dude, not because I was the best dancer among the girls but because they felt I have the 'highest level of confidence' at impromptu items. And that is how I ended up lead dancing Chheih in front of the whole campus and a lil' bit more.

I pulled Autea to one corner and warned him beforehand, "I'll dance however way I can. I know I'm not good but it's upto you to make me look good". He grinned through his glasses and nodded vigorously.

And, Boy, did he!!

While we were on stage, I have never felt more comfortable dancing Chheih. People would have never guessed that Chheihlam is one dance I feel like I have two left feet with. I was proud to say I even enjoyed myself while dancing. In fact, I was so confident that by the last verse, I had the guts to dance up and down the runway so that there would be more space for the others to dance in our little stage. And all that insurmountable level of confidence boosted up within just the few minutes of the song with a right partner!

Did I not say I enjoyed myself???

My knees were shaking and my legs were giving away when we were done. I knelt on the carpet backstage, grinning ear to ear, relieved that we're done with our item and happy that I somehow enjoyed myself. Of course, all the adrenaline wasn't quite enough to stop me from popping an ibuprofen tablet before I went to sleep that night. The next day was Delhi Mizo Kut, and I should be nowhere close to limping on that day!

So what did I learn from my Chheih stint?? Just three things.

One. When it comes to dancing, unless it's a competition, it doesn't matter how well you dance. What matters is how much you enjoyed yourself!!

Two. Our Mizo forefathers are so darn FIT!!!!

Three. With the right partner and a good amount of effort from both sides, you can get through almost everything together. Be it a 6:56 minute of a dance you feel most awkward with or maybe even life itself!!

"Hei lo a liam a inchhai!!!???"

So whether it's Chheih or not, I'll keep dancing through life! *Grin**Grin*

Malana Diaries Part Finale : "Why God, Why Malana?"

2011-11-01T10:39:00.002+05:30

So, there I was, in the middle of the 45 degree dirt trail to Malana, tired, stomach upset from indigestion from the travelling, out of breath, panting, throat dry and parched and the night falling on us. Just when I thought the worst was almost over, I looked to the trail just disappearing into a steep rugged climb where you have to grab on bushes to pull yourself up. In my mind I was asking "Lord, of all the places... why Malana?".

I wasn't the only one. A few meters ahead the trail, the Color Kuki was catching her breath, on a dizzy spell and panting "Lalpa, i rawngbawl tur hian ka tling lo a ni".

There I was, curled up in my sleeping bag against the cold Himalaya winds. I knew it would be just a matter of an hour before my upset stomach would compel me to take "a visit behind the bushes" with my roll of toilet paper and a hand-sanitizer while the others were singing around the camp fire. I longed for the security of my hostel room and a proper toilet with running water. In my mind I was asking, "Lord, why did You even allow me to take this trip?"

Malana, an isolated community who shun the outer world; A holy community who regards all outsiders to be filthy; a community with the oldest republic in the world; a community in spite of their shortcomings have unshaken faith in their deity and have absolutely no need and regard for the outer world.

And here we are, a handful of Christian Youth in the floating Delhi Mizo population, who are here today and gone tomorrow!

Who are we to think that we can make a change to an old, strong and stubborn culture? Who are we to persist after ten years of failing to make a change? Who are we to think that we can make a change when the proud culture itself doesn't want change? Who are we to poke our noses and push our faith and our beliefs to people who don't want it?

The answer, I realized, after visiting the village, is: We are absolutely nothing!

There have been talks going around even among our own members on why we should stop supporting a missionary for Malana and support something else where we can see results. Since we haven't even made a dent in ten years time, should we stop and turn our attention, our prayers and our money to something or someone else??

I was wide awake while Zama was snoring beside me on the overnight bus back to Delhi. The face of the topaz eyed Malani girl kept haunting me. She must have been around 6 years old. The same age group as my eldest niece. Her pretty face dirty and her chubby cheeks dry and chapped. Her light brown hair dirty, unwashed and discolored yellow from malnutrition. Her tiny body clad in the shabby salwar doubled as a school uniform and her feet in dirty pink gumboots. The way she'd stand on the side when we pass her in the road, the way her face fell each time Zeta tried to take a picture of her and the way she'd turn her face each time she caught us looking at her.

I imagined her face at 30. She would be married, have a kid or two with a miscarriage or a few still-borns in between. Her flushed complexion would have been wrinkled, saggy and hidden under the layers and layers of dirt covering her skin. Her beautiful topaz eyes would have the same dazed look that all the people in the village had from daily consumption of weed. Her daily chore would have included cultivation of weed and preparing and drying them for sale. By the time she reached 45, she would have looked 60. That little light-eyed girl violently woke up the Protector in me! I wanted to protect, hug and shield that child from the inevitably dark future that awaits her. Of course, she'd do alright by her own because she's never known the outer world, but still that thought doesn't stop me from wishing to give her options other than the inevitable.

I remembered those kids on the terrace playing and pretending to roll weed, shouting at us and bringing a little one into view so we could take their pictures. I remembered those three little children in their town square who were more than ready to pose with everyone for pictures and who didn't even flinch when some of the girls held them. I know that it's out of my reach but it still doesn't stop me from wishing that somehow they'd have more options in life.

LH-a and I with the adorable picture-ready-threesome.

The only Malani kid who approached us. He didn't even mind when I sat next to him almost touching him!

My thoughts drift back to my insufficiency and my negligiblity as someone who wanted to make a change in a community which doesn't want change. I looked at us, the Youth Fellowship, ordinary youth members with our bouts of slips, wrong turns and mistakes but with this magnificent responsibility. Then I looked at the looming, roaring Giant, the stubborn Pharaoh and the Stormy Sea called Malana. Then I remembered the little shepherd boy called David, the stutterer called Moses and the coward called Peter.

I know that there must be a reason why God allows us, of all the Christian groups in the world, to make contact with this isolated place. More established Christian organisations like YWAM, I've heard, have tried for several years to penetrate this culture without success. And yet, we, the Delhi Mizo Youth Fellowship, a handful of youth who mostly comprise of students and a few working youth, who one day would leave Delhi, are given the once in a lifetime chance to make contact with Malana.

We cannot let this chance go by. A one day Medical Camp will never be enough. A week long camp will not be enough either. But one thing I know is that, we cannot turn back now. We must have faith that He who started this, will finish this as well. After seeing the village and meeting the people and experiencing their life just even for a day, I, now understand why U Eli can't stop talking about Malana, why our ex- youth leader Johnny often said "Hlawkpui kan inti" even without making an ounce of change after ten years and why Debby would burst into tears each time there were discussions on why we should turn our focus on something other than Malana.

We may not see the result in a few years. We may not see the result in another ten years. Or even a lifetime. Our next generation may not even see the results that we want to see. Or even the next.

But there's one thing clear in my heart after I came back from Malana. That one thing is that of all the people in this world, we've been assigned this responsibility by God himself. And it doesn't matter if we never see the results we want to see, we just cannot go back now.

A friend of mine joked yesterday, "What if my grandson asked me 'A Pi, where is this place called Malana that you often talk about"?"

I smiled to myself. I only pray that flicker of light will burn that long in all our hearts!

Malana Diaries. Part III : The Conundrum called Malana.

2011-10-31T17:59:00.001+05:30

It was getting dark when we neared Malana village. Mami, Ricky and I, the last three of the group were dead tired as we somehow forced ourselves to walk. When Mohan Bhaiyya, a volunteer from Manali who also doubled as our guide, told me that our campsite is still half kilometer away from the village, I wanted to sit and howl.

As we entered the village, there was no proper footpath. The waste water overflowing from the nearby drain ran all over the tiny steps that lead to their town square. I felt as if I was walking through a drain to get to the village. As we fumbled in the dark and through the waste water, suddenly my nose picked up a peculiar scent. I sniffed and turned to Ricky

"Is that...??"

"Yeah, I think it is! "

The smell of pot/ weed/ ganja/ marijuana (whatever you may call it) lingered all over the village.

"It looks like the little Gaulish village from the Asterix comics. Look at those stones and the houses" I echoed.

Mami, who has already been to this village, was quick to warn me "Don't touch that, that, that and that!" pointing to different objects in the square "or else you'll be fined and penalized". I was too tired to even notice what object she pointed to, but as we walked, I made sure the only part of my body which touched anything was my feet with the ground.

A building in the square. I don't know if this is another scared building but I sure didn't try to touch it.

The Malani community is quite a community in itself. After I came back and told my roommate about it, she quickly remarked "It's amazing such a community still exist in the world. They should be preserved!". If you googled 'Malana', you will get different feeds from different sources. Some described the Malana as 'the Lost Civilization', 'the Lost Culture', 'Himlayan Shangrila' and one particularly interesting one described it as an 'Utopian Society'. But to me, Malana and its culture and society is but a Conundrum. I may not be politically correct by saying so, but I hardly have been anyway.

Malana is situated high in the slopes of the Himalayas, in an average elevation of 9940 feet. The village has a democratic administration and is said to be the oldest republic in the world. The Malanis have an autonomous administration and do not abide by the Indian Constitution. They speak a language which is not intelligible in the whole valley and up until recently, outsiders are not even allowed to enter their village.

The Malanis have many stories about their origin. One particularly interesting one said that they are descendents of a group of Alexander's (The Great) Greek soldiers who never went back after their campaign. Remnants of their origin is reflected in the architecture of their temple which stood in the town square. The temple, which was rebuilt after it was burned down when the village caught fire in 2008, is a piece of architecture in itself. I am no historian or architect, but I thoroughly enjoyed the stories that are carved on the walls. But we, as outsiders, are not allowed to enter it, let alone touch it, or even take pictures. But the carvings on the walls shows carvings of the Buddha, a Sun-worshipping symbol, peacocks and some remnants of Assyrian symbols and designs. Carvings of elephants baffle me particularly. There are no elephants in this part of the country.

'Alexander used war elephants when he came to this part of the world' Abiaka chipped in.

If architectural carvings tell stories and origin, the carvings on the temple gave me one heck of a confusing story.

To the Malani, all outsiders are considered filthy and untouchable. If we touch them even by accident, we have to be fined and penalized. If a Malani passed you in a road, he/she will stand on the side until you pass him/her making sure that there is enough space so that both of you won't touch. This holds true even for children!! A friend of mine tried to give a candy to a child in the village when the child told her to put the candy on a rock because he didn't want to touch her while taking the candy!

But during the medical camp, it was a relief that our doctors and nurses could touch all of the patients except for one. The exception was the village priest who takes care of the village shrine. So, the doctors have to diagnose and give him medicine without touching him!!!

Another thing which puzzled me was the lack of sanitation in the village. I have lived in a third world country my whole life, been to many slums here in Delhi, yet I have never come across such an unkempt and filthy place. The village itself was a huge garbage dump. Human feces lay scattered everywhere even inside the village. The path behind the temple especially was littered with poop. Human poop! And it was just next to the holy place!!

If you have to blame the sanitation on the backwardness and isolation of the place. You'd be taken aback with the houses in Malana which are good enough to be sitting in the streets of Aizawl or Shillong. With no proper road reaching the village we were particularly taken aback with all the cemented houses. Then, again, the variety shops in Malana sell almost everything that we get in the dukaan here in Delhi and everthing is sold at MRP. We were surprised until we came across a ropeway which was used to transport goods to and from the valley.

Reminds you of some 'veng' in Aizawl or 'Khua' in Mizoram yet?

The Ropeway.

TataSky in Malana!!

And if you'd ask me, I'd say that the Malanis are not as poor as they look because they have a thriving occupation.The main occupation of the Malanis is the cultivation of marijuana. The marijuana grown in Malana sometimes refereed to as Malana Cream is considered to be the best in the world. During our camp, we came across many tourists who climbed the torturous climb just to get the Malana weed. The women work all day and even during our medical camp, only a handful of women were in the village because all the others are out working in the field. The men, we noticed, dope and sit in the sun by noon itself.

World's best Marijuana dried and prepared.

I believe that the isolation of the village is just one of the reasons why development can come only slowly to a place like Malana. The Malanis are self-contented in their own little bubble and proud enough to hold their fort. But one could not help but wish there was some change in the beliefs, backwardness and (Yes, I will repeat again) the sanitation of the village. But what can you do to bring change to someone who doesn't want change?

I hope to have a chance to visit Malana again some day. Right now, I am at that curious stage to know more about it. So until I have the chance, the only thing I can do is pray and read up and sponge in everything there is to know about the place that we often talk about.

There must be a reason why we, The Delhi Mizo Christian Youth, of the people in the world, somehow developed contact with such a place on earth. We may not know the reason yet, but until we do, I am more than prepared to almost die on the hike uphill to Malana village. All over again!

Malana Diaries Part II: The D Day, Going Primitive and the unforgettable experience..

2011-10-25T01:48:00.003+05:30

(Warning: Pictures G-A-L-O-R-E)

I woke up at daybreak and crawled out of the tent to mountains looming all around me. I grinned to myself as I looked at the snow-capped peak in the distance. The altitude sickness gave me a bit of breathing problem so I decided to go for a short walk alone and exercise my lungs while enjoying the view in the crisp mountain air. And as I climbed uphill, I walked with that lump in my throat. The sunrise, the fresh morning air, the greenery, the mountains, the valley. It was too beautiful that it was almost painful.

The majestic view from the camp

Another view

The tentmates... some quite not awake!!

Light moment after breakfast!

Since to the Malanis, all outsiders are impure and untouchable, we were not allowed to stay inside the village. But we got permission to camp outside the village in the village school compound from where the nearest water source was half a kilometer away. It was quite something to wash up in the icy waters of the clear mountain stream. But sadly, we were not allowed to pitch an outhouse which brings me to the most hilarious part of our trip.

A group of 30 young people who all need to answer to nature's call. What do we do?

Yes, we have no choice but to go primitive and disappear behind the bushes. Friends played their part during such activities. "Yes, go a bit further. No. I can still see you. No. I can still see your head. Yeah! Sit... I can't see you so that's a good place. Don't worry, I'll stand guard". But there are a few who picked 'all the wrong places' and went without 'guards' and I am glad I'm not one of the others who walked into them during the act! On such situations, it's only fair that you make a huge noise when you walk into 'those areas' so that a shout can warn you to stop in your track! But then again, there were certain confessions from some who asked their 'guards' to sing or close their ears so that they won't hear anything! Sigh!!! Going primitive indeed!

Standing Guard!!!! (Forgive me, Ricks)

So anyway after breakfast, we went into town for the medical camp and the sanitation work. We were divided into four teams - the medical team, the health awareness team, the prayer team and two sanitation teams.

The medical team consisting of 6 doctors and 2 nurses were joined by the staffs from Manali Mission hospital. Together, they checked 169 patients including the school children. Since it was harvest time, most of the women were in the fields and there were only a handful of women who came for check-ups. I was particularly impressed with Dr. Suzie who held the wound-dressing corner all on her own. The Malanis, in general, are very backward in health concerns and sanitation. And since most of them are illiterate, some of them don't even know their ages. So, Engkimi and Chhungpuii, the nurses did a lot of guessing work with their ages.

The Medical Team

School children standing in line for the medical checkup. The temple stands at the background . Did the photographer know that photographing the temple is prohibited??

Suzie in action

I was part of the Health Awareness team and we were armed with posters and charts aimed at childcare and pre-natal care. Yet we ended up doing hardly anything because we didn't come across a single pregnant woman in the village and only a few nursing mothers. So after a while, we split ourselves up and joined the other teams helping with medicine inventory and sanitation. Jeffrey was particularly so good with handing out the medicines in the end that we were tempted to nickname him an Asst. Dr. Whatever that means!

