Another Aizawl Diary: Sunday - Tuesday: Part 2

SUNDAY
Seilen Haokip is the spokesperson for the Kuki National Organisation. The Kuki are a minority tribe in this region dominated by the Meitei, Mizo and Naga tribes. All three tribes geographically exist in the region of present day Manipur, northern Myanmar, north eastern Bangladesh, Mizoram and Nagaland. The Kuki occupy most of the mountainous lands of Manipur, which is almost 90% of the state, and the balance in the plains is taken up by the Meitei, the political masters of the state.

Historically, the Kuki have been maligned, betrayed, and generally sinned against. It began from British times and continued by India. It is only of late that the central government has negotiated an understanding with the KNO, and this should soon reach public awareness. Seilen, an articulate academician, is a Kuki himself, and I can see the fervour in his eyes. He is troubled by many things he has learned and has to deal with. Yet, he speaks for many of us when he says they want a comprehensive understanding of their situation and that peace and amity can only be achieved within the framework of the Constitution of India. Their stated objective is statehood and not secessionism. They want to be given the right to administer themselves. We already have examples of similar political demands in Jharkhand and Uttaranchal, though the latter is more administrative rather than political.

There are plenty of separatist, militant organisations in this region with the UNLF, a Meitei group, and the NSCIM, a Naga group, most radical in their demands. The Kuki also have their own, but these groups demands are from the government of Myanmar. The KNO are not considering any others than those Kuki who are already legally resident in India, mostly in Manipur.

I learned a little bit more about India once more. There's so much of these areas that we are blissfully uninformed about. I recall a call from a friend in Calcutta on my first day here who expressed genuine surprise that I had chosen this particular destination for my vacation. His parting words to me were to be careful I didn't get caught in a presumed crossfire between militants and security forces. Many in mainland India believe the north eastern lands to be constantly in a state of strife with no peace or security at all. My only question to them is how do they think most of the citizens of these areas survive quite happily and successfully day to day? We have serious strife and turmoil in the mainland as well, never forget. And these issues are about identity too. Identity relating to community, belief systems, and the constantly burning issue of the rich-poor divide.

What's different here? Probably the media and vested interests making more of the separatist and secessionist demands of the extremists than is actually warranted. And not adequately acknowledging peaceful and reasonable movements like the KNO who want to work within the Indian polity. This is more significant and important, despite the aura and fascination that extreme activism holds for some sections of the youth.

Seilen must return to the family. It's his son's fourth month today and understandably wants to be home with them after our long chat. I put him in touch on the phone with my dear friend and senior journalist, Paranjoy. They plan to meet in Delhi next week to see what can be done for the right and proper media coverage.
*******

Jane and Zo have a castle in the skies. Literally. I can see their house from the balcony of my hotel room. It perches at the edge of a hill just below the Aizawl Theological College at Durtlang. (Dur means cloudy and Tlang means hill in Mizo, by the way). Its location offers a wide-angle view of Aizawl city sprawled across seven hills. Absolutely amazing, and when viewed at night as I did, very charming too.

A long staircase goes straight down to the roof of their house from the private carport. Zo calls it his “Stairway to Heaven”, an obvious reference to the Led Zeppelin anthem of our musical yesteryears. It's the first time I'm entering a house top down. Well, second time, when you count last year's visit.

They are a well-informed, urbane, and delightful couple with two very well brought up sons. It was a pleasure meeting them the first time, and it is equally a pleasure this time. Over whisky and dalmoth bought at a BSF canteen, we exchanged notes and talked of this, that, and the other. Jane's home cooked Mizo meal was worth all the many helpings I took. Bai – a most wondrous dish that is like a soup flavoured with pork pickle, the Mizo chilli, and cubed portions of the stem of a cousin of the banana tree! There was also a tasty beef curry, dal made with local saag, a fish curry, boiled and salted river snails, boiled squash, and a green salad which featured the roots of the onion plant, and of course sticky, reddish Mizo rice. Too much!

Jane joked that maybe Ravi needed to get married to a Mizo girl so that I could have more such meals. Ravi called the suggestion, “Food for thought”. I think he sounded serious.

