Showing posts from July, 2012

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My Father’s Pension Fund

My father has failed, he knows not
I have failed that entirely I know it
I don’t know how, but I’m the reason
He has been wallowing in one despaired hope;
Ten percent of his pension fund
My brother had spent on his business
Ninety percent, a million rupees, he had spent
So that I get a job, a bleeding sub-inspector post
But he has failed, the day will never come.
I have failed, I have lost the money
The moneytaker all I can do now is to murder him
He had failed to offer me the job
He asked me to kill him but he cannot return the money
And now there is no more vacancy;
And now I’m weary, running this unrewarding shop
Do come and get photostat and xerox copies
I have also got a printer and a scanner;
Here I have not failed, neither have I not flowered
Mortgaged my wife’s jewellery have I and have I been sparingly investing,
Now my wife she droops when she goes to the grocery shop
She always covers her earring-less ears, necklace-less neck
She goes nowhere, but to the grocery shops
She …

Power Blues

We have no electricity
And we don’t have Ecstasy,
Those of happy places, of foreign lands;
No worries, though, we always fuck for homelands.
In our world marked by darkness,
We care for nothingness;
Because we have marijuana
We have atingba and ashaba.
Let the power cut take away all the light;
We have, for the challenge, all the might.
On this load-shedding evening,
Around the place for drinking and smoking
We have what it takes for our generation
All those that take to serve for our degeneration.
Atingba: A country brew, some kind of a local beer 
Ashaba: Another country beverage, it is the harder stuff

Read Manipuri poems and rants on 
A picture is worth a thousand words. Definitely. This picture is what Imphal is.


I am surprised how they can be crimson
Around the streets paved with koilas and dust
I am surprised how the streets can be crimson;
Aren’t they supposed to be dull grey and dusty?

When I gaze at the sky
In this monsoon when the rain stops, when the sky is clear
In the late afternoon the crimson is most distinct
In several hues and shades
The crimson is most distinct
The crimson is not a tomato
The crimson is not a ripe apple
The crimson is not a ruby stone.

How can the streets be crimson?
The streets are not a tomato,
The streets are not a ripe apple,
The streets are not a ruby stone;
The streets are where we are at war for peace;
The streets are where we are shamed for justice;
The streets are where we are chained for freedom;
Life is no tomato, no ripe apple, no ruby stone;
I’m not sure about the crimson skies anymore.

From the web >

A Compilation of Works by Laishram Samarendra Released on His 87th Birthday

Leirak amada natraga leikai amada machin thiba ama. 
Machin thiba mari na dealer ama
Dealer marinasu machin thiba tarataruk nasu leader ama.
Leader mari na member ama.
Member taruk na mantri ama.
(Suplak by L Samarendra, Khul Amagi Wari, 1985) 

In the mid part of this year, I’m fortunate to have attended the birthdays of two great personalities of our generation. The first party of Bob Dylan in May at a lake resort near Shillong concluded with some bad impressions, created by, on one hand, the utter lack of originality in the performance of the local host — who has been organising the show for nearly 40 years — and his inability, on the other, to imitate the political novelty of the great American musician. The second party of the illustrious Manipuri poet, Laishram Samarendra, was held on July 20, back home in Imphal. If I have to choose the more enjoying birthday out of the two, I find it quite easy to pick out the second one as it was more entertaining with more reasons I can even ca…

Campaign Banners for the Inner Line Permit System in Manipur

A collection of  shots from a protest organised by 
the Sagolband  Young Pioneers' Organisation (SYPO) 
in the second week of July 2012 
© Kapil Arambam

On Building the Building of Love

Deeper and deeper as we dig
Far and farther as we travel
Aye we are, whilst far we might go;
At home there the foundation rests,
No spring would dare with its beauty
The approaching culmination
Our beautiful building of love;
With our bare hands as we build it
Brick by brick, layer by layer
But we know without sense we err
That’s only, though, a part of us
That’s only a venial thing
In our imposing building
We can protect it anyway
Like the brothers of Thabaton
They would protect her, come what may;
It is only us now, building,
Our dreams will paint with shades of red
We will give the finishing touch,
In daily dealings lies the fact
Together we are only one
Separated only by life
But we do share it we know it
We do know where we are now
What can be more crucial than it?

On what I feel after putting down the feeling on building the building of love I have written this silly oc…

Manipuri Olympians for the London Olympics

It is with great pride to share that five Manipuri sportspeople will be representing India for the 2012 Summer Olympics in London. The games are scheduled to held from 27 July to 12 August.