The Health Awareness Team

The prayer team went around the village praying. I was told curious eyes followed them wherever they went. And when they knelt and prayed in one corner of the village, they were asked if they're performing a pooja. It felt good to know that, there was a team who intercedes for us while we went on with our different work. The team was also in charge of all the devotion and intercessions throughout the trip.

The Prayer Team got into action before any other team did!

If I have to give an award to the best team, the award would definitely go to the sanitation team. I will not be lying if I said that the Malana town square is a huge garbage dump. No offense intended. But I have seen a lot of slums in Delhi but even those slums are cleaner than Malana. Waste water overflow on the roads and garbage sat piling everywhere. And the garbage looks like Delhi garbage - potato chips cover, empty coke bottles and gutkha covers!!!! It's surprising considering how distant and isolated the village stood on the mountains and how difficult it is to get up there. I was puzzled with how the people in the village can stand that much garbage just next to their homes and their surroundings.

And then, the sanitation team went to war!

And then there was a clean town square and even a little Nulla appeared under all the garbage for the waste water to flow through! Funny thing was, the team didn't even know that there was a nulla under all that garbage when they first started working.

The Sanitation leader satisfied with her teams' work... :)

We got back to camp in the afternoon and after a late lunch we headed down to the valley. Yes! The very same path which almost killed me. But this time it was a downhill hike except for the last half a kilometre. Then we caught our bus in the evening from Buntar to Delhi. When I woke up to familiar highways and roads in the morning, I know that Malana is far away already but it will never be far from my heart and mind.

Malana, apart from the killer uphill climb, the beautiful 'Lord of the Rings-esque' view, and the crisp mountain air woke up something in me. Sometimes, you need a trip out of your own comfort zone to take a journey to the inner self. Sometimes, you need to be thrown into something different for you to be grateful for and appreciate the things in life that you already took for granted.

Yet, the conundrum of the Malani culture is something that still left me very very puzzled.

But then that, like they said, will take another post all on its own.

My favorite pic of the trip! The very handsome dog followed us down the valley till the creek. I felt as if he wanted to make sure we didn't tumble down the steep trail! :)

Malana Diaries. Part I : The Road to Malana.

2011-10-23T16:16:00.002+05:30

WARNING: Pictures Galore.

For the past ten years, the Malana project has been well known among the Delhi Mizo Youth Fellowship. The Delhi Mizo Youth have been supporting a missionary for Malana, a little hamlet hidden high up in the Himachal mountains, isolated and unreached by the world for many many years. The Malana culture is supposedly a culture with the oldest Parliament in the world which enjoys an independent democracy and doesn't abide by the Indian Constitution.

So, when the Youth Fellowship decided to have a Medical Camp again after two years, I jumped at the opportunity for a three day trip to Malana. Even though I couldn't help in the medical department, I could also be a part of the Sanitation team or the Prayer team who were also needed. I was one of the first to pay the fee and sign up for the trip. I was excited, all ready and fully geared for the trip. Who wouldn't be excited to visit a place you've heard so much about?

With my seatmate Zama who came equipped with absolutely everything needed and more!! We partnered even on the trip back home.

The final group of 30 members left Delhi on an overnight bus to Manali. After a night of bobbing up and down and sleeping through the twist and turns of the mountain road, we woke up to a crisp morning air, clear humming creeks and apple orchards strewn on both sides of the road. Beautiful Manali with the its alpine forests reminded me of the Twilight novels. I knew I wasn't the only one when someone squeaked from the backseat "SpiderMonkey". We made a stop at Dar-Ul-Fazl (meaning House of Grace) Childrens' Home at Shuru where we were fed a heavy mid-morning meal and given a place to bath and rest before we left for Malana in the afternoon.

Pi Mawitei welcoming the team before our morning meal at DUF Shuru, Manali.

A bible verse on a wall in a room at DUF Home

I came across this at DUF and feasted my eyes on it because I know I'll hardly come across it again.

The girls' Dormitory at Dar-ul-Fazl Childrens' Home.

Even the bathroom has this view! Sigh!!

The ride from Manali up to the point from where the hike should begin was a beautiful ride. Everytime I stared out of window to the majestic mountains and the humming creeks below, I doubt the line 'Kan Zotlang ram nuam hi chhawrpial run i iang e'. No disrespect intended!

So after three hours in the maxi cab and a dozen stories shared, Malana came to sight. If Manali reminded me of the Twilight novels, Malana definitely sprung up 'The Lord of the Rings' in my head. A picturesque hamlet where the only way to the village is through a hiking trail. We descended a thousand metres for around half a kilometre before we reached a small creek. After crossing the creek, we again ascended for a few kilometres before we reached the village.

The trail to Malana village: a view from the opposite side.

The creek we had to cross to get to Malana.

I was born in the hills, energetic all my life and thought I was a mountain goat untill I hiked up the Malana trail. I admit with shame, I almost died. My heart was beating in my throat, I was bathing in sweat, throat parched and gasping for breath after every few metres. Dr. Manuni, who went for a medical camp to Malana two years back, described the ascend "Calorie ka khuainuai". I couldn't have described it better myself. I salute her for the perfect and apt description. And the higher I climbed, my gasps became heavier. Little did I know that I had altitude sickness. Who would have thought that the girl from the hills could get mountain sick?

And to make matters worse, I had an upset stomach from the improper meals and improper sleep during the night in the bus. I will never ever forget my Malana climb and the thing my body compelled me to do mid-climb. I will forever be grateful to some people especially Mami and Ricky for the wait while I disappeared from the trail with a roll of TP and a tube of hand sanitizer and also to Mohan Bhaiyya for carrying my rucksack for the rest of the climb.

I mentally booed Miley Cyrus' lyrics 'Ain't about what's waiting on the other side, It's the climb'. For me it's all about what's waiting in the end. If it hadn't been for Malana, I would given up halfway during the climb! But because of what's waiting in the end, I pushed myself and even though I almost threw up from exhaustion, I didn't cry like someone did! :)

The better part of the trail to Malana

The first two groups reached Malana by nightfall but the third team, a few boys including the medical team from Manali Mission Hospital were late while waiting for medical and food supplies. I can't imagine their struggle while climbing the steep narrow dirt track in the pitch dark moonless night. When they reached the campsite at around 11 pm they were drenched with sweat even though they removed their sweaters and jackets against the cold Himalaya winds. Among them, Hnehzova later asked for a pain killer, Abiaka claimed that his usually high BP was normal because of the climb and LH-a later confessed that he never knew a parcel of bread could be as heavy as it was during the climb that night!

Camp food: I haven't had such a good appetite in a long long time! It must be the mountain air!

For the first time in my life, I slept in a tent and in a sleeping bag. I was a bit worried and scared about using a sleeping bag. There was something not quite right about the thought of arms all tucked in with only the head popping out. Defenseless was the word I was looking for!

But none of that mattered after the unimaginable climb, the upset stomach and the cold cold mountain air. I was more than happy to snuggle inside the bag and before long, I fell asleep while listening to people calling each other from the tents nearby and the boys laughing while arranging themselves in the next tent.

Childhood Tales: Of OCD and the sheep (never) jumping over the fence

2011-10-18T19:05:00.002+05:30

The good thing about growing up in a family with four children and lots of cousins, I realized, is that minuscule childhood problems are never blown out of proportion.

When I looked back, I realized I suffered from OCD when I was a kid. My parents never even knew that my meticulous peculiarity was a disorder. In fact, I was treated as a kid with propriety despite growing up with three rowdy boys. So my parents were happy that I was a neat kid who couldn't stand mess.

That was far from it.

Looking back, I knew it was a case of OCD with the way I can't fall sleep until my books are all changed and arranged according to the time table for the next day. Even after going to sleep, I'd promptly wake up in the middle of the night if I didn't have my school bag in order. Once my dad caught me in the middle of the night changing my timetable for the next day, rummaging in the dark.

I hated the shape of the rhombus during Geometry class because I want everything to be at perfect 90 degree angle. I got into deeper trouble with the hatred issue when we started studying the other shapes like the pentagon, hexagon and others. I crushed many an egg attempting to make it a perfect round shape than the shape that it already had and I had a problem with irregular shapes and patterns that all my Krismas kawr for around 5 years were either checked, striped or plain. Everything has to be in sync!!!

The worst thing I could remember was me refusing to step on a line, any line at all including imaginary lines. I'd never had a toe or heel peeping out when I walk up and down the stairs and I thank God that my feet were still small enough to fit in the squares when we had that checked carpet in our house.

My OCD walk used to happen in the path down near Tennis Court in Aizawl. I'd walk up and down that path every Sunday on the way to and from the church. There were huge concrete blocks laid end to end covering the drain which was used as the footpath. While walking on the footpath, I'd take extra care never to step on the line which joined the two blocks. My brother, after finding out my careful walking, pushed me and made me step on the line. I cried that day, and walked up the same path to take another walk down the footpath without stepping on the lines. I must be around 7 at that time.

No wonder I was so good at the Butter Cheese game because I never ever ever stepped on a line!

This floor tile would've drove me crazy when I was 7!!

I was also that kid who always tossed around in bed unable to sleep. Milk and honey before bedtime never worked so my mother told me to count numbers till I fall asleep. Counting numbers... could never count beyond a hundred because my mind would stray to more interesting things. My brother later told me to count sheep jumping over the fence instead. It never worked, it kept me more awake.

For I was too busy creating a prefect setting - the wooden fence by the old toolshed, half-broken, weathered by the monsoon rain with green green moss slowly creeping over the side. And the sheep never jumped over the fence because I reared fat, clumsy sheep who tripped on the fence and instead of jumping over it, and fell into the big muddy puddle just by the fence.

Then, I would run with a hose to clean up the dirty sheep, soap up its wool and hose it down. Then I'd sometimes decorate it with ribbons, sometimes put lipstick on them, sometimes make them wear 'ram hmangaih kawr' and take them to the battlefield against the pigs!! Sometimes I'd sit them down in a straight line and teach them how to sing. I have never seen a sheep in real life, but I have countless memories of washing a sheep, putting bows, makeup and countless success stories in teaching sheep how to sing!!

And my brother introduced the sheep to help me sleep!! Sigh!

Pic: www.123rf.com

So I was a kid with OCD and much too active imagination. What's with me now?

Forget about crying when I stepped on a line, I would sit on, push and even draw a new line now! Maybe there's a little OCD in me somewhere which would surface now and then. I still sleep only in plain bedsheets but last semester, I went ahead and bought a printed bed-cover which does not have a geometric print. My first in many many years! But if there's anything that kept me up half the night, It's definitely not the OCD!!

The imagination still stays! Though not vivid as it used to be, and it hardly involves singing sheep, it's the one thing I'll always cherish even though it still keeps me up... most nights!

Tying up a loose end: A letter to God.

2011-10-17T01:41:00.000+05:30

Dear God,

I had a long week and a hard one too. And I realized I missed You badly.

You see, God, this week, I didn't miss a single minute of my numerous weekly fellowship or a single hour of choir practice. I taught in Sunday School with passion today, and I felt I got my points across my students. I haven't missed a single minute of my daily prayers and I am well ahead in my Weekly Scripture reading table. What's more, God?? I'm all decked up to leave in a couple of days for a Mission Work Camp to a place that I've prayed for the past five years and Lord, I couldn't be more excited!!

Yet, somehow, I had a nasty fight with two of the closest people in my life. So here I am, past midnight, still hurting from the fight and unsure what to do next.

I know I shouldn't be doing this... coming to You before I've made amends with them. But Lord, they've hurt me too!! In ways I've never been hurt before. And I admit I still hold the grudge and I'm too much of a chicken-heart to go talk to them before coming to You.

Which made me realize how far away I am from You! What was the use of all those prayers, those bible readings, the choir practices and the numerous services I never missed, if I am not living a life that reflects what I read and pray about!?

I'm sorry, Lord, for turning Our relationship into a ritual and a social life.

Remind me once again that my relationship with You should translate into a good relationship with the people around me.

This is Me signing off

Love,

The (un)inspiring October full moon!

2011-10-13T00:19:00.001+05:30

So it's October full moon tonight!

Facebook statuses and tweets have heavy sprinkles of the word chhawrthlapui and lungleng all over them. At least half a dozen friends must have quoted Bruno Mars and his howling conversation with the moon!

Beautiful but still doesn't manage to inspire me!! Pic: srcgchs.wordpress.com

Yet. here I am, wishing I could feel blue. But I just can't get in the mood tonight.

And while the moon climbs the almost prefect Delhi night sky and sets the 'blue feeling' for people everywhere, I was walking back alone from a dinner with my uncle on a work visit to Delhi. The campus is littered with couples especially on the lonely road back to my far flung hostel in the corner of the campus. Yet, romance, the beautiful weather and the painfully lonesome moon still couldn't change my 'blue deficient' mood.

Ah! The moon.... The lonesome moon! There are nights when you didn't even shine this bright, yet your light on my floor was enough to send me in a melancholic frenzy. I'd often stare at my curtains dancing in the breeze and allow myself to revisit painful yet beautiful pasts while treading softly on my moonlight floor. I know I'm not the only one! Generations of poets have derived their inspiration from the lonely moon, destined never to meet someone to share his lonely nights with!

But tonight is just not one of those nights!!

I text a couple of my friends about what they are doing. Their answers made me more worried. They were all basking in the beauty of the moonlight! The boyfriend text me telling me that he missed Delhi University's Gwyer Hall rooftop (We spend many an hour on the phone on the rooftop when we first started going out). Another friend told me he's rounding up the guys for a rooftop party with the guitar and old Mizo love songs. Yet another older friend told me she's listening to Dolly Parton's 'The moon, the stars and me'. I envy these people. For I'd give anything to feel blue tonight!

Don't get me wrong but October full moon happens only once in a year! And I would be a fool to let it pass by without enjoying it. Yet after standing in the silent terrace for 15 minutes, I managed to feel uninspired in the way I wanted to! So here I am, punching these un-inspired lines into my overworked keyboard, still hoping to feel at least a light shade of blue!!

Now the Taj Mahal under the moonlight should get me into the mood! But wait!! It didn't . Pic: art.com

The roommate is on her phone, out in the moonlight, obviously talking to the significant person. And since I can't get the blues tonight, I hope she comes back with at least a light shade of it!!

For she just doesn't help during the conversation earlier in the night!

'Tonight's a full moon night' I told her hoping she'd be reminded of something melancholic.

Her answer squashed my hope.

'Oh Gawddd!!! The dogs are definitely going crazy with their howling tonight."

My Rainbow: Colors in my Life.

2011-10-12T02:23:00.006+05:30

I love colors. And even though I have my sepia tone days when I enjoy being in one tone and all alone, most of the time I relish the colors in my life.

If you ask me what is my favorite colour, I'd quickly reply 'Rainbow' without even missing the blink of an eye! There are people who make my life colorful. Crazy, one of a kind people who make my life bright and happy. I love their little sparks and their little details, and to use a word from a certain movie, their 'ness'!!

So here's a tribute to the Colors in my life and their crazy little details!

The Color called Nancy : The Roommate

A paradox personified. A tomboy scared of mantis, grasshoppers and insects; a Buddhist who is partial to stray animals who enter our floor and writes a blog she prefers people not to read. She is so scared of ghosts that every time we tell ghosts stories, she'd sleep with a totem of her deity under her pillow! The selfish Buddhist! She suffers from a mild case of OCD and is also a big sucker in love... Huge!!