MONDAY
I start receiving Bijoya greetings through SMS from Calcutta early in the morning. The Pujas have passed me by and I didn't even miss it!

Ravi comes over to the hotel and we spend a lazy morning chatting, listening to music and demolishing a healthy portion of a bottle of whisky. The hotel kitchen today has also cooked Bai and we ask for it. This is different from what we had last night. It is more like a thick soup made with the leaves of the kochu plant. It has a smoky flavour and is absolutely delicious with the Mizo rice. Later we walk down to the bazar and I buy a kilo of Mizo rice to take back with me. I have this fascination of buying the local rice from wherever I visit and it is the best souvenir I can think of. Also bought latkhora – the flavoursome juice of a lemon that is widely available here. It goes well with vodka!

TUESDAY
The last day here but I don't feel sad. I know I'll return. It's not goodbye, but see you soon. The Bengali has a nice way of saying it when they part company, “Ashi - I'll be back”. A sense of continuity is important for the human spirit. The last two days here in Aizawl have had picture perfect weather. The air sparkles with the sunshine of incoming winter through the moisture of the rain that still seems to be hanging around. It is bracing and invigorating. We down a quick one for the road and set out downhill to Lengpui.

At a small village bazar near the airport I decide to buy some local produce. The papayas look healthy. There are fresh bamboo shoots and ginger on the stalk. There's ginger flowers, the latkhora and its juice in reused bottles, herbs of various kinds, the dried and sliced peel of the latkhora which can be used for flavouring dal and curries, even tiny river crabs in small palm-leaf containers.

Airports anywhere are the same in their boring drudgery of security rituals. We've got more than a hour before the flight arrives from Imphal. Coffee, cigarettes outside in the car park, and hi-hello to people who Ravi knows helps pass the time. And then, in a short while I'm airborne and winging my way back to Calcutta. We fly way up high over Bangladesh, knowing that from the height we are at. Can't make out much, what looks like a wide winding river which at one point forms an oxbow lake. Airline food is always bad.
******
Calcutta is in the process of dismantlement. As I drive back from the airport, Puja pandals everywhere are being stripped down to their bamboo frameworks. This seems to be the eternal state that the city is in. A process of disrepair, a breaking down, and then quick-fix repairs to last a season at the most.

Yes, there is great art in the Pujas, but why is it so temporal? Is this a reflection of the Bengali psyche? Where we can only create beauty for a moment because we know it cannot last? Or is it that we do not attempt to create something that will stand the test of time? Are we shallow beings eventually? All the Bengalis, and the only ones who have left lasting impressions are pictures in a history book, just names of roads and institutions.

The solidity of the mountains and its peoples is a source of strength and inspiration for me. It renews my faith in the simple goodness that unspoilt nature offers you. This is why I must always go back to the mountains.

And Mizoram will always be a preferred destination.
___________

For more of my pictures of Aizawl, click on the picture below.

Mizoram Oct2007

Another Aizawl Diary: Thursday - Saturday: Part 1

THURSDAY
I have once again run away from the mass hysteria of Calcutta during the Pujas. And for the second time running, opted to be instead in Mizoram, Aizawl more precisely. Apart from having my good friend Ravi here, I have become quite fond of this place and its people. Plus of course the chance, and the second one this year, to be up in the mountains.Okay, the mountains of Mizoram are not the Himalayas or even close to it, but they are mountains, and it's where I always prefer to be for some quiet time. It's why I'm here. Quiet time. Well, I have brought some work with me, but I already know I'm unlikely to complete it. Maybe I don't intend to?

The monsoon never wants to let go. It wanes, and just when you begin to look forward to the dry, slightly cold spell that we deign to call a winter in Calcutta which will surely follow the monsoon season, the rain returns with a vengeful fury. That's how I took off from Calcutta. In blinding rain. And then we popped through the clouds to stunning sunlight. But we rode over thick, roiling clouds for the good part of an hour all the way to Imphal.

Taking off from Imphal for Lengpui airport of Mizoram was uneventful since it wasn't raining there. But just as we approached Lengpui, the captain announced that we may have to abandon landing there as visibility was bad and the instrumentation down at air traffic control had some technical problems. The aircraft cabin groaned in unison and there was nothing to be done. But land we did. And that was such a good feeling. I really hate flying in planes. I don't have a fear of flying. I just don't care for it.

