Showing posts from March, 2011

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Meitei uchi / Lai marakta mee

Meitei uchi

Nang-gina ama leibani
Meegina ani leirammi
Meitei uchi,
Koonduna leikhrabra nakonduda.

Ho Meitei uchi
Matam amagi angamba
Matam amagi akanba
Nangdi koonduna leikhrabra.

Amanba school amadagi porakpa bhorra mayam
Moreh dagi porakpa morok mayam
Churachandpurdagi kang-hallaga porakpa keehom mayam
Leire, Meitei uchi, thoklak lo chik-oo laklo.

Nahanwaidi afaoba sha saramdai
Yengningdabadagi eihakti uchi kalak yoom mei thai
Pende haibabu, mayamnadi nakonda leikhare hai
Kannade thoklak-u, ngaklo lak-o uchigi mai.


Lai marakta mee

Amadusu kappi, atoppadusu hallak-e
Amaduna amuk hallak-e, atoppaduna amuk kapp-e
Amana halli, atoppaduna henjilak-e
Amana henjillak-e, atoppaduna amuk henna henjillak-e,
Chelli akhoina makhoigi marakta,
Leppaga chelli
Fammaga chelli
Uppaga chelli
Long ngaga chelli
Akhoina chelli
Haina humduna
Yetta amuk
Oida amuk
Akhoina chelli
Lai fataba anigi marakta
Lai khara fattaba
Lai khara henna fattaba
Fattaba mannab…


I'm always on the run
Long time ago I ran away from home.

Now I run to live and I live to run
I run inside the pale blue dot
It was so small that I went to South Ex
In the evening I ran
The roadside park was too large
I found myself taking a nap
on a stone slab counting the stars
Only a dozen of them,
the neon sign boards blinded the other dots
It is just too far away we see only blinking dots
I find there are too many places
I see there are too many people
The dot is just the mind
If not, there are too many things.

I ran in the afternoon too
I ran to another park in Kilokri
I ran, I saw the kids playing cricket
I ran, I watched as the sweat bathed me.
A day is also gone to give the deads a company
Now I'm running again
Now I'm running to run again

An accidental acronym

Kullabidhu loves making money
more than he loves making love with his wife,
and he digs plenty a money from the underground reservoir,
stocked at the middle of the main market;
And Angomjao hates the tank
more than the feudal minister's fear
of being disowned by dry chappati.
“In the tank,” he bemoaned, “we have buried our thoughts…
now we have lost ourselves in the pitfall.”

Nevertheless they live as neighbours;
both of them consorted happiness defines life’s essence,
and that sadness filters the meaning.

Good things they love,
they have it in their own ways.
What good a life is, if it is not about the good things anyway;

Life’s always in a motion,
so do their respective businesses,
while their fellow men gallop for charity cases at a rhythmic speed,
displaying those of Khori Phaba’s grace on a pony, playing polo

Expression they show it in their own way too,
in several ways, for the wasted:
those who demanded freedom
and now who demands only money;
and for the ennui that ever …


Do you have any balls?
You have it or you don't
Tell us
Do you have the balls to admit
we are herded
in the fucking frontier?
Do you have the balls to admit
we are the children
of lesser gods?
Do you have the balls to admit
killing is nationalism of the
great union?
Do you have the balls to admit
nothing matters
but the LEP?
Do you have the balls to admit
the armies have found
employment galore?
Do you have the balls to admit
why you smirk while spoonfeeding
the fuckfaces?
Do you have the balls to admit
the mainland is secured while
we drink blood and eat bullets?
Do you have the balls to admit
taking sadistic pleasure out of
wearing those gallantry medals?
Do you have the balls to admit
the indulgence
in colonial legacies?
Do you have the balls to admit
the stories of rape
and murders
and disappearance
and fake encounters?
Do you have the balls to admit
the happiness of basking in the
wild forest fires of the hills?
Do you have the balls to admit
you will take the troops back

Kom / Mannaba-manadaba...


Nungsiraba echin-enaosing, mathou pangthok-hanbiyu
Mathou pangthok-hanbiyu yopak-berchaandsingdu
Touubikho, leibakto kharaga loona touubiyu
Leibakto kharaga laona touubiyu.