A Facebook quitter but a Blackberry addict who labels the stray dogs in campus as 'personality-less' and says they 'howl without class'. Recently, she admitted to losing all her dance moves! I wonder why!? Of all the roommates I've had in this University, she's definitely the best!

The Color called Kuki : The Future Maid of Honor

Someone who lives outside the box. She lives in a flat which had been burgled once and has been haunted annually for the past four years. Yet she hosts the best parties I ever went to.We were born on consecutive dates. Except for the year. She's known under three terms - Social worker, Loudest Soprano in choir, Sunday School teacher. An antihistamine addict with the perpetual chubby cheeks. She's a Super Aunt to the three most energetic boys in the world and her most prized possession is a picture in her teenage years taken with Aamir Khan.

The last time I checked if she really wanted me to be my MOH if I decide to get married, she gave me the Cobra Stare "Hmingthanzual, min hman loh chuan i na ang"

The Color called Thangpuia: The Boyfriend

The boyfriend for four and a half years who's a failed choir singer, failed dancer, failed musician, failed photographer(What did I get myself into?) and mathematician. (ah! that explains it all!). He's been told he looks 35 ever since he was in college. Tall, not so dark, handsome (OK... I'm prejudiced!). The Lai man who talks to me in Lai only when he wants to get to my good side and smokes only when he wants to spite me. He hates Facebook, my short haircut and converse shoes but loves Shrek, Kungfu Panda, Kelly Clarkson and Adele. A formal dresser who started wearing jeans only after we went out.

Recently he tells me he wants to buy a good camera. 'The photographer in me urges me to' he quips. My reply? 'An expensive camera doesn't make you a photographer!'

The Color called Engkima : The Loudspeaker

My honorary brother who is the LOUDest person I've ever known. We live in the same hostel and his room is my refuge when I get sick or once during an earthquake after-shock. A kohhran Upa in South Delhi Mizo Inkhawm!! I'm not kidding!! Writer, academician, poet with such magnetic personality which even attracts bed bugs. A strong-headed man with the weirdest fashion sense. Yes! he wore only a Mizo-made chappal till he got his master's degree and refused to wear a belt till he completed his MPhil degree. His worse habit is chewing on his dentures! I always get scared that he'll accidentally swallow it! He gains an insurmountable level of confidence from his mock-relationship with the Color Nancy!

His latest conquest? Chheihlam minus the bending!!

The Color called Ben : The Rockstar

My Sunday School co-teacher who's known as Big Ben or Ben Ten among the kids. It amuses me sometimes that he teaches teenagers when he looks like one. We make the perfect ten. He the one, I the zero. I once ran up to kiss him onstage during our Student's Union rock nite (on the cheeks.. Relax!). He got himself a groupie that night, and I happily ticked off a point in my 'List of Things to do before I turn 30!". He doesn't eat pork and has two addresses in Delhi - a weekday address and a weekend address! He's got two elder brothers and hence is named Pazawna. When I learnt he has a younger brother, I asked if his brother's name is Pahlira. Nope!! He's named Lalchhuanawma! :D

My favorite singer who's in charge of the music in the upcoming Delhi Mizo Kut. I made a request for him to sing a Justin Bieber song, just to spite him. It worked. He didn't even smile when I mentioned the J word!

The Color called Becki : The Dictator

The hairdresser who made the drastic change in my hair length. She's the head contralto in the choir who'd give acid stares to anyone who hits the wrong tone. Hence earning the title - the Dictator. A frequent meal skipper who looks half her age. A carpenter, seamstress and artist all rolled into one. She buys boots only in summer and already had her wedding dress designed which she wants to handstitch by herself. All we need now, is a guy to marry.

Currently in a dilemma on how to survive the harsh Manali winter while helping care of her soon- to- be -born nephew/niece. "I'll buy gloves. Good ones!" she quickly add. I smiled. Gloves? For the freezing Manali winter! Indeed!

The Color called RSa : The Friend 'n' Foe

Most sarcastic person I've ever known who is passionate on picking on me. 'Ready made' person when it comes to the 1 AM phone calls I'd make from the airport. He'll diligently pick me in 20 minutes. And thus earned his name Tuaitereka. Person with worst sleeping habit. Older girls find him cute **wink**. A grown man who's scared to sleep in the dark. A tea addict who tells me I'm the worst badminton partner ever yet who's a member of our 'baby-sitter's club'. Blessed enough to have the warmest family in town. A computer nerd, a good tenor and has the best footwork to an old Grease song! I can't think of a day spent with him without him insulting me. I can't think of a day spent with him without me insulting him either!

He texted me two days ago telling me that he'll remember me bailing his birthday dinner, for a long long time! The 'long long time' takes exactly 26 hours! My friend, my foe!

The Roommate, The Boyfriend, The Future MOH, The Loudspeaker, The Rockstar, The Dictator, The Friend 'n' Foe!

And how could I forget my Colors from last season! Nope, they're not out of style, they're vintage!

The Color called Jonathan : The Hug Bear

My best friend in college who at lost for words, told me that we'll share his mother the day my mother passed away! He used to date a girl half his size in college and now dates another girl, still half his size. A Shrek enthusiast who bloated up after we moved away for our Master's degree. A blogger, a writer, a singer, a songwriter and a musician all rolled into one. But, unfortunately, is a failed dancer. I once got bruised ribs from dancing with him.

After living away from him for 3 years, I thought we're not that close anymore until that one night when he puts me up on the phone all night after an exhausting day with absolutely no concern! Or guilt when my sinusitis peaked the next day! His synonym? No apologies = best friends!

The Color called Ronald T : The One who got away (with calling me 'fat and funny')

My ex co-group coordinator in the campus Christian fellowship. The one person who dares call me 'fat and funny'. Sad I still can't get back at him. Hence, 'the one who got away'. An experimental photographer who I don't really trust to be my wedding photographer. Just yet. Another Blackberry Addict in my rainbow, a tweetheart, blogger and the only guy I trusted enough to have a bottle of Breezer with. A mediocre singer and sadly a failed dancer (Remember the weird hands in the Potter choreography?).

Last time he was in town, he wanted to surprise me with dinner but then I missed his call. The next day, I got lectured meticulously (complete with the finger) for spoiling his surprise and then dragged off to the nearby mall in my sleep sweater and crocs! When protested for inappropriate clothing, he raised his voice, just a few octaves higher "Just think of how expensive your crocs are"!!

The Color called Sam : The Midget

The one who presence always make me shrink. Literally. A 6 foot tall (I think. At least he looks that tall) Tamil who eats pork. He's also the first Tamil guy I met who didn't sport facial hair. Which, now I realized, was just a phase he was going through!! A tweetheart and a blogger who swears in the middle of a bible seminary and has the most infectious grin. The Ex-worship Secretary and the Groovy dancer in spite of the height. Yep I can still see him dancing on the Rocks at Easter Sunrise Service a few years back.

'If I'm a dancer, you'd be the pole' I used to say. 5 years later, I realized I don't need to be a dancer for him to be the pole! He's still the perfect long line!

The Hug Bear, The One who got away, The Midget

I know that hours after posting this, I will receive texts, Facebook messages or phone calls from these people accusing me of stealing Facebook pictures or publicizing their little details.

I have only one reply " I Love you too. Muah" :P

My ongoing battle with the High Heel

2011-10-06T02:55:00.003+05:30

A friend of mine almost twisted her ankles last Sunday from wearing 3 inch heels. On her defense, she wasn't used to wearing heels and she forgot she wore heels when she ran down the stairs. The next day, we wasted several SMS rounds on the condition of her ankles (100 sms per day ain't no problem for me till date, I'm a lazy 'texter'). But the incident reminded me of my ongoing battling with mastering the art of wearing high heels.

I got my first pair of heels the Christmas after I turned 17. Two inch heels. Nothing glorious. My peers that time could have run a marathon on my new heels. But for me, I spend Christmas Eve practicing on how to walk in my new heels without walking awkward. My brother laughed at me on Christmas morning when he found me preparing breakfast with PJs and heels! I ignored his snigger. I will not be caught walking like a duck on Christmas day.

Turns out I was wrong, he told some of his friends and my friends about my kitchen fashion. Loudmouth! It so happened that right in the middle of Christmas Tea at church, my wicked friend Jona yelled "Hey! Seni.... nice heels! You ain't walking funny at all. Geat job!!". I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me then and there!

In spite of that encounter, I will always have fond memories of those heels. Everytime I wore them, my dad would tease "I pheikhawk atang khan lo chhuk la, in kawm ang hmiang". I still keep the pair back home, though I never wore them anymore. I tired, several times, to pass them on to my younger cousins but was always rejected with a whiff of "a style a hlui tawh em mai"! So I decided to keep them as souvenirs!

Ten years down the line... improvement came slow. Improvement with the height of the heels. The highest pair of heels I own is a 3 inch strap (Yes, I measured it just now!) and I wore it only once in four months. And the only time I wore it, I took a pair of flats to change into once church got over. Yes, it's much better to relax in flats during song practice!

I don't walk like a duck anymore while wearing heels. Wait, I never walked like one! It's just that I never get scared of walking like a duck anymore. I guess I've covered a milestone. But I wear heels only in formal occasions and to church and I've never lasted for more than 5 hours in heels. That is why I always carry a pair of flats on Sundays to change into, once service gets over. Well, most of us, at least here in Delhi do!

Once a friend of mine in the choir complained "You girls always do this! And you don't even wear that much of high heels. The PussyCat Dolls can sing and dance for hours in much higher heels!" He quipped. "The reason??" I retorted "I'm not a Pussy Cat Doll!" Isn't it obvious?

My problem wearing high heels. First things first, I wear high heels only to church or other formal occasions. And I teach in Sunday School. Well, aren't half of the high-heeled-marathon-running young women back home Sunday School teachers too?? And then I add, Delhi Mizo Sunday School is crazy. We spend half the time running after kids, jumping and prancing to action songs and sitting on the floor during art and craft hour. Sangtei, the pre-beginner teacher, I noticed, is always the first one to remove her shoes once she enters the hall. So I guess I'm not the only one! Between the heat, the 40 hyperactive kids stuffed in a painfully small room, the crazy action songs, the bible lessons and weird questions that 9 year olds would ask, the last thing I need to worry about is my feet!

I admire women who wear high heels and make it look comfortable. And as much as I want to master the art of wearing high heels, I still can't. But why bother wearing heels at all? Well, I know the majority of Mizo women will agree when I say that the Mizo puan is much more presentable when worn with heels. The higher, the better. With heels, suddenly you're puan-clad body look more svelte and suave, your curves more defined and you, all of a sudden, walk with such feminine gait. I love wearing puan and hence the heels become essential.

Battling the Delhi August heat in Puanchei and heels!! This is why if we've gone 3 inch, we've gone high enough!!

I salute the Mizo women who have master the difficult art in such a rugged terrain as our hilly abode. If you've ever worn high heels while walking downhill, you'll know what I'm talking about!! A friend of mine once told me there's a very steep road in her locality (Mission Vengthlang) that at first she thought no one would be able to walk down with heels. But no! She later told me that girls wearing 5 inch heels walked comfortably on those roads. The magic techinque??? They backed downhill!!! Smart Mission Vengthlang girls! It would be quite a sight watching girls back down the road without missing a step! I should remember to visit the friend on a Sunday afternoon the next time I go home!

I tried the same magic technique when I was in Aizawl during the summer. My dad and I were walking home from church and I was with a 3 inch heel, which suddenly felt like a 6 inch on a certain slope. I tell you, the magic technique is the smartest thing that you can do in such a situation.

Yet, my dad stared at me as if I've got some screws loose in my head.

"What are you doing?"

"Please stop"

"People are staring at you"

"Seni, walk properly please"

"Stop doing that"

And ultimately

"Stop right there and wait. I'll go home and come pick you up in a car".

He did!!!

And needless to say, the battle continues...

A Letter, a year-old.

2011-10-03T16:53:00.004+05:30

I came across another one for my unmailed letters safely tucked away in one of my files.

It's a year old letter but now at least, I have the courage to let it be read!

Dated: 6th October 2010

Ron,

Long time eh? I was just going through some of our old pictures and I thought of you. The old videos that we made, we all looked so happy then!! The other day, I wandered into Mezbaan and ate alone. I missed you guys so much! But imagine my frustration when I realized I didn't carry my Student's ID. I had to pay full price.

How are you doing? How's life at your end? Hope everything’s good and well.

Well, for starters, this is not a happy mail! Cause I’m badly looking for a place to vent, which I can’t find these days. I feel bad venting out to someone who’s so far away and I may never click the 'send' button to this mail, but anyway the writing part is at least therapeutic.

Remember when I use to say that I can’t wait to be 26 and that I’ve been waiting for the age since I was 17?? Well, 26’s just around the corner and my life is in shambles. Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe 26 is the age that I finally succumb to life’s miseries. Nothing’s been working out lately, life’s not at all beautiful and my rose-colored spectacles haven’t been working for quite sometime.

I have lots of problems back home and I'm too far away to deal with it! My father's been sick for two weeks now and last night I was up all night thinking about the failure that I am as the only daughter of the household. The daughter who is but a thousand miles away!

I am in a relationship with a guy I can’t communicate with. We didn't start off like this. Is this what happens to people after three long years in a relationship, where you start taking each other for granted?! And I'm sick of people sticking their noses in our relationship. We're just two insignificant people and who in the world would even have the time, energy or the desire to put a wedge between us?? Well, guess what. Maybe we're not that insignificant after all!! What can I say?? I don’t want to be a drama queen. But drama just follows me J.

I am so very disillusioned with the whole idea of relationships, marriage and family right now! I just can't shake off the feeling that after all this time, after all these years and after everything I've been through, I stand, but, alone. Sometimes, I feel I just want to quit everything and retreat in a hole. Sometimes I want to quit teaching in Sunday School! I don’t think I can be a role model to my kids. I feel like a fraud to teach about Christian life and relationships to teenagers when I can hardly handle my own. Sometimes, I am tired of putting up a brave front. These days, the perpetual smiles never reach my eyes! I just want to crumble into pieces but I also know I just can’t! So I hold myself up and smile for the world to see.

Last week, a friend came to me to help her on her rocky relationship. She told me that I’m one of the strongest person she knows. I froze and realized I'm a hypocrite... all over again!

Academically, I’m a snail. I'm still waiting for my Viva Voce while doing background reading for the proposal for my supposed doctoral thesis.

Healthwise, the past two months had me suffering from dengue TWICE!!! And the whole time, I was helping take care of the boyfriend's mother during her hip replacement surgery. Friends say that I'm the one person who takes dengue fever as a breeze. But I don't! The whole time I thought it was viral fever and symptoms of over-exhaustion. So I'd pop another pill, refill my bottle with ORS and head off to the hospital to help. I was diagnosed only when my post-fever rash came!

Financially, I'm broke! L So is my laptop! L I'm saving up for a new one. And I don’t know if I can pay for my tickets home for Christmas.

Anyways, that’s the story of the my life at the age I so wanted to reach!!!

Somehow, I realized I always blamed myself for the bad things that happen to me; make myself miserable and torment myself. But then at this ‘golden’ age, I’ve also realized that life is still going to torment me mightily anyway even if I don’t torment myself. So I’ve decided that I have the right to wallow in self-pity and cry my heart out… once in a while!

That was one year ago....

I remembered feeling like I've hit rock bottom while writing this, feeling like my life would be just a huge big gloom of eternal rainy days!

One year later, what is my life like?? It's still not perfect but it's much much better! Did I even notice or gave myself a self-appreciated "pat on the back" for how well I've survived the dark days?? Hardly!