(But some time in my life I need to experience a ride on a hot-air balloon. And some paragliding.)

Here I must make mention of a couple of notable incidents that occurred prior to my departure to Lengpui in Calcutta airport. The first was at the Indian Airlines, now Air India, counter. I had a discounted ticket and the Economy fare counters were brimming with passengers, most of whom were re-confirming cancelled flights from the day before. A baggage handler came up and asked me my flight details and then took me to the Golden Edge, the frequent flyer counter, which already had a passenger checking in before me. The lady at the counter seeing me wait redirected me to the empty Executive Class desk. I was checked in without any hassle. Not only that, the baggage handler at this counter wrote out my cabin baggage tag with my name and destination in beautiful calligraphic handwriting!

The second incident was at departures security. I had a matchbox and cigarette lighter in my hand baggage and no one removed them. So much for anti-terrorist measures!

Ravi of course greeted me on my landing and took care of my Inner Line Permit formalities. I have no idea why the government carries on with this. The ILP is mandatory for any non-Mizo. You fill in a couple of forms with the usual trivia about yourself, cough up a hundred and a half, and you are permitted to stay there for 15 days, or 7 days, or whatever. No verification of any sort is done by the police personnel stationed at the airport for this purpose. I'm not sure if foreigners or non-Indian passport holders are treated differently.
**********
The Chaltlang Tourist Lodge of the Mizoram government remains in the same state of partial disrepair as I left it the last time last year. I've even been given the same room overlooking the graveyard, with the balcony facing the eastern hills. Ravi and I stand there giving ourselves a Manali buzz and I spot that beautiful house up on the hill opposite my room where I had been a guest for a couple of hours during my last visit.

I enquire with Ravi about my warm hosts from that evening and he immediately calls up Jane who's driving back from work. She tells me Zo, Zothan, her husband is at the Tourist Lodge at that very moment making reservations for an upcoming seminar. Ravi gets hold of him and we sit and have a few drinks from one of the bottles I have brought in from Calcutta in my room. Jane and Zo are both doctors independently in charge of a couple of important units of the Mizoram government's health department. He has to go, and leaves us with an open invite to his house one of these days before I return.

FRIDAY
The next day Ravi and I catch up for lunch after his work. We walk quite a bit and I take in the sights and smells from Chanmari to the Burra Bazar area to Treasury Square and Secretariat, the main government areas, and finally to the 23 Assam Rifles HQ in Khatla. Probably 4 kilometres.The Indian lunch at the Ritz Hotel was more than a disappointment. It was a disaster. Both the dishes looked and tasted the same despite having different names and meats. And the less I talk of the taste, the less of phantom indigestion will I suffer. Anyway...

Around the corner from the hotel we come across a blind lady singing a Mizo song karaoke style. She has a PA setup run on a scooter battery and she does have a nice voice. I feel generous. But we walk a bit and see another blind man with a similar setup. A few paces later there's a third blind karaoke singer. My generosity has its limits.

We briefly go to a couple of offices to meet people Ravi has work with. He knows a lot of folks in this town. We also meet up with Ronnie, my cousin's brother in-law who owns 'Hustler', a gift shop in Burra Bazar, and we plan to down a few together one of these evenings. The Burra Bazar has a different look, feel and smell than its eponymous cousin in Calcutta. Aizawl's BB is crowded but surprisingly clean. Its nice to walk past small shops, many with entire families manning them, rather than vaguely glide past plastic-and-steel 'outlets' in shopping malls. A shopping mall has come up here – Millennium Centre – but it did not seem to be one. It had the look and air of an office building where all the employees were absconding to watch a cricket match on TV at the neighbourhood electronics shop window.

We drop in on Jane in her office. She gives us black tea and biscuits and some pleasant conversation. We then walk on to the Assam Rifles HQ to meet with another pal of Ravi's, Major Aman Puri.
*********
The Army and civilian worlds exist in parallel. And ne'er the twain shall meet. Except when you need booze in this one of three Indian states that have prohibition. Alcohol is one of the staples of Army life, and its perennial availability in military canteens is the meeting point for civilians who have the privilege of accessing that fertile source of intoxicating spirits. Purposeful? Could be.

