Showing posts from October, 2012

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the shortest story of a soul

colourful clouds
flight of the white ibises
unlimited happiness

then the storm came
pale and grey and serious
revisit happiness

about half of every journey
life’s just too short
come rain or shine

hunt for happiness
leave countries and confusion
live once as a whole, live it full.

Yes Sir!

Translation of Laishram Samarendra’s poems

Multiplication TableSuplak (Khul Amagi Wari, Published 1985)
In each alley or colony there is a liar;
And four liars are one dealer,
And four dealers or 16 liars are one leader,
And four leaders are one member,
And six members are one minister.

Yes Sir!Yes Sir!(Mamang Leikai Thambal Satle, 1974)
Yes sir!
If he comes by himself
Yes sir!
These are all the truth
Yes sir!
Yes sir!
Those who have come by themselves
Yes sir!
Finish them first
Yes sir!
Those who do not confess
Yes sir!
They are wrong
Yes sir!

PovertyLairabagi Waa(Waa Amata Haige Telanga, 1974)
Once Poverty visits the family of the forlorn
Poverty comes and sits by its side
Poverty gives a b…

What is the Harm in Giving Alternative Arrangement to the Nagas?

Who is responsible for the escalating hostility between the Nagas and the Meiteis? —the Nagas who have just invented a history successfully or is it because of the Meiteis, one of the most moronic races ever lived on the earth? Here’s why both of them are equally hopeless as much as they are stupid and how India has been indulging in monkey business. There is a close resemblance of the Union government to the proverbial monkey, who takes the responsibility of distributing equally chapattis between two warring animals, until he eats up everything. Of course, the government can never be a monkey howsoever he behaves like one. Willy-nilly, it was asking for a stick, up his rear earlier this month when the Union Home Minister cracked a joke to the Naga rebels and the provincial government of Manipur about offering an alternative arrangement to solve the age-old problem of the Naga insurgency. He was not really joking; he only desperately needs the stick.

Though many of us see nothing goo…

‘Revolution in the Revolution’: A Perspective of Che Guevara’s Writing

Long before I heard about the Cuban Revolution and its band of rebels, during my high school, I found Regis Debray’s Revolution in the Revolution? Possibly it was around those time (circa 1997-98), the remains of Che Guevara’s body was also found after he was executed three decades earlier. I admit there are a lot of unclear concepts in Debray’s book till now.
‘I know you are here to kill me. Shoot, coward, you are only going to kill a man.’ 
Revolution in the Revolution? was then a hardcover that looked seminal and equally serious for two reasons. Firstly, revolutionary movements were a reality in my native place; still it is, though the degree has changed as rebels have found new glory in using patriotism as a personal investment and in putting personal interest before the purpose of the revolution — these have also fitted into a scheme of thing, which directly matches Catcher-in-the-Rye’s Holden Caulfield’s view of the entire world being phony.

However the movements cannot be neglec…

On Feeling and Filling Emptiness

I decide to go for a ride on the empty path
Loneliness has clothed me from all the sides
Like the white cloak covers the dead in the casket
And I see nothing through this piece of cloth
And I long to get away from it
When I put it away
Alas, nothing was there but my emptiness.

Why are there so many people, so suddenly?
—When I'm but a dry tree in the drought
In this moment, in relativity
We get the least when we want the most
And when the least is wanted, the most.

This is the festive season of October
And am I cursed and tonsured?
This season, the leaves are on the ground plundered
They give me company watching the leafless trees
There is an unnoticeable wall that barricades me
With no country, no family, nobody
And I'm lost in the crowd awfully
As I see solitude glaring at me.

This festive season is another name for tragedy
As I am, amongst the crowd, beaten black and blue All I see is spotless white solitude, inside and out
And I am on the road, beside a nameless stadium

Diplomacy, Doublespeak and Douchebags

Diplomacy, doublespeak and douchebags are related terms that can be applied in studying the personality of a person, and the affairs of government as a whole. These terms can be defined in the context of both the individual and the government, separately or together which this feature is about to. It is also a generalised perspective, though not at the cost of oversimplifying the nuances that these terms carry.

The relation between the first two terms is obvious: as much as a person shows a tactful way of handling a situation, s/he needs a fair amount of subtlety that is possible only through a practice of nurturing a pleasant personality and interpersonal skills. In another way, the relation between diplomacy and doublespeak is quite evident in the mildness as well as the vagueness in the rhetoric and diplomatic curse words of the politicians, and how those are toned down so well using their power over the people. Take another example from my hometown, the diplomacy of military civic…

Reality Bites: The Possibility of Ending Democracy

There are just too many defects in us, in the milieu we are in; from reality to democracy, in them we have also found a lot of rooms for improvement; and what is of significance is to reduce the imbalances and aim for coherence in this world of contradictions

Why is our reality a hard meat to chew? It is always totally in a random order of the things, no matter how much we have become civilised. There is one thing for certain, though, if we have to find logic in it, our effort is only as good as doing nothing.

Reality manifests in a constant flux and is a mixture consisting of our so-called intelligence and the chaotic nature which we have little control over. We are how much we can scramble a part of the jumble in a sane way and perfect order is like the pursuit of a nonexistent god or hitting the road for Utopia.