Time and time again, I've learnt that the tough times never last. Yet time and time again, I tend to dwell focusing on the dark rain-clouds.

This letter is just another reminder.

To remind myself everyday that you can't always be a worm. One day, sooner or later, you'll break out into beautiful butterfly! And it doesn't matter if your butterfly lives for three short summer days. The point is, the worm is just one cycle away from being a butterfly.

Living with cracked ribs : Life after the Great Fall

2011-09-27T03:34:00.002+05:30

Spare me the embarrassment of retelling the story of how I cracked my ribs!! Today is the week anniversary of the accident! So tonight it's all about the week after the fall!

The Great Fall, in itself, wasn't that glorious. A nervous beginner cyclist. Two bikes and an auto coming on the wrong side. Too narrow a road. Nerves taking over. Cyclist down. Passerby stops to help. "I'm still learning" cyclists grins (sheepishly). Ignoring throbbing knees. Ignoring hurting sides. 10 minutes later, failed cyclist turns badminton player. Loses a mixed double. Partner blames her. She blames hurting sides and throbbing knees. Next day, pain too much to bear. Doc appointment. X-ray. **Kaching** Multiple rib fracture.

I fell asleep while waiting for the doctor with my X-ray results. It was 11 in the morning and I hardly slept for five hours. The night before, there was a funeral and we stayed up the whole night while waiting for the body to be sent back home. The nurse must have called me several times. She woke me up with a hand on my shoulder. After knowing about my fractured ribs, I must say, I needed a place to 'lick my wounds' and headed to a friend's place where I stayed for lunch and dinner. I fell asleep on the way back too.

What's it like to have cracked ribs?

1. The P word. It's been a week. I still take painkillers and muscle relaxants every single day.

2. I can't lift my left arm much. Today I did my laundry with only one hand!! Sigh! there goes my futile attempt at ambidexterity. Yet again!

3. I always live in the fear of getting knocked, pulled and pushed around or tickled in the ribs. Yes! The guys I hang out with do that to me all the time. Thankfully! My "Nak na" squeal would stop them in their tracks. One still chose to playfully punch my stomach! Hmmm ... Men!

4. I still can't sleep on my left side. I am a fetal curler. And I toss around in my sleep. This past week, I wake up in my sleep a lot. All because every time I turn to my left, I wake up from the pain. Extra cushioning doesn't do much help.

5. I'm the object of ridicule. People are laughing at my expense. This particular group (they call themselves 'Delhi Mizo Male Voice'... I call them 'Chimawm Gang') said that with all my kickboxing exercise, I still manage to crack my ribs. They also slyly added "Nakruh na chung hian kawm a lo nuam tawk chauh anih hi". Another friend told me to lose weight. He's totally barking the wrong tree here. He, himself, is underweight yet he broke his ribs (Mind you... it's 'broke' not 'cracked') while playing football last month. Certain tweets and picture-tweets add feathers to my already prominent crown of ridicule. A friend tweeted that he'd chain me to a tree near my hostel after my refusal to take a weekend off.

6. A few people have been good to me though! Nu Mamawii offered me a bed to sleep on the day my results came out, gave me two good hot meals and asked me to stay over (which I didn't. Dang! I should have!). The damlo kan date with the girls didn't materialize but we settled for a hearty drink of Banta and Nimbu Paani the next night. A slab of chocolate, I will never forget, made it to my mini fridge too. Four, and I count, four gentlemen have the decency to text me asking me how am I doing. One absolute gentleman offered to carry my handbag for me. And the boyfriend is definitely not one of them. Shame, shame. And I write this because I know he will read this!! It's only a subtle hint though!

7. I can't exercise at all! I sit everyday feeling like a couch potato!

8. I can't sing. LITERALLY. It hurts when I sing. And I take this time to apologize for the horrible group singing this Sunday. It was all my fault. My breath ran out, I couldn't hold a tune for long and I couldn't sustain. It was all my fault. The others in the group are excellent singers. I am responsible for every sharps and flats in the song! :(

9. I take bath only with warm/hot water. In Delhi heat. Doc's orders. :(

10. The hardest thing during my week long journey to recovery is riding an auto or a bus. Auto is the worst. Especially in Delhi roads. My toes curl every time I see another speed breaker or a dent on the road. "Bhaiyya, aaram se!!" and "Ouch" all in the same breath!! After a nasty ride with the rude Autowallah this evening, I told myself that I will not budge from the campus for this whole week!

Corset's my new fashion trend! I'm kidding! I don't go around in that bandage anymore! P.S: The constipated smile was to mask the pain... The pic was taken on the day I was diagnosed!

It's only been a week. The doctor said it'll take a couple of weeks before I can stop the painkiller and the muscle relaxant and a few more weeks for the healing to complete. In the meantime, Doc told me to quit prancing around, running, dancing, skipping and pretty much all the other actions that define me. "And absolutely no cycling" were his final words!

So in the meantime, I cheat!

Shhhhhshhh!

I can't be me without prancing and singing!

But I promise to be subtle about it!

Happy 24th "Da Who"

2011-09-25T04:42:00.003+05:30

Today, I mean, yesterday was my baby brother's birthday. He just turned 24.

I am such a bad sister. I didn't talk to him. Not that I forgot, but when I couldn't get through after six attempts, I guess it kinda slipped my mind. Which, I know, is absolutely no excuse! I am such a horrible sister. Period. I must have gotten distracted over the much-hyped Dhaba dinner with the girls and another, which never happened. Shame on me, and shame on you too, Duat Vin and Madamji!! When it finally registered that I didn't call the birthday boy, it was already past midnight, which means it's already too late to call him.

But anyway, it's 4:19 AM on my clock as I am typing this line. I've gotten up again after an unsuccessful attempt to sleep with the guilt. It turns out Guilt is the worst enemy of an insomniac. So here I am writing a special post about the 'man' who means so much to me.

I remembered the first time I met Hutea. It was on the day he was born and I was just two months shy of three. I remembered peeping inside my parent's room when they were changing the baby, and asking my Grandma, "Pi, tinge naute ek hi a dum vek a?".

I remembered the first time I broke his toy, the 'crawling soldier'. I cried louder than he did.

I remembered feeling jealous of the bond that he shared with Ma. Him being the youngest, he got a lot of attention from everyone.

I remembered that one time when I babysat him when he was sick. I made a mistake in measuring the medicine and gave him double the dose of what I was suppose to give him. I remembered crying aloud and refusing to eat when he was taken to the hospital after he suffered from seizures.

I remembered that day when we cut off Ma's favorite PJs to make him a superhero costume. Boy! Were we scolded bad!!

I remembered that day when he had the accident that tore out all his upper teeth. He fell from three floors to the road. We all thought he'd die that day. And he was just 4. The little buster was such a fighter after all. I still hate the doctors, that day, who stitched back his gums without a shot of LA. Hutea later told me that it felt like they were putting a burning coal in his gums with each stitch they made. And through it all, he didn't cry. My brave fella!

I remembered that night when we read a horror story book and he was scared to go to his room. He slept with me on my bed that night.

I remembered the way he'd make fun of Westlife (my favorite, back then) just because he wanted to see me go mad.

I remembered him threatening my first ever boyfriend. His exact words "Hurt her, then you'll have to deal with me"

I remembered him crying, hanging his head low, on Ma's funeral. I remembered hearing soft sniffles coming from his bed that night.

I remembered his final words to his constantly cheating ex-girlfriend who always wanted to come back after, "Ui bakin a luak a ei ngai hleinem. Ui i ni ami?". Harsh words right?? Don't blame him. He learnt it from me.

I remembered the day he called me up to tell me he graduated. I was so proud to have a baby brother who's an engineer.

Yet, I remembered him coming up to me last summer when I was home, with something as simple as his dandruff problem.

Nontheless, he's a great brother, a strict and irritating uncle, a confused soul (sometimes), a good son, an athlete, an entertainer, a musician and a whole lotta more.

He's 24 now.

Yet he will always be the 8 year old who'd behead my barbie dolls and the 14 year old who'd draw a missing tooth on my treasured Mark Feehily posters.

He's 24 now.

Yet he still asks me to scrub his back in the bath or sometimes even shampoo his head for him.

He's 24 now.

But last time I shared him my boyfriend problems, he grinned excitedly "Hey, break up with him already. Of course, you know I'll never let you get married until you find someone who can take care of me like you do".

He's 24 now.

But when I'm around he still insists I help him pick a shirt, a sock or even underwear.

He's 24 now.

But he'll always be the baby brother I adore.

"Da Who".

I love you.... more!

Happy Birthday

I promise to call.... before church today!

Hutea with his favorite niece: Total foodies and wai wai addicts!

My favorite pic in the summer (ignoring the blur). Genuine happy faces!

Bicycle Diaries

2011-09-23T16:51:00.004+05:30

So after living my whole life with a two-wheeler-phobia (do they have a word for it?), a couple of years back, I decided to get curious to know what's beyond my fears. And curious did I get with a friend's scooty. Attempting to mount a scooty without even knowing how to balance a bicycle was, yes, biting off more than I could chew. After two nights with 4 guys holding the scooty while I fought to tame it, I fell. Wait! I was fine... but the scooty wasn't. The next day, the scooty was taken in for repairs. And out of guilt, my curiosity took a backseat.

Last semester, I got curious... again... with my brother's bullet. But looking at how heavy the bike looked and knowing how narrow and steep the roads in Aizawl are, I decided to start humble. Humble meaning my roommate's hand me down bicycle.

I fell a dozen times before I could learn how to balance it.

I will always remember the first time I cycled on an 'actual' road. Nancy, my roommate was close-by, guarding me when all of a sudden, I lost my balance and fell. It must have hurt because I remembered lying in the middle of the road with the bike on top of me. Nancy lost all her manners that day and laughed at me all sprawled out on the road. I, on the other hand, attempted to get up only after seeing vehicle lights around the bend of the road.

Battle scars?? Hardly. Except for half a dozen bruises, scraped knees and palms, a superficial cut in the stomach (yes, right on the tums) and a sprained lil' toe which swelled up to the size of my big toe in a few hours and turned purplish the next day. Hardly anything at all!!

It took me three weeks before I could muster up the courage to cycle on a road. That night, I ran over a peaceful-sleeping dog. I screamed and apologized altogether at the same time. I didn't know to who I apologized to... I think it was the dog, hoping I wouldn't get bitten by it. Well, it worked. The dog barked loudly and ran away. I've never seen that dog in that part of campus again!

Have I ever mentioned that drama just follows me? My very first ride downhill, the brakes on the bike were broken. So you can just imagine what happened to me and the random security guard in my path! Three words. Crash. Boom. Bang.

It was months before my next encounter when I hit a parked car and set off the car alarm. I would pay good money to see myself panicking and running away before the car owner could come out. The next day, I was walking by the same car when I noticed a huge dent right where I hit the car. I posted a note with my name and phone number... mentally of course. I am such a loser!!

My ultimate encounter happened a couple of days ago when I fell trying to pass a bike and an auto both coming on the wrong side of the road. Seriously, this time, it wasn't my fault. I had no cuts but only a few bruises. I was sore the next day. In fact, too sore that by nightfall, I could hardly move. I went to a doctor and took some X-rays.

Well, now I sit here staring at my X-ray sheets, my head still hazy from the painkillers and my ribs firmly taped up. It hurts each time I giggle and I have to hold my side each time I laugh.

"Multiple rib fracture" The doc told me, "No jumping, prancing, dancing, rigorous exercise and absolutely no cycling for a month. Take it easy. And don't lift heavy stuffs. You'll be fine in a few weeks".

Hmm..... With Mizo Kut Season and North-East Night just around the corner, I wonder how will I survive??? I guess I have to kiss the Cyclothon attempt goodbye!

Let the month pass by, and I promise myself, I will mount the Machine.... once again!

I still have along way to go....

I still have to conquer The Bullet!!

INVICTUS...

Me! :)

There are no shortcuts to any place worth going!!

To the hurting She...

2011-09-19T01:12:00.001+05:30

(To the woman shaken. Not because of the quake and not because of the defeat at Old Trafford! )

I wish I could take away that heaviness in your heart right now. My heart aches with every tear you roughly wipe away with the back of your hand, smudging those well-lined eyes! My soul weeps to hear you say his name with a trembling voice on the verge of a breakdown.

I wish I knew the right words to say, the right thing to do to somehow ease that pain eating you alive. I wish trashing the name of the one who breaks your heart would somehow help it heal. But then, I also know it won't. It makes me smile with an ache in my heart because I know that if I even go verbal against him, you'll be the first person to defend him.

We are such suckers in love, aren't we? Isn't it funny that we, self-proclaimed independent women, are such huge marshmallows when it comes to the matters of the heart? Isn't it so much like us to get our hearts broken over and over by the same person over the same silly thing? Isn't it a lot like us to forgive but only to be deceived all over again? Isn't it unfair that some people always end up taking advantage of us? Isn't it in our nature to give, give and give untill we have nothing left to give? Isn't it like us to always hesitate before we take something from someone else, no matter how negligible that something is? And worse, isn't it so much like us to always be the one hurting in the end?

How can it be that we somehow always let people close enough to hurt us, despite the many times that we have been broken before? What happened to the walls that we've built? Or have we really built them at all? Have our concern and our decision to be carers (despite being broken ourselves) stood in the way of the completion of those protective walls? How can it be that smart women like us can be so dumb all at the same time?

Are we not the prized daughters of our families?? I still remember your Mum beaming with pride that last time she visited you. Your Dad, I know, believes he has the most responsible daughter in the world. I agree with him. He does. Your sister knows that you deserve the very best while your baby brother believes that there is no one in the world good enough for you. There are dozens of men who would throw themselves on the path of a bullet for you. Yet here we cry, all because of one man and his complications.

I don't want to ask the same question again. Is he worth it?

I don't know the answer, you don't either.

But like we said, virtuous women like us, sometimes just don't have the world at their feet. Yet, we always choose to be the bigger person and the more-patient partner. We always choose love over hate and trust over doubt. We always make the decision to do the right thing.

But when it comes to the matters of the heart, we are, but, the ultimate fools!!

My only hope is that one day, we'll look back, and it'll all make sense. Why we always love no matter what? Why we always give multiple second chances? Why we always choose to trust, no matter how bad the track record is?

But until that day comes. We'll always do the right thing and continue being fools.

I sure hope that day comes soon enough...

Of a Mizo woman and her (complicated future) bride price.

2011-09-17T00:45:00.002+05:30

A friend of mine here in Delhi often declared that she didn't want a bride price when she gets married "Kei chu cheng za li leka hralh chi ka ni lo". A well-educated modern girl, a self-proclaimed feminist with a well -to-do background refusing to have a bride price.

I recalled an incident with a distant relative. The wife was one such woman who refused to have a brideprice. The couple got into a fight one fine day and the husband called her " Man pawh man zo lo nu". She went to her brother's house and refused to come back. They reconciled later after her family demanded her brideprice all over again!!

I must say I am a feminist too! (Sheesh! What woman wouldn't be after reaching University?). But I am not a man-hater, I celebrate womanhood.

Adam walked with God in the cool of the day.

Yet, God saw that he was not lonely.

Therefore, he created a woman.

Yes! I am proud to be the woman that God, in all his wisdom, created. Yet, I know I will never be equal to a man. Wait! Hear me out before you call me incompetent. I believe there's a reason why God made sexes and genders. We were made to compliment each other. Even our areas of expertise are completely different. Talk about the bad driving of an average woman, and an average man lost in the names of different colors. There's a reason why we are different right from the chromosomal level. We aren't meant to be equals, we're meant to complete each other.