Ngasidi yamkhare potcheisingse akhoina phoomgadouriba
Mei thagadabasu lairik tamningdaba angangsingna
Meikhet-kerosene pooraga chatkhare loina
Touubikho, leibakto kharaga loona toubiyu
Leibakto kharaga laona touubiyu.
Contractor-ojasu khara yengsingbiyu
Pigadaba shen mantiknajaroi, 
Delhi dagi louthajagani, nijagani, haijarugani.

Ngasidi phoomlasi, matamse amuk chonthararoisi
Amuk hanna uraroidaba mawongda phoomlasi
Akhoi pelle. Pelle okhak pelle. 

Poongpham-sida, mafam asida
Tata gari niphu-yangkhei laklagani
Kumon asibu mapung fanaba
Maiba maibi chang-ngoi, eiga-bamon amata lakloi
Ngasina aroiba numitni akhoigi
Akhoigi lai mayam, akhoigi feijom 
Akhoigi eming, akhoigi wakhallon 
Akhoigi sana-lupa, akhoigi korfu-kompak
Akhoigi chatnabising, akhoigi suningdabasing
Maraa yaodabei-yaoda…

Money: Different perceptions

When we were children, we saw our future,when we were told we would walk, our heads held high
when we could feather our own nest
when we would become Man.

Now my neighbour, a man of prosperity
the notes he always counts them attentively
he says, in the wealth lies the felicity
and so does he counts on happily
and hides behind his safe for security.

And an electricity-maker, the richest man of our town,
he tells us money grows on trees and he has a plant
He don't mind how many people were fucked
when he planted the tree of Postmodern Tech
From them he picks up his succulent fruits
Life was written on papers.

But not necessarily
Pointed out one of the eggheads, who also lives nearby
A professor who teaches the Evolution of Mankind,
he says papers are meant for writing and printing
That money should be made in coins to stop forgery
'With money I get my books,' he fences,
'With money I travel to my seminars,
'With money I feed my family,
'But money alone, it does…

The new blogs on the block

I'm breathing, eating, walking, talking and dreaming blogs for the past few days. I have been always looking for ways to improve on my blogs. There are a couple of new blogs on and have found a gem the day before yesterday., this is my latest crush. But I'm hesitating too — not without reason, though — after creating seven blogs in three days!

The thought is too cluttered, dammit.

First thing first. A few days back, I had merged three Blogger's blogs on graphics and photography into one common site [The Defying Moments]. And I have also created a new blog on haiku [Haiku Haiyoba]. These redesigning things have been quite fun, allowing me to dabble in Web page designing and Adobe Photoshop, with a little bit of Adobe InDesign.

I have focussed on a minimalist design for these two blogs: keeping back just the bare needs, and doing away the distractions. Keep the basic things neatly, maintain lots of rooms for development, and of course, for creating new …

Karma police, rambling, thinks out loud #hometown

I belong to a paradise, but not the usual surreal abode tied to heaven. Ours is a paradise of decadence. The paradise of destruction. The paradise of the End.

Most of the times, the air is so dark with gross pessimism and is filled with taunting cries. But now and then I do take side, not of those incurable optimists, but those who see there do exist some light at the end of the leirak.

Light, karma, action

The Buddha professed there is no east nor west in the sky, that we had created a distinction out of our minds, and that we believe them to be true. We are indeed made up of our beliefs. We believe in our folks and myths that we were created first and we would be the people who would endure till the world ends (according to Meitei thoughts). Then some vegetarians came from Bangladesh to equalise puran with puya*. Now we believe we have to die seven times to attain salvation. Though we still believe that climbing the Koubru is as auspicious as attending a bhajan session.

Several othe…

No rite

I am told to wear the imported feijom
from Bengal, when they perform the
ritual to lave me from the sins that I
have committed—as if the white loincloth
was so pure like its whiteness. But I would
not stop sinning, for I’m more attracted
only to the forbidden things in life

I am asked to put the garland on;
and I am warned not to touch it
with my feet or wear it nowhere
but on my neck. It is so beautiful
that I long to pluck out each flower,
rip each petal off and scatter them all
over the place so that the beauty is
spread out throughout

I am assured that the folks would be
glad to see me obey: eat when the
priest asks me to, and starve
when he interdicts me—but I am
too high and only want to puke.

Arrival and departure

I had not waited, neither you
Yet you brought so many new smiles
that crumpled the old sorrows and giggles
that tickled us and many new words
that had been etched on memories' marbles.

Now the clock is too round for the linear time
I have ever found it ticking,
tolerating with me, my regrets
The door, it is closed now.


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