The Army has its own agenda as to its large, and more than obvious presence here. It is unnerving and not quite everything it is cut out to be. But I shall reserve further comment. Let's just say I wish it wasn't so overbearing.

Aman himself is an astute, articulate young officer destined to go places. Both he and his wife come from a couple of generations of military backgrounds, so he's a natural defence personnel. He's clear that there is antagonism among Mizos for non-Mizos and the military. He deals with it by being high-handed when requests for the military alcohol quota come in. He wins his Pyrrhic victory and everyone's happy.

(An afterword: there is partial prohibition in Manipur, I'm not clear how. It is commonly known that the supply of illicit liquor is run by one of the hardcore groups supporting the state government from the outside to finance their operations. Prohibition in Mizoram and Nagaland is Church driven and influenced. And we all know why they have it in Gujarat, Gandhi's land. Ha, ha.)
*********
At this time of the year, the monsoon season, clouds are a wispy, overwhelming presence. You wake up to bright sunshine and look forward to a clear day, when without notice, the sun is wiped out by thick cumulo-nimbus monsters. You see them approaching up the valley seemingly at snail's pace, and then in a couple of blinks, they are floating mistily around the hotel and my room. A smell precedes them, and then pervades the immediate environment.

It is not an unpleasant odour. It is like smoke coming off the burning embers of some light wood. It is also damp, leaving moisture on my skin. At one point, with enough gathered, a suffocating sensation overcomes me.
For an hour or so, the clouds waft about, and then depart lazily up the mountain sides to congregate on the tops, giving the city a loose turban of dirty white. Rain is an inevitable feature and it brings a chill to the weather. Even when the sun is let free of its prison of vaporous fleece to shine down on us soaked creatures, the chill factor remains. You know now winter will begin to trudge its heavy way into your life in the next couple of weeks.

SATURDAY
Beraw Tlang is up another mountain that lies opposite Aizawl. It is a picturesque place and the right location for a tourist lodge. Ravi and I get there when it is raining but that soon stops. We sit out on the open terrace and I imagine the wonderful potential and possibilities for a place like this.

The approach to tourism here is one of relaxed basics. The goods on offer are simple enough to give pleasant memories but somehow I think more value can be added. Mizoram is a place for nature tourism. Thankfully, it has no religious spots because that brings with it quite a different breed of tourists who are demanding, careless of local sentiments, and uncaring for all but their selfish creature comforts while they make the journey to commune with their gods.

Mizoram's natural beauty is the grace reflected in its peoples. Strange I don't see many birds here. Of the feathered variety, that is. The women of Mizoram though, have an Oriental beauty that is delightful. No matter how overtly Western their way of presentation, strong elements of their own culture and traditions adorn their dress sense, their mannerisms, and their outlook.
********
Tourism is as much about the land as it is of her people. Ravi, perhaps because of the position he is in and also because he is a very amiable guy, knows many interesting people. I have never usually been disappointed with the people he has introduced me to. I've already mentioned Zo and Jane, and will say more about them a little later. Then the last time I visited there was the ex-Chief Minister, the charismatic Mr Lalthanhawla, who unfortunately is away in Delhi for medical reasons, so I miss meeting him this time.

This time I met Makuka, one of 7 brothers and a sister and their respective families who all live together in what they call a “colony”. It's a large, joint family property, a tribal thing, and I absolutely love the concept. The nuclearisation of family life in the cities has its own problems even as you cite the advantages. Such “colony” life is a stronghold against urbanisation in many ways.

Makuka is a musician first and foremost and a man after my own heart. He gave up a fairly prosperous business as a contractor to do his own thing some years ago. Which is music. He has trained himself to be a better drummer through correspondence material for 10 long years and continues to do so waiting for the right moment to do a public performance, even though he was already a reputed drummer in the music scene of the North East. Right now he represents music equipment manufacturers like Yamaha, Behringer and so on, selling, installing and training the buyers in their uses.