I also know that with being a Mizo woman, comes my culture and my tradition. And tradition, lost in colonial misinterpretation, claims that when I get married, my brideprice will be Rs. 420. Wait!! No, I am not of the Lusei clan, I am a Lai. Which means the my brideprice is more than that!

But if I have to be finicky, exactly how much am I worth? No... let's rephrase that. You can't put down a human being's value in terms of currency. What's my brideprice? According to the standard Lai brideprice, it's Rs. 1500 (at least in India).

Yet...
12 years ago, my cousin got married in Sangau, a little village in the South where my Dad proudly hailed from. Her brideprice, I remembered, was Rs. 8000 excluding all other tokens in the form of animals or other heirlooms.

Yet...
I remembered my Dad saying that my grandfather gave instructions that none of the women in the Hranglung family should not be 'sold' for more than Rs. 60!!!!!!! (What???!!!!) Dad later explained to me that there used to be instances of people who wanted to but could not get married because of the high bride price (Rs. 420, a hundred years ago, was a lot! Rs. 1500 can financially cripple you for life.) My Grandpa, seeing the thing that kept many people from spending their lives with the ones they loved, decided to lower the bar for the bride price at least for his family. So Grandpa, being an elder of the village and married to the chief's sister, decided that brideprice was just a token and gave such instructions to his family.

Yet...
Inspite of all the instructions, my cousin was 'sold' for such a hefty amount. The reason was that a girl's bride price was decided by her maternal uncles. Ah!! The complication!! So much for being a Rs. 60 worth Hranglung!!

I also remembered when my mother asked an old uncle about the codes and norms of the brideprice. The uncle, who stayed with us for medical treatment was a proud old uncle Pu Pak Er better known as Cithang-pa. Well, in the South, people are better known by their eldest children's names. Note to self: Should give my eldest a really pleasant name if I marry in the south. The old uncle listed down the brideprice. I didn't see the list, but my mother exclaimed as she read "Ka pa, if this much is the bride price, no one will ever marry our daughters."

Later I learnt that the list he made includes 4 mithuns, a dozen of copper vessels, a gun and a lot more. And that is excluding the Rs. 10000 cash. That old uncle may be a little bit too much. Before he passed away, there was a joke going around with the young men in Sangau, a rather morbid one "No one should marry a Hranglung girl before Cithang-pa passed away". Him being the eldest living Hranglung in the village, his words were always heeded obediently especially when it comes to norms, codes and ethics. Brideprice being one of them.

You see how much can a brideprice differ even in one family even though the brideprice fixed today for a Lai girl is Rs. 1500.

Sounds complicating does it?

Well, getting out of the whole mess, the point I'm trying to make here is that a brideprice is just a token of cultural practice and tradition. Who can ever chart out a human being's worth in term of money?? Even if you do so, I don't think even the richest man in the world would afford it so. A human's life is worth more than anything.

And lately, did I hear about the MHIP deciding to raise the fixed brideprice?? To what?? Where do you draw the line?? How much, would you compromise, a woman is worth if you decide that the 420 token is not enough??

As for me, let my brideprice go according to what my family decides. After all it's just a token of culture and tradition. I respect tradition enough for me to have a brideprice. I am definitely not my feminist friend who refuses to have a brideprice. I will not enter another family without going through the traditional norms and ritual of a brideprice. I don't really care if I go for 60 or a Lusei 420 or the Lai 1500 or the hefty 10000. A brideprice, I repeat, is after all just a traditional token, still nonetheless necessary.

So than 10 years from now, when I fight with my husband (hopefully!) he would never use the man man zo lo line on me!! I'm just kidding of course. But on a serious note, for the non-Mizo reader, if you think of ever 'buying' yourself a Mizo girl with the literal traditional token, I will hunt you down... Personally!

Of earthquakes, Reflexes and Survival Instincts!

2011-09-10T22:58:00.000+05:30

I went jogging this evening! For the first time in four days. It was more of a brisk walk rather than a jog. After a few minutes of jogging, I would always end up slowing down to a walk. My three-day old sprained ankle looked and felt much better today and I could no longer just sit around with my bandaged feet! After an hour and 5 kilometers, as I sit here typing this post, with my feet all bandaged up safely for the night, I sit back thinking about the night I sprained my ankle!

I was at a friend's room in Boys Wing helping out another friend check his camera batteries when all of a sudden we heard a low rumble. Robert, sat up from the bed "E.. E... chu chu!". I listened to the low rumble as I whispered "Lirnghing". My voice suddenly all little and squeaky. A few seconds later, the air-cooler started shaking furiously. I held on to the friend sitting next to me and squealed "Engkim, Engkim, Engkim" grabbing his wrist, somehow hoping the tremor would stop.

It didn't!

My first instinct,then, was to hide under his bed, then I remembered promptly that parcels and an extra bedding fit snugly there. Then after looking around and not finding a pillar to stand under, I rushed towards the door hoping to stand under it. (Aunty Nimri taught me that in Shillong where we had earthquakes every few months. Pillars, Doors and under beds and tables). But when I opened the door, all hell broke loose.

Half-naked men of all color, shapes and sizes, running out, some screaming, some shouting, some even squealing. I can still clearly recall Wangjin, a self proclaimed Naga 'warrior' from next door, looking around, panicking and suddenly rushing for the staircase.

I did the same.

I didn't remember much, but I clearly remembered pushing and shoving those screaming men and pinching Wangjin's back when he slowed down to run down the stairs. Someone pushed me from the back and before I could fall, I jumped down a flight of stairs. A rough landing, but I quickly stood up straight and ran for the lobby and out into the night.

It was all crowded outside. I found that Robert and Engkima were just behind me while I slowly registered that my ankle hurts. Robert, an UCC graduate, was used to earthquakes, I figured, until he told me he left his phone and both our cameras in the room. Engkima also told me that he ran out leaving the door wide open. I was tweeting about the earthquake and friends started tweeting back about the epicentre and the magnitude when I suddenly looked at a guy standing next to me. I laughed. He stood there. With boxers. And a pillow!!!

I remembered when there was an earthquake a couple of years back. I don't remember the date, but I remembered it was winter and I remember the stories. I remember a friend running out with a shawl, grasping her laptop under it. She was on the verge of paper submissions and she wasn't letting anything lest of all, an earthquake get in her way. A guy from a certain hostel ran out clad only in his underpants and a suitcase. He was leaving for America and his paper works were in his suitcase. I recalled a girl in our wing having a panic attack and breathing into a paper bag. But in every co-ed hostels in our campus, the Boys' Wing were emptied much faster than the Girls' Wing. I remembered how eerie and quiet the Wing felt after everyone ran out. I also remembered heading towards Engkima's room that night, no longer wanting to sleep alone in my room!

When there was an earthquake sometime ago back home, I heard of stories that even people in churches ran out mid-service during the tremor. I also heard people's remark "An piangthar lo ami le?" Which was the same remark I got from a certain friend after running out and spraining my ankle during the tremor. Which got me thinking....

If you were attacked by a madman with a knife on the streets. You would run away from him. No matter how secure your spiritual life is, you would never run to that man with open arms, looking to heaven and sighing "Lalpa, Ka lo haw".

Reflexes! Survival Instincts! That was what made me run, what made all those naked men run, what made the Naga 'warrior' run and what made those people run out from church mid-service. The same would make me run from that madman with a knife on the streets, scream for help or act in self defense.

Insanity would be what would make me run to him with open arms, not a secure spiritual life!

Still, I hoped that three nights ago, Engkima would somehow have the time to grab his laptop ( His instinct. He told me so), so that 5 minutes later we would have a good laugh out of him. But for now, I can sit back and laugh at my sprained ankle, my temporary souvenir for having a much too bold survival instinct. Jumping down a flight of stairs in a Boy's Wing?? Yep.. I call that Survival Instinct.

Of Weddings and Funerals.

2011-08-30T11:56:00.003+05:30

Overheard in a certain girl's hostel room at a certain University.

" For my wedding, I want it to be a small affair with only close friends and family. I want it to be held at some resort not necessarily the..."

"Oh Please!! As if that's ever gonna happen in a society like ours"

Rude interruption to cut off a blissful dreamlike wish!

The rude girl was me. Excuse my language. But I stopped dreaming a long time ago. Not about weddings but about small affairs.

I wasn't always like this though!

For a long time, I didn't find the need to send wedding invites to 'removed' people like my Dad's high school friend or my aunt's husband's family. I would complain with the pile of wedding invites when cousin's get married. It didn't make sense to me why people who knew me only as my Dad's daughter should be invited to my wedding. Well, for starters, it's MY wedding and not my Dad's. I didn't find the need to send out wedding invites to people I know are not attending or the need to kill so many animals for my wedding feast (I'm a carnivore turned non-vegetarian!).

The idea of me wearing a white gown and white shoes didn't sound appealing at all. Or the fact that I have to be all prim, no smiles, no laughter, all serious for the ceremony. Why can't my dad walk me down the aisle instead of my brother?? Why can't I flash a smile at the man waiting at the altar??? Or why is it inappropriate to have fun, sing or dance at my own wedding reception?? Why can't it be only close family and friends for my wedding?? Why Why??

The funeral I went to last month was an exceptionally sad one. A young woman of 30 years died in her rented place in Munirka, Delhi. She had been sick for a long period and lack of treatment and negligence seemed to be the main cause of the demise. And no one knew about her. No friends, no family. The most painful thing was that there was hardly anyone who could come forward to talk about her life (or her death) during the service. The person who came forward to talk was an old friend of her mother who haven't even met the girl in person yet! As we sit there after the service, we questioned one another if they knew anything about anything at all. There were so many questions yet no answers.

Which got me thinking....

When my mother passed away 8 years back, people we don't even know pop up from everywhere. People who knew her when she was a child, people who went to school with her, people who knew her family, people who knew her kids, her husband, people who were vaguely associated with her. Half the people who cried with me and half the people who held me and prayed for me were people whose names I don't know. And later as I rearranged the flowers and the puans, I have to call my dad and asked who send them because I didn't know the person whose name was on the cards. To see so many 'removed' people care for me and my family, moved me immensely.

If I have to pick only one thing I love about being a Mizo. It would be funerals. Hands down! I speak from experience when I say that having people mourn with you, friends and acquaintances who show up out of the blue to be there for you at a loved one's funeral gives you comfort that words can't describe.

The comfort that I felt at my Ma's funeral echoed through the years. Here in Delhi, everytime I receive an SMS telling me that someone passed away, I always make it a point to be there for the service and for the night. It doesn't matter who the person is. Being there is the least I could do to give back. And I am at peace when I give back.

Now everytime I think about how many people I want for my wedding, I also think about how many people would be there for my funeral. Everytime I think about all the 'removed' people I have to list down as my wedding invitees, I think of all the 'removed' people who will show up at my funeral because I am a daughter of an old high school friend.

I admit, I still want to go offbeat for my wedding. (If there ever comes a day) I'll wear green shoes for the ceremony and keds for the photo-shoot. I would be more of a laughing bride than a shy smiling bride. I'll wink at the man standing at the altar, say my vows loud enough for the whole church to hear (what's the use of the witnesses if you just whisper your vows?) and scream "I'm married" right after we walk out the door. OK! Maybe that's a bit too much. But one thing I would go strictly traditional with would be the guest list. But I'll leave that to my uncles who always do the job of combing through every locality, every street, every town, every city and every village to find families, friends and acquaintances who should be send the wedding invite. It won't make my day to see animals slaughtered for the wedding feast. But let's face it, people are more important than animals. And I'll safely turn my blindside to it! Sorry PETA!!

Call me a conformist but if people I hardly know, are graceful enough to be there on the saddest, loneliest day of my life, I would be too selfish of a person to leave them out on my happiest day!! And I am sure this would be one privilege I wouldn't enjoy had I been born out of this colorful, compassionate tribal community that I love.

You may say that there is no intimacy and less privacy in such events, but there is definitely more compassion and more self-sacrifice. I hope to have a big fat Mizo wedding and I pray that I will also have the Mizo funeral. And once again, I am proud to be born and to live life as a Mizo!!

Hairy Tales: Of men and hair!

2011-08-25T23:47:00.003+05:30

Ah!! My second post about hair! How long has it been since my first post ?? And I thought I was someone who hardly cared about the hair.

A few months ago, when I got myself a bob-cut from my shoulder length hair, the boyfriend threw a fit and went home without dropping me back to campus. And as stubborn as I am, I went ahead and got another trim just a few weeks back. Boyfriend refused to talk to me. For a while.

My comeback??

"I'll grow my hair till it grows out as long as Lalsangzuali's hair if you'd buy me every shampoo satchet, every dollop of conditioner, every scoop of hair mask and every drop of hair oil".

Sheesh... I don't take care of my hair that much. It's just that I'm too stubborn and I never go down without a fight. I also ,somehow, always add a sting of "outdated mindset" every time he talks about how he wished I'd grow out my hair.

Honestly speaking, I don't know what is the deal with men and long hair?? Like taking the boyfriend for example. He likes my neglected dried-out long strands rather then my short nourished bob!!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not against long lustrous hair. In fact, from aged 9 through 18, I always kept long hair. It all started with the day when my Ma caught me in fight with one of the boys while playing football. I was 9 and barely knew I was a girl. My Ma later told me that somehow, she hoped, growing out my hair and forcing me to wear dresses and skirts would make me more feminine. Did it? I don't know. Honestly. I am no lady today. But boys no longer end up with torn shirts after having a fight with me.

So my decade of wearing long hair came to an end when I chopped it off up to my ears during Secondary school. Well, I couldn't go through the trouble of making twin braids every morning as per the school uniform. And my thick steel-wooly hair wouldn't co-operate with my braids. My Ma almost fainted when she saw me that winter. She was so quick to buy me decorative hairpins and what nots. Sometimes, I feel I disappointed my Ma in some way. God only knows what trouble she went through, trying to reform her tomboy daughter, her only daughter into a little lady!!

If I had long lustrous hair like my roommate has, I would have kept it. I would have styled it differently everyday and sometimes go wavy, curly or straight. I would've had fun with my lustrous locks. But Alas! that's one blessing that skipped me. And my dry damaged hair is just too much to handle in the Delhi heat. Besides, the shorter the hair, the lesser the hassle.

And any ways, it's not always the hair that makes the lady! Or is it??

It's amazing how a hair cut can spurn out new names for you.

"Zual-hana" straight from "Rihanna" when I first went for the bob.

When a friend called me a Victoria Beckham wannabe, I retorted that I was aiming gradually for the Anne Lennox shave!!

And a particularly bold and creatively wicked friend posted a picture of HE-MAN on my Facebook wall, silently suggesting that my haircut looks like his'; which without missing a beat, caught on like wildfire among my choir circle!! If a deep "Hey He-man" came from the bass line during choir practice, I'd have to turn over from my contralto line before they become into chants. I usually just laughed and played along with it. But Becky my friend cum hairdresser cum hair stylist was very insulted by the last comment. Who wouldn't be??

The Hair Transformation during 10 months time. The third pic is the 'Zual-hanna" look; the rightmost, my famous supposedly 'He-man' hair!! I don't think I look powerful enough to have the 'power of the GreySkull'

Strings of "Why did you cut your hair?" followed me when I went home in summer. And I noticed it all came from the male relatives. After a dozen round of the same questions, I got tired of being polite. If ever the same question repeats itself, I'd grunt "Because I want to."

But last resort happened when I was travelling in South Mizoram this summer.

