Showing posts from November, 2011

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The newspapers bring all along,
Each sunshine that comes all along—

Stories of all bleak and gloom;

as I read when I shit
ah, the cigarette slipped!

there is no time for all the mistakes
all of us will die on time anyway.

All the loos are the best outlet
of all the craps that we regret.

Facts and Fabrications

Ethnicity is really a hard meat to nibble and becomes much, much more than a mouthful when it is deeply politicised beyond comprehension. It also marks the beginning of one of the major problems we are facing in Manipur today. The Nagas, the Kukis, the Meiteis and the others are so different in their world views as if they have landed from different planets in this so-close-to-hell land.

And more than we can care to remember, there are many reasons why we will always be mired in confrontation against each other. Add to this quagmire is the persistent conflict between the government and the numerous insurgent groups. This is not a verdict nor a conspiracy nor some pessimistic chatter-yatter, but some pictures out of the farcical tragedies unfolding serially in recent times.

F L A G G A D O C I O   I N   D I F F E R E N T   C O L O U R S     Amidst the howl and brawl for homelands and all-reason-defying economic blockades the Manipur’s erstwhile seven-colour flag has given some food for…

Now in November

the sun's changed it's not its best for better
winter's warmth its cold warnings withhold now
in-between my zombie's soul's
empty trolls

Cosmic Motorboat Ride

lollygagging all along
the inconsequential existence
and then
all was vain in vagrance

until mysterious puissance
in top speed, all gears
rescued, —and then called up
and then,

the cosmic motorboat ride steers
first, the filthy worldly corners;
and the places of heavenly rapture,

through the blackness
dotted with
specks of lights

and time gets lost in the journey
and the space is between me and my mind
and no god has the right to interfere now
the government is as dead as the gods now

the centre has become infinite
between the sprinkles of blues and blacks
within what is witnessed the sentience lies
a wobbly life shakes what the world is.

We are a way for the universe to know itself. CARL SAGAN

Words: Action and Perception

An impression on the saying that knowing without doing is not knowing but merely dreaming and similarly, that doing without knowing is only as good as what is done without knowing what exists before doing and what will be after doing... And there are some words which add more substance to this consciousness

A word is but its meaning. There are words we have to do an action to perceive their meaning, though how we do an action and how perceive the meaning are quite another thing. It is also an entirely different issue with a complex psychoneurological process, plus other lingual and sematic perspectives on how we are/become aware of the meaning.

But what we will suggest for a scrutiny is that there are words and expressions which we need an action, some activity associated with the collection of letters, to interpret their finer nuances and to find them in totality. Otherwise, redundancy and verbosity would have taken care of, or at worst, clarity would be the victim at the cost of un…

The Empty Set

For all the one-time beautiful white ibises that have migrated
from the smoke-filled crimson skies, for all the cows
that have abandoned the dry lands and colourless thickets,
for all the lilies that have withered in unceasing autumn,
for all the sensibilities that have been raped, for all the
gloom and doom in this cocoon so worrying,
the time has been never fitting for anything

What is absent, the warmth of spring inside us
and the four corners of our homes, we found them ironically,
in abundance outside our own self and in far away lands
far away from home; and what is empty now in the
summer or winter of yonder, when we are inside this bare
abundance, far from the glaring eyes of
our shadows and nakedness and nothingness

In our islands of happiness
the ocean of tragedy scorns;

Exceeding control—
Neither here nor there—

Unknown pins puncture
Inside us, all the places
On the outside
We are a floating mass.

Blockade Blues: the 100th Day

From going bad to worse, now it is going to spiral out of control. The facts are scattered everywhere, 100 days of blockade and thousands of untold stories. The news is all about hitting the century, as if this is an achievement for the Meiteis; and it will be unsurprising if the Nagas cry they can never get the people pay attention to their grievances even after holding the whole state to ransom. Something is visibly missing in the case. Actually, the Kukis have given up their protests after some assurance from the government. 
The world has moved forward too far and we are lagging behind, shamelessly clinging to pre-medieval thoughts and aspirations. Our problem is that we are in a shared nightmare of land and territory and possession. Our only solution is the dream for a better tomorrow, while getting rid of extreme narrow-mindedness.

And the government... do they exist? If there is any, they should better kill themselves. In Delhi or Imphal. Stab yourself and die, you be dead. 

Drink Positive

A rant on drinking, drunken memories and the AAA

A couple of pegs down the crooked lines, there are so many tales to tell. The stories are about drinks, drinkers and being drunk, but there is no intention of rationalisation. Why take all the fun out of the sport. For the drinkers are the drinks and what else. One of the stories we would hear from the guilty drinker is: Man is born free, but everywhere there is a chain of liquor shops and hence the bondage to drink. Let’s hear it from another party, these would be the stories that we love to tell and hear when we have got the bottles and some meat in stock — to chew over the ironies of drinking in happiness and sadness.

Drinking is in itself what the sun is there to shine. Don’t believe me, then check the fat history books. Beer jugs had been found, belonging to the late Stone Age, that existed around two long, long million years ago. Let’s not get threatening with these facts for now. For the toast, what matters is that all of us al…

The Message of Peace

“Swaying and swinging, on the palanquin of the mortal’s plea,
did I come with a pace that would beat the fabled tortoise  in a race. White, off white, light sky blue, cerise and beige,  the colours are eternally tinged with my existence, and shamelessly  distorting and discolouring the ugliness of their world, in their  stained surround where I’m painted as just too full of empty  air and nothingness. Corporeal possession is only in.  Ah! Vanity! I’m concern for what they say, though who they  are I care not. But did they call me solemnly, one not so fine  day, asking for me, never knowing I live only on grace and  good taste and never would I last in the wildness of their hinterland. 

“With hopes for offering eternal bliss and enduring peace and many  other things, which I pray for them that these things will show up  with just a wave of my magic wand, I reverted to their letter of  desperation with affirmation. 

“Oh, pity! There, in my gracious best I remained for a few earthly


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