Agree to disagree   There is a Greek wisdom that the ability to entertain an opposing idea, howsoever it is repulsive, makes us a better person. When it is taken into consid…

Rejected Dialogue of the Scavengers

What it is made of
A lot of wagging tongues

What it is for
Herding the animals

But why;
Borrow something from others
Like how to herd us and them;
And make it my own
Even if it is oversize
It is undersize;

Their waste is our conserve
A lot of wagging tongues,
Herding the animals,
Out-of-sized borrowed stuffs;
Am I even capable of dialogue
Me, an animal?

Extreme measures make us think
We can be human beings.

Where do wagging tongues belong to
Even extortionists and pigs
and puppets and drug addicts

What they are of

But why;
Are you not conscious
The drainage you are living in
And you, talking about the palaces?
There is no room for dialogue
In your bloody shit-hole.
Fight and die.

OPL Is Out: Grab a Copy!!!

Our Private Literature is a radical literary journal published by the Alcoholic Anarchists. The first issue is themed on protest, or specifically, art as a form of protest. This edition, featuring 26 poems, a play and three essays including a  book review, was published on 15 October, the Black Day of Manipur. Currently based out of Delhi, OPL will be published regularly every quarter.

From the editorial desk
Art as a Form of Protest

In recent times, we have seen people taking to the streets, all over the world, dissatisfied with the sociopolitical and economic issues. Misfit rulers, corrupt regimes, puppet governments, brutal states have given a clarion call for popular uprisings.  Simply put, we have become a tool — in thought, in action, and in living — to resist against the currents of our time. That’s why we are in the streets, shouting, singing and pelting stones.

Protest has become the order of the day. When the oft-repeated and abused words like ‘protest’ and ‘resistance’ become…

From the ‘Days of Glory’ to the ‘Battle of Algiers’

A plenty of movies bank on their sequels and series; some succeed and others fail terribly. A few popular and most-watched sequels include the James Bond series (1962–2012), the eight Harry Potters (2001–2011), the Pirates of the Caribbeans (2003–2011), the Star Wars (1977–2008), the trilogy of Godfather (1972–1990) and the Bourne series (2004–2012) and so on.

But there are also movies that are distance apart in every shot, yet they follow a sequence. In nonfictional art is there more of it — as in art imitating life and life, art. There are countless movies, to take an example, based on the World Wars and the Holocaust, that have rock the box office. And we can safely say, despite the movies galore none has been in favour of Nazism. Rightly so.

Consider this. There are two movies on Algeria, thematically different but which follow a chronology. The Days of Glory aka Indigènes aka the Natives (2006) is one of the WWII movies, based on the racial discrimina…

Black Haiku


What life is for light
What light should be, it is not
What's this bare blackness?


Fake smile, fake feelings
I would hide in the shadow
Of the reality


At least the night's real
In its darkness, its nature
I can relate to.

unsung, untitled

the military and the militants march
in unison, poke and pound
and their number raises
inversely proportional to peace and happiness
the military man has patriotic guns
a type, owned by nobody else
but only the militants
but gunmen, don't you shoot
your gun has no country
your bomb has no border
your patriotism smacks of blood
your light is becoming glum and grim
if you have to shoot me
call me a traitor and kill me
and i will not complain
and i will die for your country


------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm worried There is nothing I believe in There is no one I can talk to I have even started believing There is nothing to believe There is only opinion I hold Only I'm made of living things Death looks down upon them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mahadeva: the Greatest God of Penis

Laaibakta súm poolaga panthou haina koubada hao haina khoom-mee,
lookhamda súm poolaga palem haina koubada hao haina makhoom-mee.
Our religion is always the best. Nothing is more sacred and special. After all it gives us, in spirit and body, an identity; most of the other things give it only in spirit. But what happens when this offering gives us a deviated image of ourselves? Sad but true, this is the real problem. Shrugging it away, it sounds relatively easy; and there is the mostly likely reply that religion is a personal matter.

No, the god cannot belong to you only. It is an object as a whole, its parts are each one of us, including my fellow atheists for no man is an island. Individually, we can be the most hardcore atheists but the religious people always scratch our ass and get our attention.

All the world's a stage and so many things happen in the green room. There was a time long before when the god was an infant …

Nonexistence: The Disappearance of Life and the Universe

My birth gives rise to our universe
When I was yet to be born
The world would have been
The world would not have been

The world would be
The world would not be
After my death, though that don't matter
And only living does

What I say and what I hear
Those objects exist, so I take
They do, but the unknown things don't
I cannot tell them nor hear them

Nothing is absolute
As in the high ideals of democracy
Those are maintained by the army
The rape of democracy, the death of democracy

Between things we know and we don't
Our existence strikes a balance
Though it reeks of nothingness
For the the world will disappear when I die

Beginning of the End

Be crumbled all your hills Like a house of cards
Death to all your gods
God is death
Even the air's not spared, all polluted
What made are you of!
My hometown
I usually have at home my vacation.

A truckload of marijuana crosses the border
A room full of heroin is carefully hidden
Tankies of hooch ply on the street
An overloaded garrison of gun and bullets
All is apparent
As in light, so bright of the noon
But cleariness, it is utterly failed
Which way leads to our destination

Directionless drift
Yonder valley
Animal instincts
Incorrigible mess
'This land is your land'
Blasted the stereo player
Ironically incomprehensive
We cannot relate it
We are like that only
Be or let it be

There is no other way
I'm, now, thinking with my heart
It is no wonder then
In complete destruction
In a newfangled creation
Lies our new beginning from the scratch


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