In the little village of Sangau, down south, an old family friend who saw me for the first time since I chopped my locks, gave me a long hard look. I smiled at him sheepishly expecting another round of "Why did you cut your hair?". He then asked me to sit next to him and then to turn around. I did.

Then he said to me " Hmanah khan i sam hi tinge ti hian i cut daih loh? Tihian i inhmeh ber anih hi !"

I am not a hugger. Especially with older people I'm not very close with.

But I laughed and gave that old man a BIG bear hug.

Ka Nu, I tan...

2011-08-17T00:45:00.004+05:30

Ka Nu...

I haven't used that word in a long long time.

Eight years ago, on this day, my mother succumbed to cancer. No one allowed her to go even though she's been sick for six whole months. And we all knew that the dreaded day would come. It was a rainy foggy Sunday night. Church-goers were returning from the evening services and their chatter could be heard with the sound of the rain from the bedroom where she lay. She was tired of sleeping, my dad held her up on the bed. She smiled and said she liked it and then she told my dad she'd go! And she went... without a fight, without tears, without hesitation.

That afternoon, I sat quietly at a church in Shillong listening to a sermon on John 15:1-6. Pruning had been the topic. I remembered telling myself that, that time was the pruning phase in my life with my mother's sickness and all the problems that we've had within the family. I also remembered telling myself that the painful part will soon be over when new leaves start budding with new life. Little did I know how my 'pruning' would go!! After church service, my hostel bus went for a joyride at Golf Link. I stared at the setting sun for quite some time, feeling as if I've lost something great. A friend of mine, knowing my family situation and seeing my empty eyes, asked me if I wanted to pray. We did, in the meadows.

4 hours later, I received the phone call.

My 11 hour journey from Shillong to Aizawl for my Ma's funeral is another story in itself. A story, sometimes, too painful for me to retell.

However, this post is not about me reliving that painful day when I have to bury the woman who meant the world to me. This is about me attempting to pay homage to her memory.

If ever there was a life abundantly lived, it would have been my mother's. I learnt a lot of things from my mother's short yet abundant life.If I even try to list half the things I learnt from her or how much she meant to me, this post would have no end.

My Ma was no fancy woman. The only gold ornament she ever possessed in her lifetime was her wedding band. She never walked in expensive shoes or dressed fancy. She might have wanted to, she's also human, but she never did. She was one of the few women who kept others before themselves; one of the few who learnt that there's more to life than just loving, indulging and pampering oneself. I know that my Ma's no perfect woman. But here was a woman who lived such a full life that she helped prepare and plan out her funeral and stitched the cover of her very own coffin. My Ma, even on the valley of the shadow of death, walked with such grace and courage. Knowing her, I couldn't help but say, she's the closest a human can get to being the Proverbs 31 woman.

I hope to be like my Ma someday. Of course, I know I will never stand up to her. But trying doesn't hurt.

If these years of living without a mother taught me one thing, it's this: There will never come a day, when I'm old enough or matured enough to not long for a touch of her hand, the scent of her skin and the sound of her voice. In fact, I would give the world to hear her call my name just one more time.

Eight years ago, I stood by a window, rain fogging up the glass as I looked towards the cemetery where my mother had just been buried. I can still feel my heart breaking while realizing that I can't shield her from the rain and from the cold earth that enveloped her. I remembered opening her wardrobe and taking her scent in, wishing there was a way I could capture and keep that scent from fading. I remembered lying awake at night, thinking about her lying all alone in the cold, wet earth wishing I could do something to keep her warm. I remembered that feeling of utter desolation, of magnificent pain and gruesome loneliness. That night I made a promise to myself. And through these years, I've always reminded myself of that promise lest I succumb to the pain and loneliness.

Today, I make that promise once again.

Nu, I promise to always cherish your memory without forgetting how to live on...

Thantluangi Zathang (1952 - 2003)

Breaking Bad Habits - Snippets from an Old Journal.

2011-08-15T01:25:00.001+05:30

Don't get me wrong, but I used to find it cliche when people back home write about songs with paragraphs on their life and experiences. Well, guess what?? Cliche paid me an essential visit recently! I was going through an old journal from college when I came across this song lyric.

As I traced a finger across the tear stained letters, I remembered exactly how painful those days were. I read the lyrics and I smiled. I didn't even know the title of the song then. I heard the song from a friend's mp3 jumble and I took the pains to write out the lyrics in my journal. With my mind still hazy from the bittersweet memories, I googled the lyrics. And this is what I found.

Breaking Bad Habits - Amy Kuney

I'm starting over

All by myself

I've gotten sober

And I'm getting help

Now I didn't plan this

Oh I want you to know

I'm just breaking bad habits

You're the first one to go

My new year's resolution

Didn't last long

I tried to quit you

I suffered withdrawals

Now I didn't plan this

Oh I want you to know

I'm just breaking bad habits

You're the first one to go

Never thought I would get so damn dependent

To ask your permission to breathe

Coffee and cigarettes cannot replace you

Cause I've got you like a disease

When will I ever be free?

You and I

Were long overdue

No more spending my life

Depending on you

Now I didn't plan this

Oh I want you to know

I'm just breaking bad habits

You're the first one to go

Now I didnt plan this

Oh I want you to know

I'm just breaking bad habits

You're the first one to go

As I listened to the song on Youtube, I realized I still get teary eyed from it. The power of a song!!

Falling in love and nursing my bruises caused by the fall was one major topic in every other entry in my old journal. Now I read the lines and I smile, remembering how painful it was. When you're eighteen and you fall for a guy, a perfect gentleman, you put him on a pedestal and think that there is no one else in the world that could be as perfect as him!

Gosh, I wish I could look at a guy, any guy, with such admiration again !!

Alas!! I’m ‘wisened’ over the years!

It was falling in love that made me feel the first pang of inferiority complex!

“I always knew I was never good enough for him! For the first time in my life, looking like my Ma isn’t enough. I wish I could look better! Why didn't i inherit my grandma's fair skin and my Dad's charm?? Why do I have to be the ugly one when I'm the only sister? I'm tired of chanting 'Life's unfair'... but yes, tonight, I'll chant just once more time. LIFE'S UNFAIR!!”

I laughed out as I read this! Now, I wouldn’t trade my looks for the world and absolutely not for the attention of a man. Looking like my Ma, having her eyes and her smile is much more important to me than looking “better”. And I hope my children and my children’s children have my eyes and my smile! My niece has my chin… and I love her to bits! And I definitely don’t want her to look ‘better’!!

Well, opinions do change over the years!

The heartbreak at the end of the fall….

“I shook the whole day today. The pain is magnificent. There are no tears left. There’s none left for me and my self-pity”

The reconciliation, which came after years…

“I’ve finally realized that this chapter of my life is closed. And now, I have a new chapter to write, the pages blank and inviting. For the first time since long, I’m glad that I wrote and finished the chapter which somehow helped me grow. I’m sure I’ll always come back here for reference. It was painful yes, but it was way too beautiful to be a mistake. No, it was not a mistake!”

I know how much it hurts back then, but later when you look back at it, who could resist such a good heartbreak? I'm also aware that I can look back and be mesmerized by it only because I've gotten over the heartbreak!!

Which reminds me of Rachel Berry's line from Glee

"That was amazing, I'm speechless. I just had a relationship with a guy who turned out to be gay. That is songwriting gold!"

Well, I'm not a songwriter. Yet. But a good heartbreak always makes a good, memorable and captivating topic to write, talk or recall !!

Wotsay you??? Hit any 'songwriting gold' yet?? I guessed I already did when I went through my old journal.

Thank God for Heartbreaks!

Finally! :)

Jumble from Summer in Mizoram...

2011-08-03T15:32:00.001+05:30

I was home for a month and a half during the summer. I went home after two whole years of being away in the sweltering Delhi heat, and I must admit, during the two years, I have partly forgotten how to miss my family! (Sheeesh!! So much for being the fanu neihchhun!! ). I was home at Aizawl for a month, I spend 11 days travelling south, had my taste of an 'Aizawl wedding' where I had fun seeing people overdress (Facebook Albums just don't lie!!) and met a dozen new cousins, nephews and nieces who were born during my two vagabond years.

I must admit, I was a babysitter/nanny/cook/housemaid/PS/PA to dad/ housekeeper during my month at home. And I loved every single moment of it, down to the moment when I have to scrape ar ek from the chicken coop or when I have to help my brothers with their stint in woodcutting. I realized how much I missed being home and taking care of it. I had slumber parties with my nieces and all of our dolls, watch my youngest niece's toothless smile turn into a two-teeth-smile and went through 10 year old letters from high school! Ah! Nostalgia!

They spend half the night rearranging the dolls and the other half kicking me in their sleep!

I'm all for Green Mizoram. But the tree on our upper slope got too big and too dangerous for Monsoon. Hence we cut down the branches. Made a huge mess in the terrace too!

Social life in Aizawl?? I have no social life in Aizawl. I went to funerals in my locality with my aunt and condolence services with my dad. I must admit, I feel extremely awkward at church. The few handful (unmarried) people I know were already youth leaders and are already too busy with meetings and other duties to be in the same pace with me. I decided to go to choir practice but I was told that the choir was a closed group! :( SAD!! So I went to church with my dad and left with him! I spend my Sunday afternoons visiting families of relatives who passed away while I was away. Of course, half the time, my dad went with me. So basically, my dad was my partner during my month in Aizawl. Hey!! I'm not complaining, I don't know how long will I continue to be daddy's girl. **wink**

I took my baby brother out for shopping twice. And half the time people looked at me as if I'm taking my 'boy-toy' for shopping. A lady at one shop asked me 'In pa ta tur hi ami?'. My brother and I, we looked anything but siblings. He's tall, broad, handsome and fair and I am otherwise! :D I must say Hutea brings out his child-likeness when he's with me. And most of the time, he'll be all over me, hugging me, grabbing my shoulders or my hands even in public. Can't really blame him, he's the youngest in the family and was only 15 when Mum passed away. And I have been a 'mother-figure' to him since then. Well, what term else would you use when a 23 year old engineer came to you, almost in tears, asking you to give him a head-bath because he couldn't get rid of his dandruff!!!!! And him calling me Seni without a 'U' didn't help identifying that he's my brother.

This summer I had the amazing experience of witnessing chickens (and quails) hatching from the eggs. It might sound weird, but I felt so maternal watching the eggs crack open while chicks and quail-chicks(??) kick their way out into the world. I felt as if I witness the miracle of birth. My big brother bought himself a digital incubator when he came home from Brighton. Believe me, the ar-pawm veteran took great pride in his machine! The machine worked well and during my stay, we incubated three batches of eggs. The night before I left, it was hatching time for the batch of quail eggs. We hardly slept that night!

The phoren 'world-class' digital incubator with the quail eggs! I should learn how to cook quail before I go home again!

The first-born just a few minutes old!!

The little fella after 4 hours!! FYI: Quails mature in a month! :D

I traveled south for 11 days and had the most amazing time meeting people, new and old. I stopped and stayed at 9 towns and villages partly for my fieldwork and partly because of the heck of wanting to travel. I met old grannies, whose language I could hardly understand. Sometimes, I'd need an interpreter. Its got to do with my rudimentary Lai and also with their seasoned-dialected Lai. The biology of language and the overwhelming generation gap!

I must admit, I also made the biggest mistake of asking men about colours for my fieldwork. The different colour charts I took with me didn't help at all.

My interview with Mr. Hmun Hre at the LADC office in Lawngtlai happened as such:

Me: Ok, what is 'red' in Lai

HH: A eng

Me: Isn't 'a eng' in Mizo called 'Aihre' in Lai??

HH: Yes. Seni!!! Where did you learn that?

Me: Oh! I speak Lai too! **Grin** Then what about the colour of oranges?

HH: Yes, that's a eng

Me: You mean 'aihre'??

HH: Yes, aihre.

Me: Then what about this colour? (I showed him a green leaf. Leaf green, not lime green or flourescent green)

HH: That is also a eng.

?????????????????????????????????????

Believe me he wasn't the only one. Another man I met at Sangau stated 'a sen' to every single colour I pointed except for black and white. Yet another man from Lawngtlai admitted openly that blue and green all looks green to him. Maybe a case of blue-green colour blindness for him? But for the others, I don't know!! I just don't know!!

My lowest of low moments during my summer was at Lengpui airport where I got into a hassle with an airline ground staff (Another namesake, sadly!!) who asked me to weigh my handbag 'since it's a cabin baggage'!!!! My first time in my 26 years of life. And it had to happen at Lengpui airport. And that little imp had to use her 'accented' English even when talked to in Mizo. But weighing a handbag where I had my netbook, a book and a few toiletries never happened at any other airport before. I wanted to ask her if I should also weigh myself since I was also going in the aircraft. I'll make sure I never fly in that airline again. Cause' if I run into her again, the vampire in me might just awake, 'tear her into pieces and wear her ribcage as a hat'!! ( Lorena of True Blood talking!)

Well, that's a bad tone to end my Summer at home!! Isn't it??? Well, what can I say?? Summers end in autumns too!! Just the law of nature! And I'm just a part of it! **GRIN**

Now and Then: Torn Jeans vs. Torn School Socks!

2011-05-10T00:12:00.000+05:30

It's a blue monday today. To chase the blues away, a friend of mine and I decided to go flea market shopping! Armed with multiple layers of sunscreen, full sleeved shirt (lest I get sunburnt), a ninja scarf for protection against dust and my favourite pair of comfy jeans, we headed out. And as I got out of the auto, I heard a rip, felt a breeze and looked down to a 3 inch inverted L tore right on my upper outer thigh!!! The auto driver and a couple of shoppers nearby looked at me and giggled. While the car driver on whose number plates my pants tore, looked on, slightly amused with my exposed patch of skin and my clumsy walk while trying to hide the tear.

There was no way I was going back. For this will be my last Monday Sale shopping for the next three months. Well, I couldn't shop with a huge gash on my jeans either. So guess how I rocked the look.

Wonder if it'll set off the metal detector??!

OooooOO... nasty!

Safety pins to the rescue!!!! All five of them!! And needless to say, I roamed around in the market for five whole hours. And I must say, I have never felt more confident haggling and walking away if the price wouldn't come down to what I bargained for. But by the time I came back with a huge plastic bagful of clothes and 30+ neck pieces (Yes, 30+ !!!), I thought back to then ....

I was fresh in high school just getting used to my knee-covering skirt, border striped green socks and to using our classrooms as rabbit holes. I was still at that age when I'd look down when I pass a senior in the corridor and run away just even when I feel a senior's eyes on me. One fine day, during a morning break, I was on my way down the stairs when a group of Class 12 boys was heading up. I quickly hopped to the side to give them way when a small loose wire near the stairs caught my socks. I heard a rip and the next thing I knew, my knee length socks were down my ankles. To make matters worse, those boys haven't passed me yet. One of them offered to help but I was so close to tears I couldn't even accept the help. When I reached my classroom, I was so embarrassed that I cried for two whole periods. My friends, as soon as lunch break came, ran down to the school stationary to buy me a fresh pair of socks. While a classmate and I switch seats because my swollen eyes were too visible as I was in the front row!

Now and Then! Huh?????

Who would have known, the girl who cried for over an hour because of torn socks would run around a busy market with a safety pin cluster on her torn pants?!!

And it took only 12 years.

Wait, 12 years???!!! I was in high school 12 years ago? No wonder, the torn pants didn't bother me much!! What can I say? Enjoying accidents are just one of the many perks of ~~getting old~~ maturity! And blogging about them are again, just one of the many symptoms of uber-confidence!!

