One for the Road

Somewhere Along the Road 
to Nowhere in the Middle of a Night

A tribute to some nameless highway 
corners on the Imphal-Jiri lambi,
commonly known as NH53 or 
the New Cachar Road

A Google map showing the NH53, passing through Sagolband, Nungba and others

In the morning, the afternoon and the evening,
never have they stopped turning me upside down;
On the glaring eyes of cameras
On the notepads of the newspapermen,
I was stripped naked and again ruthlessly clothed,
And the world that wanted to console with me and show their empathy,
I bore only in my feelings — the sensation of impuissant that I loathed.
I had lost the sense of beauty a long time ago
I would shudder in the darkness alone, which I have got used to,
from those times they started campaigning, politicking
And ever I ignore the lifelikeness of life
— the humanity and civilization,
for all I long now is the triumph of Sensibility.
So what if I'm not a mortal,
I do hear the wailing.
When the bombs blasted, when your folks got killed,
I heard the cacophony of talking shops and miserable people:

"We have had enough
We need to have common sense
But fight for the land.

And, kill for money
And go all out for freedom
So we can make peace."

Now the commotion scuppers,
in the middle of this night how
I wish I could draw my hands out,
wangle an unearthly power and stop the watch,
But Day and Night, they are
are not jaundiced like rogue governments;
Never can they be scotched, their punctual approach.
In this desperation lies my life besides
Winding Jiri Roads and Tall, Drooping Tamenglong and Local Begrimed Earth
Alas! I could not even dream, and can suss the outside forces
They would play havoc if I plead for serenity that I want for eternity
and do things that are close to my heart;
I would love to breath the bracing air
of the neighbouring Mesa, but not those miasma
of Gunshots and of Bomb explosion;
To wake up every morning to watch the cheerful Sun,
if Day permits, to wander around the vigorous shrubs,
To enjoy the unpretentious views and natural exhibition.
The Conflict of aspiration for entitlement
and uninvited incidents in diurnal lives flusters noisily,
making a hell of the Hillside Stillness.
So far it is good to be away from
the groans and the complaints and the hue and cry about
what and how I should be;
for this silence is a well-made possession
I appreciate it's a few hours from daybreak
and another awaited daily spell of Human madness.
Before the Sun comes to pass, I pray
for the dead fabulists who promised
the masses garbs in fine fettle for me
and beseech not to worry to those who are committed to persevere,
keeping back the legacy of unconvincingly tailored pledges;
From the crack of dawn, I'll retreat to my former Self:
a disgruntled, mute Object of curiosity,
with the usual harlequin drapery that blankets lonely, serpentine passages.
For the moment, let me myself be a being.

I have been longing for these midnight hours,
When the world would be in the arms of Morpheus
while I lay awake, living a life my own.


Read a nice article related to the road. The title is inspired by a Jack Kerouac's novel of the same title:



  1. neatly knitted thoughts poured out quite passionately... :-)


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