His son, Boom, is a guitar player with his own band, Boomarang.
They are now considered one of the top rock bands in this part of the country, and have gone on to win some fame and fortune in mainland India as well. While I'm not too crazy about the sort of music they play, at least they're composing their own stuff, and considering the background he comes from, Boom will eventually turn out to be a big name one day.

We talked of many things: music, politics, religion. The adda of Calcutta's Pujas was taking place in faraway Mizoram as well! We agreed that music competitions on TV shows were sad and of no real musical consequence. If such great singers are being generated every year, where is the scope for these competition winners to progress in their musical careers, find their own niche, and not have to depend entirely on the vagaries of a blatantly commercial recording and distribution industry that is only keen on Number One pop hits?

Makuka was just back from a bereavement in the family in Belgaum down in Karnataka. He was thoroughly moved by the way he was treated there and he was emotional. We discussed what being Indian meant for us. I propounded my own theory of secularism which I say is the implicit acknowledgement of separate communities, and hence the divisions that exist within the fabric of our nation. What secularism for India should actually mean is the existence of peace and understanding among all communities and peoples, regardless of their faith and culture. This can be unique only to India with our rich variety and diversity that becomes interwoven with a tacit Indianness. One of Makuka's brothers, David, is a Congress MLA. It looks like the essence of the true Congress spirit exists in places like Mizoram rather than in mainland India where it has been severely eroded.

Makuka is also very Christian in his lifestyle. No, he is not a Bible thumper. He just lives the life and doesn't need to advertise it. Praise and worship for him is through music and sincerely keeping the faith. He and his family have adopted the child of an ex-prisoner and is educating and caring for his well-being. They have taken in a woman of slight mental retardation who works as a domestic help in his house along with another woman who was a prostitute. They are not servants. They are part of the family, and I am introduced to them accordingly.

...continued Sunday - Tuesday:Part 2

Mizoram Oct2007

Pratchettisms

They are witticisms, puns, often sage and home-spun wisdom cloaked in humour or satire, but they are all an impressive use of the English language which leaves you gasping for more. They are what I like to call “pratchettisms”.

If you have never heard or read Terry Pratchett – the creator of Discworld – well, all I can suggest is that you go on over to your nearest book store or library and get hold of any one of the 100-odd books written by him, and prepare to be massively entertained. For those who know him, I can imagine you grin as you recollect the recent Pratchett you have read.

A word to the wise for the uninitiated: this is a ripe broth of British humour slow-cooked over a fire of satire that Americans are incapable of perpetrating, and published Indian writers in English sorely lack in attempt. If you have ever enjoyed PG Wodehouse, Spike Milligan, JP Donleavy, Nick Hornby, Joe Orton, the late, great Punch magazine and its many writers and cartoonists, all of whom are a sprinkling in the star field of British writing that uses humour and satire as the medium of expression, so to speak, then you will absolutely love Terry Pratchett.

Another wise word: Pratchett is addictive. You may find yourself out-of-pocket quite soon!

So what follows is my growing collection of Pratchettisms. It is no particular order. It is not necessarily complete, and it is my interpretation. If you wish, you're welcome to add to this list, or create your very own.

Pratchettissimo.
----
From MOVING PICTURES

• “You don't keep mines”, said one of the dwarfs. “Mines keep you. You take the treasure out. You don't put it in. That's fundamental to the whole mine business.”
• Analogies bubbled to the surface like soggy croutons.
• The whole of life is just like watching a click, he thought. Only it's as though you always get in ten minutes after the big picture has started, and no one will tell you the plot, so you have to work it all out of yourself from the clues. And you never, never get a chance to stay in your seat for a second chance.

(I started this listing while close to the end of Moving Pictures but had a deadline to return the book to the library, so I never did manage to make this a complete list. I will some day!)