Wait!!! Does confidence come with age too??!!

Sleepless Nights and Long (Lost) Loves!

2011-05-07T05:06:00.001+05:30

Recently I downloaded an old movie "Practical Magic" for the only and sole purpose of drowning myself in these lines...

"Sometimes I feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there's a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing... I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don't know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don't want to believe it but, there is no man, Gilly. Only that moon. "

I was once accused of being an 'emotional masochist'. That was a long time ago, yet I believe that accusation is still valid. And on hot sleepless summer nights, the masochist comes out to play, plunging bittersweet memories into my heart. Of long lost loves and a love that never was! I will never admit to being a fool during my youth. In college my grades were always consistently good, I never dabbled with drugs, never smoked and didn't even know what alcohol tasted like. I never fooled around, always kept a physically safe distance from the opposite sex and always 'saved' myself for the right one when he would come along. But I admit, I broke a few hearts and got mine broken really badly that it took years to heal. What goes around comes around ey?

And as the gentle night breeze blows on my lacy curtains, I stare at the shadows and knowing full well the regrets that I will have even before the night is over, I tread down on memory lanes that I often don't have the strength to take even a step on.

There will always be that guy, that one guy who liked you before he met you in person, before you grew out of the awkward composure and the acne infested forehead. That one guy who shifted his school so that he could be in the same city as you are. That one guy who told your cousin after three years, "Seni's never gonna like me, Is she? I've done everything I could but please tell me what to do next". Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the affection. But I hated myself for chewing my nails and staying quiet instead because somehow even my stupid heart knew that such a guy with such a devotion deserved much more than pity... which was, Alas, the only emotion I could gather for him!

Then again, there is that guy whom you just clicked with. When you are together, CHEMISTRY's in motion. That guy who was one of your punch-buddies and that one person who laughed with you and held you when you cry. That only guy you could sing your heart out with and never get scared of a criticism because he pretends to believe you have a 'good' voice. Yet, you remained quiet and never revealed what you really felt because you know that your inter-cultural background will pose problems in the next stage and in the long run. Friendship was all you showed each other. You stayed friends and parted as friends, as good friends with no hard feelings. Yet, years later when you look at his wedding invite on Facebook, you feel empty... and happy, altogether at the same time. And you're surprised with how deep a place that person still has in your heart, and you realized, all at the same time, the deep sorrow yet inner peace you had in letting such a special person go! My Love that never was!

Then of course, there will always be that one guy who pales out the rest. The one guy you worshiped. That only guy you put in a pedestal only to come crashing down and taking your heart along with his fall. That hurt that was so bad that you expected not to wake up the next morning. That pain that you thought will follow you for the rest of your life. Yet, you struggled on your feet and got your pace back on. And in spite of all that happened, some of the principles and values he taught you are the very things you live by till today. And years later, you bump across him online and you are comforted to know that he still has respect and good thoughts for you!!

Your thoughts finally hop on to the Unlost Love. The one who stood by you now. You are aware of the petty fights and the misunderstandings you both have. Your differences which often pushed you on the verge of a breakup, your difficulty in compromising which often ends up hurting you both. Yet, through it all, you stick together and you chose to be together. Because you both know that what you have is worth holding on to. And because in spite of all your differences and the times that you hurt each other, you know that at the end of the day, he is the one person who will always be loyal to you. And because you also know that the strength of a relationship lies not on how less you fight but on how well you patch up after each single fight!

And as the shadows turn to grey which fade in the morning light, I rolled over, hugged my cover sheet and remind myself to be grateful for the loves in my life, lost and unlost. For each love taught me a lesson, each different from the other yet each as equally important. Each love took his part in shaping me and moulding me into the person that I am today. And I'd say, they didn't do a bad job!! :D

I thank God for sleepless nights!

Lest I hardly have time to look back and cherish my long lost loves

Lest I forget to admire and adore my Unlost One!

Sleepless Nights remind me to be grateful for what I have and what I've lost! They gave me time to count my blessings and renew my tired and numb heart to continue falling and growing in love with my Unlost Love!

The Singing Mizo

2011-04-25T01:22:00.002+05:30

Recently, after coming late from a funeral, I sat quietly and suddenly blurted out to my roommate.

"No wonder Mizo's sing well. We sing at weddings, funerals and every single social meeting. We literally sing every time we meet!"

My roomate shrugged " Really? "

I got all excited. "Especially when we wait overnights for funerals, we sing through the whole night!"

She looked up from her laptop, quizzed her brows, " Really?? I thought you guys just sat there quietly, you know, with the dead body and all."

And she sounded more appropriate. Staying overnight with a dead body with the youth singing the whole night?? It seems more like a celebration.

A friend of mine once joked about how we, Mizos wish and greet each other. A handshake for each and every occasion, be it good or bad. It doesn't matter if it's a wedding or a funeral, a handshake is appropriate for every single occasion. I remembered my dad greeting me with a handshake when I went home for my mother's funeral. He also greeted me with a handshake when we met after I finished my master's degree. I, on the other hand, greeted an old friend whom I haven't met since high school, when I met him at his sis-in-laws funeral recently. So I thought, maybe, it's the same case with singing. We sing when we're sad, when we're happy, when we are in love, when we fall out of it, we sing when we meet, we sing when we part, we sing pretty much all the time. The Mizo life looks like one big musical. No wonder we are known for our singing! And it doesn't matter if we're mediocre at it.

But of course, there will always be exceptions like a close friend of mine who once declared "Zai hi chu Pathianin min kohna ani lo tih ka chiang e". And true to his words, I have never heard him hit a right note with a single song. And yet, that doesn't stop him from participating in the choir occasionally. Wait, I believe he lip-syncs with the choir!! He doesn't attract stares that way. Sometimes, I wish it could be the same when he sings off key at funerals and get-togethers. What can I say? He is a Mizo, just born with the wrong vocal cords!!

And tonight, as I punched these words into my keyboard, I don't even feel like talking to my roommate. Why? Because, today is an Easter Sunday and I just got back from a series of services filled with singing, singing and more singing. Just the church service had four different choirs, including the children's choir. And I had to go and be part of three of them. I know, I just sound overboard. But let me confess, I'm a Mizo. **Read: I love singing**.

And to sign off, here follows a picture taken a few years back from an Easter service here in Delhi. It has been doing it's rounds in Facebook for a couple of years now! Now that is what I call "The Singing Mizos."

Competing with a yawning Hippo????

Can't you just adore her?

2011-04-19T00:24:00.001+05:30

A song by Mandy Moore goes like this...

She likes chocolate in the morning

She drinks her coffee late at night
You can sense that she is guarded
But that's alright
She'll fall asleep while your still talking
With unfinished books beside her bed
She'll cancel all of her appointments
And go shopping instead

And in spite of what is right

Far beyond what she'd except
When the moon begs the question
Will you have the answer yet?
Can't you just adore her?
Can't you just adore her?

She loves to watch the sunset
But she is partial to the rain
With those tears and that umbrella
Her allure goes unexplained
You made dinner in your apartment
You both assume that she'll be late
She always has the best intentions
Her goodness is innate

And in spite of what is right
Far beyond what she'd except
When the moon begs the question
Will you have the answer yet
Can't you just adore her?
Can't you just adore her?
Why can't you just adore her?

I like chocolate in the morning
I drink my coffee late at night

The first time I listened to this song, I thought I could be the woman that the song talks about. And needless to say, I fell in love with it.

But today, as I listened to this song while attempting to cook chicken in my uncle's hole of a room, a friend of mine popped into my head. Our very own Mapuii whom we lovingly christened 'Lalgo-i' just because she's exactly the woman that the song talks about. Yes! precisely to the 'innate goodness' and the 'unfinished books beside her bed' bit. And it's surprising how different she and I are, in our own little worlds, when the song could talk about both of us with all of our uncanny nature. It kept me shifting my thoughts to another friend to yet another friend. I soon realized that this song fits for every single one of us.

So, this song is for all the less-than-perfect women who somehow always have the best intentions in their hearts. These women and I, with our clumsiness and our imperfect nature, deserved to be loved and adored just the way we are! Yes, with flawed bodies and all!!

And so the question remains...

O Sons of Adam, can't you just adore Her?

From the mouth of babes.

2011-04-14T23:54:00.000+05:30

I've always been a fan of kids ever since I was 11. Why? At that age, I would bathe, clean up, feed (with a bottle, dum dum!), dress and put my new born cousin to sleep while my aunt was recovering from child birth. And that baby cousin just passed his Matriculation. Sigh!!!. Aunts would call me over to babysit my infant cousins whenever I have school holidays. In fact I was so booked that my mother would complain about me staying with my aunts to babysit. Then, a day finally came when she wouldn't allow me to go stay over at my aunts. With a firm "No" she added, "You are my only daughter and I will not allow you to look like your aunts' awmpui."

The fascination with caretaking babies and young kids stayed intact through the years. I was usually the cousin sister that my younger cousins would look up to. There was a time when two of my kid cousins were such big fans that they'd come over every single day. When questioned why, they'd answer "U Seni bulah chuan thil kan ei deuh reng a, kan zai deuh reng bawk a". These lovely boys would be my bodyguard when I was preparing for my 12th exams. They'd stand guard at my door for hours and hours with their toy guns lest 'misualhovin an tibuai palh ang'.

My interest with kids grew as I began teaching in Sunday School during my first year in college at Shillong. I loved my first and second batch of 8 year olds and my batch of 14 year olds I taught when I was in Final year.

My favorite and most cherished summer during college was when I and two close friends went to teach at a mission school which a friend of ours headed. This little mission school was situated in a little Bodo village called Patkijuli at the Indo-Bhutan border. In fact, Bhutan was so close that the border gate was just 15 minutes walk from the school. I had a great time teaching primary kids English Grammar, Cursive writing and Social Sciences. It was interesting and also a challenge teaching these kids who would say

"Miss, pencil me no hab"

"Miss, book me no bring"

"Miss, Toilet please to go"

After a month, we had to leave. I cried while doing so. I don't know to what extent or if I've helped them at all, but my summer with the children at that school did help me find my passion... teaching young kids.

After I came to Delhi to pursue a Master's degree, I shamelessly asked a friend who taught in Sunday School if I could also do the same. I was welcomed and it was one shameful thing I've asked which I sure don't regret till today.

If you'd ask me why, my Sunday School kids are those who kept me sane through my M.Phil years. They are my best stress-buster weekends and the reason I keep control of myself. They keep me in check and I make sure I don't let go of myself and am always level headed because I know that I have to be a role model for my 50 kids in Sunday School. Teaching them had me make sure that I don't stray far from the Bible, keep my spirituality intact and tread my everyday with careful steps.

There are times when parents would come up to me and thank me for taking care of their kids. Then I'd be humbled. Because I, in return, learn so much from these kids.

And I tell you teaching in Sunday School comes with its perks. Because of the mouth of babes...

A teacher in Primary Dept. once asked a student who is the most beautiful person in the world. That kid quipped "U Zuali" without batting an eyelid. This same kid always made sure I join his siblings' outing at the zoo or the park. And his kid brother tells his family that U Zuali is his Chhianpa. There is this cute chubby girl in Beginners Dept. who always shares her lipgloss with me 'cause she doesn't like it when my lips are dry. This same kid tells me I look good in white. And nothing in this world would boost your confidence and self esteem more than the compliment of a 6 year old who, with her round eyes and out-of-breath tiny voice, tells you are 'the kindest and prettiest big girl ever'.

It's been four years since I've started teaching in Sunday School here in Delhi. And I've realized, I've watched my kids grow through my FB albums. But I still find joy each time I step foot into the Sunday School Hall after a long hard week, to these kids who waved at me, giving me their toothless smiles or sharing their latest Justin Bieber crush with me. My heart warms each time the 6 year old Ruati thrusts yet another new lipgloss in my hands; each time 3 year old Feli calls me Zuali instead of U Zuali; each time the 12 year old Hlui stands next to me to make sure she's already grown taller than me and each time the 14 year old Benjamin tells me that Barca FC had a late night match and makes him lose sleep.

Being with these kids gives me shelter, a comfort corner and a passion that my heart burns for! I hope I never forget and never let go of this one thing.

And to my wonderful mini-mentors...

I hope I always carry the innocence that you carry in your hearts,

The fascination with which you view the world through,

The zeal you renew each single morning,

The wonder you hold at each new thing learnt,

The grudge you never hold and

The excitement with which you face life every single day.

Old Soul still Young at Heart!!

2011-04-12T14:45:00.000+05:30

Four years ago, my conversation with people I met in campus usually starts like this...

"So, your centre?"

"Linguistics"

"Which Semester?"

"Second"

"So, how's Coursework?"

"Coursework?"

"Oh! Sorry. Your synopsis?"

"Synopsis?"

"Aren't you in PhD??"

"No!!!"

"MPhil?"

"NO!!"

"You can't be in MA!!??"

**He looked back and realized he was already talking to himself**

I know! It's not something getting pissed over. But it's not exactly the best thing when people assume you're in PhD when you've just started your Master's degree.

It's worse when apologies quickly follow with a hurried "But you're so matured". Eyes flickering.

"PREVARICATOR!!!" I'd scream. Silently.

I know, I know. I shouldn't be too hard on them. I was already under suspicion that I was an old soul ever since I passed out High School. A chirped "I rilru hi a hlui eee" from a very close friend was all it took to confirm my suspicions in college.

Looks wise, ever since high school, I have always been on the heavier side. And unfortunately, I inherited my paternal grandpa's dusky skin tone. Well, my grandpa, in his time, was known as the tall, dark, handsome youth in his village. And his two sons and I equally divided his epidermal qualities between us. My uncle is tall, my dad is handsome and I am ... dark. Sigh!! Genetics is just no friend of mine!

Hiding behind thick myopic glasses, pulled back hair and no makeup-look didn't do wonders in telling people your real age. Being in a friendship circle with an average age of 7 years+ your age didn't help either. So I guess, my seniors in campus who usually think I'm older, are justified in that way.

But hey! I am not that boring of an old soul either. I chatter, I chirp and I still am always ready to learn new things. Yes! My most recent pride is my conquest on riding a bicycle. And I sport battle scars to prove that I still don't give up. It still feels like butterflies when I see my man and also like the end of the world when I have a tiff with him. I can still talk for hours with my teenage Sunday School kids discussing about converse shoes and Justin Bieber. I still fight with them over Jacob Black and Edward Cullen. And yes! I've recently discovered Bruno Mars!! I will dance on a street if I feel like it and most of the time, I am still a late riser. Yep! Rising up late is a sign that your digits are still less. Aunty Jane of Tagore International School told me so.

But do I really need to prove myself that I am still young at heart?? Age is just but a number, right? I keep telling myself that.... or so!

But it doesn't hurt either when an old family friend I met after ages, asked me if I've graduated. When answered, he quipped "Really?? You still look like you're in college!"

Maybe he knows how to compliment a woman.
Maybe he's telling the truth.
Maybe it's my new haircut
Maybe it's my makeup with which I spend months to master
Maybe it's the way I carry myself
Or
Maybe he's just a plain old liar.

But it sure doesn't hurt! It sure just doesn't hurt!

Full Name Basis

2011-04-08T14:06:00.002+05:30

So I was on Facebook chat when all of a sudden, a chatbox popped up.

'Hmingthanzual'

'I dam em'

I realized my lips slowly curled up to smile. Full name basis!

We all know what it means to be on first name basis. But why is it so comforting for me to be in full name basis with someone?