Ngangbam Soniya Chanu – Weightlifting
Khadangbam Kothajit  – Hockey  Laishram Bombayla – Archery
Laishram Devendro – Boxing
Mary Kom – Boxing 
The images are reproduced with prior permission from Manas Maisnam and and further recreated as a collage on this blog. If you are interested to use this collage or the individual images separately, I request you to get the approval from the cartoonist and the website.
A brief profile of the stars

❶   Ngangbam Soniya Chanu     Weightlifting
Father's Name: Ngangbam Meino Singh
Mother's Name: Ngangbam ongbi Natek Devi
Address: Haoreibi Mayai Leikai, Imphal West district
Date of Birth: 15th February, 1980

Let Me Live in this Land

My friends are patriots
My neighbours are also patriots
My tribesmen are also patriots
The strangers in my valley are also patriots;
For the love I have for all of you
I’m not a patriot, still
Let our love welter in our world
And let me live in your land
I have been paying tax to the government
I will stop and give it to you
Let me live in your land.
I will not raise a gun against you
Nor do I have any gun at all
I will stop staring at your wife’s big breasts
I will stop writing lousy poems
Just let me live in this land;
I want to find a job and get married
I want to be a father
I want to enroll for an insurance policy
Please let me live in this land.

Condom Conundrum

Morality is a god-given quality
I cannot reduce it to a used condom,
But there is something hideous as I found it the hard way;
Someone had fucked a monkey in Africa
And a disease has spread to Asia
And India and America and Antarctica.
So inevitably I have to use it
And so I have reduced morality to a used condom
Blasphemy, though, is not in my dictionary
So I have used it, throwing one away
Under the sofa of a secluded chowmein stall.
I never knew someone would find it
When, however, the condom commandos stormed,
They caught me with my pants down
They barked the condom was still warm,
One dangling from my penis
And one found lying under the sofa
And it is not about, they yelled,
Africa and Asia and India and America and Antarctica
But the use of condoms in chowmein stalls is unnecessary
When it can be used in the state assembly.
I buttonholed it might be because the condom is heated with morality
The condoms are also warm with the heat
From the choking kitche…

Enforce Inner Line Permit System in Manipur

The government must enforce the Inner Line Permit system in Manipur as soon as possible. As it has been also reported elsewhere in some newspapers published in the state, there is now no space for further deliberation on the issue but the immediate implementation of the ILP system.


WHAT     An official travel document issued by thegovernment of Indiato allow inward travel of an Indian citizen into a protected / restricted area for a limited period.  WHERE  In the state of Manipur. It should be made obligatory for the Indian citizens from outside Manipur to obtain permit for entering into this state. HOWThe government must implement the ILP system and issue the travel document to any outsider who are coming to Manipur.     WHY    To protect the vulnerable minorities and safeguard the culture and identity of the various ethnic groups in Manipur. The document is also an effort by the government to regulate movement to certain areas located near the interna…

So We Think We Believe We Live

As the light goes off as the world turns black
As others’ lives become ours ours become
The damned lines of damned poems of the damned world
So you read Trotsky and Dostoevsky
So you are the professor’s eye candy
I read Pacha and I’m your enemy
Us, the experts of the eternity
And our fighting it is our destiny
Let them beat us with our stupidity
Them the others them the authority
Where we should meet is only where we eat
What we should talk is only what we shit
Let us eat and let us shit
Let us think that we believe
Let us believe that we live
As the light goes off as the world turns black
As others’ lives become ours ours become
The damned lines of damned poems of the damned world

Ants Up in Arms

The least I would expect to find on the top of the one-kilometer
long concrete wall that divides the river bank from the pot-holed
roads was the band of marching ants. In one long parade, effortlessly
outnumbering the countless and nameless human stupidities — the ants
made strides, giving our Foolishness a run for its money. Such was the
vastitude I had least expected to find there and had found them on one
star-lit night. In which language they had put across to organise
themselves — more disciplined than the great army of our great
country and more essential than our existence — I know not,
but I did get a line of their motives. They were, as I was informed
by the cloak of the night, up in arms against us: Against the pathetic
government, the pathetic army, the pathetic patriots, the pathetic poets,
the pathetic professors, the pathetic activists, the pathetic fathers,
the pathetic mothers, the pathetic children. Under the stars and the moon
they had shown what it ta…

A Side Glance at the Lai Haraoba

What is the best thing about Lai Haraoba? Perhaps its music. Yet there are so many other things that characterise this festival, which is flooded with traditional and cultural charms.

Around a rivulet in the quiet hilly area, there is always an inimitable natural music out of the flowing water, soft breeze, rustling leaves and the chirping birds. It is a unique melody that no state-of-the-art recording studio can recreate. Well, the fact is that there might be a difference in the degree of their distinctive sounds, yet the Lai Haraoba music possesses some qualities, unique and inimitable like those tunes out of the brooks.

Essentially its sound is monochromatic, comprising the euphony from a very few instruments like a dhon (drum), pena (a one-string instrument) and a basi (flute). In its raw sophistication lies the magic of Lai Haraoba music. It brims with folksy tunes; has a melodious repetition that sometimes produces a psychedelic effect, especially when the small instrumental e…


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