From SOUL MUSIC

• Certain things have to happen before other things. Gods play games with the fates of man. But first they have to get all the pieces on the board, and look all over the place for the dice. It is said that whomsoever the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. In fact, whomsoever the gods wish to destroy, they first hand the equivalent of a stick with a fizzing fuse and Acme Dynamite Company written on the side. It's more interesting, and it doesn't take long.
• It was a strange laugh, totally mirthless and vaguely birdlike. It was very much like its owner, who was what you would get if you extracted fossilized genetic material from something in amber and then gave it a suit.
• The hippo of recollection stirred in the muddy waters of the mind. They looked at one another in incomprehension, two minds driving the wrong way up a narrow street and waiting for the other man to reverse first.
• ...[He] himself had the musical talent of a blocked nostril.
• [He] did not have too many brain cells, and they often had to wave to attract one another's attention,...
• ...I know you to be a man who seeks to understand the universe. Here's an important rule: never give a monkey the key to the banana plantation.
• ...you had to allow his wandering mind to get into the same vicinity as his tongue.
• Something that had been knocking on [her] attention for the past ten minutes finally used it's boots.

And that's just from TWO of his innumerable books!

Cock-a-Doodle-do!

There's something called a Global Mobile Project which, in their words: "...is a filmmaking challenge. Bring together eight international filmmakers to tell a story in under three minutes on the theme of food. Give them complete freedom to interpret the theme within their own cultural context as broadly or narrowly as they wish."

Well, one of the film makers - Amlan - is someone I know briefly and he's from Calcutta. What is of more interest to me here is that Bertie has done the music and song for the film, "Cock-a-Doodle-do". It's the first time he's done something like this, and he says it was a great learning experience. Check it out here, it's streaming video. I liked it. And if you do register on the site, don't forget to rate the film highly!

The development of content for mobile phones is a growing industry and with India poised as probably the largest consumer of the cellular waves, it's not going to be a surprise that Indians will soon enough probably dominate this scene. Well, one can hope so...! We have too many talented people.

The other films are also quite nice to watch. So check them out.

Dreamtime

Can I please? Can I please quote: "To sleep, perchance to dream..." Yaaaay! I said it!

I've usually managed to slime out of all the tagging that Pretty Eyes with the Sunny disposition sends my way. Every time I get tagged I feel sort of embarrassed, shy. It's like when I was in school, and at the periodic school socials, I had the advantage of dancing with Nafisa Ali, who also happened to be my sister's classmate. There were these hungry eyes which would follow me all over the dance floor for the mandatory first dance. Then before the song could properly end, those hungry eyes would suddenly sprout arms and legs, and a body with a gruff voice would harshly whisper in my ear, "You're tagged pal!" For some strange reason I would really feel shy that I was dancing with Nafisa, and would quickly, apologetically, disengage. Only to go back to my place beside the dance floor and notice the other hundreds of hungry eyes, some I'm glad to say in retrospect, looking enviously at me.

That was no dream, but it sure feels like one in the re-telling of it.

So now you also know why I've decided to stay tagged by Sunny. But Sunny, I'm not taking this forward okay?

I enjoy dreams. Having them, discussing them, loosely interpreting them... but somehow I can't seem to remember them. When I wake up most days, I'm not even sure I dreamt! Still and all, here's my take on dreams.

I remember dreams in adolescence. I would be walking, or running, and would keep falling into holes and deep pits. When, standard issue - I'd wake up. I read somewhere that this sort of dream is common to most people and signifies insecurity. I don't know what they say about not remembering dreams at all. Sunny, consider your palm crossed with my silver... tongue! (Did that sound right? ;D)

I'm very fascinated by the 'Dreamtime' of the native Australians. "Aboriginal myths tell of the legendary totemic beings who wandered across the country in the Dreamtime . . . singing the world into existence" - Bruce Chatwin.

"Singing the world into existence." How fantastic! That's a dream of mine. No, not singing the world into existence, but being that much more involved in music than I currently am. I dream of being a musician, very skilfully and competently able to play my favourite kind of music on a variety of instruments.

Do I also dream the mundane, common, garden-variety dreams, like Peter O'Toole singing The Man of La Mancha theme song "The Impossible Dream'? Or Martin Luther King's kind of dream? Of course I do! I would describe them to you if I could only remember them...

Like you can see my dreams, or my unknown dreams, seem to centre on music. The Dream of The Blue Turtles by Sting, one of my most favourite musicians, is also one of my most favourite music albums.

And ultimately, all I can say is that I don't know much about dreams, and am not very particular about knowing them either. It's just that we all dream, and we need to keep doing so. Dreams give us hope and aspiration.

And just as a by the way, did you notice music and dreams are somehow connected?