It all goes back to green uniforms. Way back before Gatsby super hard gels. In our big classrooms with little furnitures, our teacher would call out our names just like the way we were officially named. And it caught on. Cause that's how we first came to know each other. On full name!

I finished high school with a majority of these people I called with full name. But after we graduated, we all moved on.

Fast forwarding to five years after high school, I came to Delhi to pursue a master's degree.

And suddenly, the 'Lalrinzuala' I used to share a lunch box in Second Grade was 'Mazuala'; the 'H. Lalnundiki' I used to sing with in Sunday School wouldn't turn untill you call her 'Madiki'. And 'Esther Vanlalruati' would sure get offended if I call her like that. Who's to blame, cause, there's no more 'Esther Sailo' who'd also look your way if you just use a first name!

Needless to say, there are a bunch of people I am on full name basis with. These are the people I've known since my first set of green uniforms and leaky lunch boxes (Was Tupperware in production then?). We all knew who cried the loudest at a teacher's cane, who lost bladder control at some point, who was the smart kid and who'd beat up a girl in class on a daily basis. We knew each other before we discovered make-up or hair gel, or the attraction with the opposite sex.

We knew each other during the awkward adolescence, when pimples and oily face was a plague, when boy bands were the center of our existence and back when the shape of our calves was the biggest problem in the world. We grew up knowing each others' imperfections and yet accepted and acknowledged each others' existence through the years.

We all know that there are some friends in life, who got seasoned with care, affection and good action. But I must say, nothing can beat friends who are but seasoned with time. And for me, those are my Full Name Basis people!

So when 'Robert Renthlei' messaged me on Facebook this morning, my mind clicked

'Robert Lalhruaikima' Of Kulikawn.

Lest I confuse him with 'Robert Lalchungnunga', another Robert I am on full name basis with!

Tiff...

2011-04-08T12:43:00.000+05:30

So after almost a month of internet problems with MTNL, I'm back.

What a relief! I've been spending the last four weeks on complaint phone calls which were entertained strictly verbally!! With busy weeks, synopsis preparation, badminton games, cycling lessons (Yes!! I've finally done it), choir practices for the upcoming Resurrection weekend, I hardly have the time to go bomb the MTNL office in person.

But a friend of mine taught me a trick.

So last evening, when I picked up the phone to complain (the third time in a day) I subtly expressed my 'desire' to cancel my connection.

VOILA!!!

A phone call came from the office even before I woke up this morning. And fifteen minutes later, my internet light blinked for the first time in weeks. And here I am, furiously typing away, happy to get connected yet mourning for the lost weeks!

I must never forget.... I live in India!

Futile Unrest, Fragile World.

2011-03-12T02:55:00.000+05:30

I got up late today.

Lately I've had a slight case of sleeping disorder which allows me to sleep at dawn and wake up at noon. Last night I slept a couple of hours after midnight but still ended up waking up late.

When I finally got up and checked my twitter updates, I was glued to it for the rest of the day.

While I slept the morning away, a little island nation in East Asia was going though its worst natural disaster. While I stretched, yawned and rolled over to snooze for another minute, buildings swayed, homes crumbled and lives were lost. While it was just another lazy morning for me, people in Japan had their most terrifying day.

As I surfed the net to look up pictures and videos of the tsunami that was caused by the quake, it somehow felt familiar. I've come across such scenes before: 30 feet high waves crashing in, homes and streets submerged in water, cars bobbing along the sea water that flooded the streets, fire breaking out everywhere, debris all over the town and cities. Yes, I've seen such scenes before. In theaters, on screen, on big budget Hollywood disaster movies.

Just never in real life.

And as I browsed more pictures, listened to reports and watched news channels, I keep telling myself "This can't be happening". I was shaken for the whole day. I prayed... continuously. There wasn't anything else I can do.

It makes me think of how fragile this world is; how much we accumulate everything as if we're going to live forever. The days that we spent, slogging for something that we know we can't keep forever. The futile unrest that we made for ourselves only to acquire things that can perish with the snap of a finger. The relationships that we sacrifice in want of a better material-tomorrow. Until that one fine spring afternoon when the whole world comes down. How futile is our wealth and how fragile is our world?? Unless we have the One who calms all the storm.

It also makes me wonder what if such a disaster hits my hometown?? My little city on the hill where big houses with bad foundations are perched on cliffs and rocks. I shook again. Violently. I thought about my own home, my family, the people I love most in the world. I stared at the crumbling buildings on my computer screen again. It could easily be them in such buildings, had even a slight quake happened at Aizawl.

I don't want to continue thinking about it.

So I switch my attention to Japan. My heart and my prayers go out to the people in Japan who are affected by the disaster. You have been through a lot before. And I am sure you will rise again! Prayers are with you always.

To Zuali...

2011-03-04T22:37:00.000+05:30

I know you can't quite read this yet. But one day when you do, you'll feel good to know that you are loved.

When you're dad called me up the day you were born, you were still cleaned and wrapped in the delivery room. Your dad laughed, "It's a girl again" he said. I could somehow sense the laced disappointment in the laughter. Don't blame him. He wanted a son ever since your eldest sister was born, but it doesn't mean he loves you lest.

Your two elder sisters were so excited that they could hardly speak to me when I called them up. "A Ni " they both squealed, " It's a little girl. We're gonna have a new playmate" . And though I am ecstatic for them, I somehow envy them in a way. I've always wanted to have a sister. Now don't get me wrong, your dad and uncles have been great brothers to me. But sisterhood is something much different; something that I will never have the privilege of experiencing in this lifetime. I am so glad, you will not miss out on this wonderful relationship.

When they gave you the name Lalhriatzuali I was over the moon because you have a piece of my name. I don't know if they named you after me but it's good to know that I have a little namesake in you. Everyone may call you something else, but to me, you will always be Zuali, a perfect little piece of me.

I want you to know, my darling niece, to never underestimate yourself and the power of your existence. You are created with a purpose. A purpose no one else can fulfill but yourself. And as you grow up to face the world, there'll be times you doubt yourself. But each time it happens, I want you to remember that the moment I got that phone call from your dad, I sprouted a whole new heart to love only you. And the good news is that, I am not the only one. My love for you grew as I watched you grow through your parents' Facebook albums. I watch you sleep, cry, bathe and eat and now today, I watch you sit up with support. And I can see bits and pieces of myself in you already. You have your Grandma's eyes and that little chin, you got it from me, my little button. Yet in spite of all these little familiarities, you are a new person all on your own. Zuali, You are yet another miracle in my life.

I know that it's up to me and the family to make sure you enjoy growing up in this world. But this fallen world ain't perfect. And if ever a time comes when we make mistakes, it doesn't mean that we want second best for you. Remember, there's nothing in this life that can't be tackled with the help of a loving family, a little laughter, hard work and the Big Man Upstairs.

And as you grow up the world will tell you to follow your heart and just to be yourself. Don't listen to them my darling, for the heart can be deceptive. Lead your heart instead of following it. And never ever be content to be just yourself. Because there's honor in always striving to be the miracle that God created you to be.

Love,

XOX

A Ni

February: Highs and Lows

2011-02-28T19:10:00.001+05:30

February's almost over! Two months into 2011 already. Gone before you know know it, gone before you couldn't make much use of it!

"If time flies when you're having fun, it hits the afterburners when you don't think you have enough."

~ Jef Mallett

Monthly updates, like this one, I've realized, helped me keep track of the passing month. And somehow plays a teeny tiny role in helping me keep my 'private world' in order. And also, I've noticed that there are people who document their every week through Facebook albums and their every moment through twitter. I choose to do mine with a monthly 'high and low' post. So, here goes my Highs and Lows for the month.

Highs:

I got a scale, a weighing scale! Got back to weighing myself every week. Hope to kick pork! L However, I grinned as I came across this :

“Sa zawng zawngah sangha a tha bera, vawksa a thalo ber. Sangha chu kan Lal Isua pawn tihpun tlaka a ngaih a ni a; vawk erawh chu an kawchhung pawh ramhuaiho luhna tawk leka a ngaih a ni. Mahse vawksa a tui ber thung”

Mahruaia Renthlei.

Rihnim. Vol.40; Issue:39. 06^th February, 2011

Marie Digby. ‘Un’manufactured (at least the first album); Raw yet polished talent; pretty face, beautiful voice! I'm embarrassed to discover her so late! Doesn't matter, it's never too late to fall in love! :D

My Sunday School Group grew to 8 last year to 14 this year! **Double Grin** 14 teenagers who'd probably kill me if they hear me call them 'kids'. I love challenges... especially in the form of teens with attitude!

Shooting a mock video of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" with my roomie. It all happened when we had a lazy morning with nothing to do and the shoot just happened! The location: hostel terrace, a corner of our room. We never get to shoot that scene with the Bullet mainly because her friend who owns the bullet had a term paper to work on and couldn't join us in our nonsense project. I used our measly digicam for the shoot and edited in the afternoon with Windows Live Movie Maker. (Yea! I work light). And by dinner time, CyDen's Teenage Dream was ready for viewing!! TaaDaa! But No!! I will not post a link! Sorry, the video's for restricted viewing only! Nancy Choden, I'm having too much fun with you around. I thank God for you but I swear I'll kick you out if my grades start deteriorating!

An ~~all-time~~ old teen crush added me on Facebook! **Cheshire Grin** Wait.... Hell No!! I'm not cheating!!

Broadband connection! Ka Ching!!

The JNU Miho Pawl Kut 2011. Our annual get together where we unwind and make fool of ourselves. We spend an afternoon at a park, frolicking and having fun; had dinner at the 'famous' Chanakya Place and sang ourselves sore with some old Mizo hits till midnight at PSR rocks in campus. I woke up the next day, sore, dehydrated and with hardly a voice, yet still unrepentant.

whoop whoop whoop!!

Lows:

Clowns! The world is a better place without clowns. There is this shoe shop in a certain market I frequented who uses dancing clowns as mascots. I haven't entered the shop yet! Once I even skipped a Sunday School Student's birthday party because her mother mentioned that they've hired clowns for the party. I sent a huge gift (out of guilt) and feigned sickness. I'm really sorry, Rhoda. maybe one day you'll understand. Well, this month, I came across clowns at the CanSupport event. The only thing I didn't like about the event. Hands down!

Porty Potties. My greatest fear in the world is to be trapped in a porty potty. Claustrophobia coming out to play. And I had no choice but to use one at the same event. My two-minutes of horror. Somehow, my cammie-handy roomie managed to capture the moment.

ewwww!!! ewwww!! ewww!!!

14th February. Need I say more?

Rain in February. Sigh! Sigh! I don't mind the cold, I mind the fog! Sigh! Sigh! It kills my mood each time I wake up to a cloudy day!

A close friend of mine gave me credit for the picture he used as the front page for his recently released book(let). Prior to the book release, he assured me it was taken at a certain prayer cell event. I, on the other hand, lost all my pictures after my latest hard-disk crash so I couldn't check if it was indeed my picture. So, after all his 'blessed assurance', I happily obliged, and in doing so, I opened Pandora's box. The trouble: it wasn't my picture. The chaos: Two other friends who claimed to own the picture are now in a row while I quietly sip my coffee and stare at my name printed at the Thuhma Theh pages.

The book(let) which almost caused a war between friends! Hmmph!

There goes my highs and lows... What's yours?

The Magic Words...

2011-02-25T06:51:00.000+05:30

A 4 year old Sunday School student who is also a son of my classmate in high school came running to me showing me a little scrap on his tiny cheeks.

'U Zuali, niminah hei Sawmsanga'n a colour bawmin min vawm'

The other in question came running and hugged my knees before I could reply.

'Mahse U Zuali, 'Sorry' ka ti tawh a. Best Friends kan ni tawh'.

His friend nodded in agreement while proudly showing me his 'battle scars'. The two of them are neighbors and, as they declare, are also 'best friends'. Sawmtea and Sawmsanga.They always share a chair on Sunday School, meet each other everyday and, according to the family, will always end up in a fight with one of them crying. Sometimes the fights will count up to 4 times in a single day. But somehow they always make up before the day is done.

They have two magic words: Please and Sorry.

Please is the magic word which can somehow persuade anyone into doing the thing that you 'politely' request them to do. Once this word is uttered, the other person will have to try his best to do what you request them to do... even the impossible. Once uttered, the person will do anything in his power to grant the request. Done. Once Sawmsanga wanted me to stay over at his place. Such incidents happen when a 4 year old proudly declares you in front of his family 'U Zuali hi ka chhianpa (Thianpa) ania'. I couldn't honor his request as I had an early class the next day. When I left, he was shattered, his face fell as he said 'Tinge U Zuali kha a haw? 'Please' ka ti reng sia'. I hated myself for breaking the bubble!

The other magic word Sorry mends every heart ache and every pain in the world. When uttered, Sorry, all fights stop. All wrongs are done right; everyone forgives; the slate is wiped clean; no past bruises and you can start all over again. Like the way that one forgives even though he still carries his battle scar and the other is bold enough to declare him his best friend because he has already uttered the magic word Sorry.

If only real life were this simple and we have pure hearts like these best friends, magic words like Please and Sorry would have more value in the world.

To my boys who taught me how to say and receive the magic words Please and Sorry!

And really mean it...

Love

XXOXX

In Chhianpa,

U Zuali

Of quiet evening rides and a 'vintage' scooter...

2011-02-25T00:11:00.002+05:30

It was a cool late February evening in Delhi. The rain which somehow curbed the heat from taking over indeed played its role well. The weather was perfect. Everything looked green and golden with the setting sun. We took the dirt track along the lonely river. A lonely path right in the middle of the busy city. With the evening sun against my face and the wind in my hair, I snuggled up against the man I love, as I rode behind him in his 10 year old hand-me-down scooter. Now, scoot's one of a kind. Though ancient, it still gets you from point A to point B, with ~~weekly~~ occasional breakdowns. Well, the loud 'clucking' sound of this 'vintage' scooter didn't do much to spoil my moment as I was too busy taking in the moment- the man whose warm back I snuggled up to, the golden evening, the dirt track and the quiet waters glistening against the setting sun...

The dirt track! Perfect for an evening ride!!

The quiet waters against the evening sun!! Sigh!!

Okay!! Are we done praising the beauty of the evening??

**Reality Check**

The Lonely River is but a dirty Delhi drain!! :( :(

A huge nala whose stink will make sure you wash your face and brush your teeth (twice!) by the time you reach home.

Can't tell from the pic. Can you? Well, All that glitters is not gold! What you see can fool you at times!

And as for the 'vintage scooter', he threw his weekly tantrum and died down at every single kilometer for the last 7 kms. The campus security even tried helping us with amused grin plastered all over their faces, to no avail. Charming Scoots!! Phabo, on his way back, almost got arrested as old Scoots decided to go silent right in the middle of the traffic!! Talk about Old John Faithful . NOT!!

If it were up to me, I would have gotten rid of it to the kabari walla who frequents his area. Why?? I don't have problems with his rusted covers and clucking hums. I don't lust after shiny black motorbikes and I absolutely adore men on 'noble' steeds. But scoots, in his worst, will make you hold on to your dear life in an emergency room in the hospital. A two-inch stitch scar right in the ribs will be just one of the souvenirs of his fits. To let you in on a lil' secret, the owner's medical bills in total already came up to thrice the price worth of Scoots! Have I mentioned that Scoots throws really bad tantrums!? Aahh!! Wish I have a decent shot of Scoots to upload!

And of course, the cool rider would give me his trademark acid stares complete with the chawngkawr eyes if he ever came across this post!

On my defense, Scoots or no Scoots... I adore you still! :)