Showing posts from September, 2013

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It’s All Scripted

Fade in
It’s a beautiful morning, the underground
Can I see just one time as one whole
—For I see are bits, only what I think
Some bits only what I feel?
Just nanometric bits of existence,
Maybe it’s all scripted
Like a tragicomedy on television
All my life I’m only a tenant
I don’t even own my own life
And they talk about buying land on the moon
When it is an insult
When you buy whisky for one thousand bucks
Aye, it is no god and no reason
Just like we can have no military in democracy
It’s all scripted, tho’ in one ceaseless screenplay
Ever prompting growing and acting and travelling
The fact is the story: a whole, a ne'er ending

Cut to black

Postscript As a rule in another overly formalised human activity, scripts are usually written in Courier font, 12 pt. I feel like my life in a script—not necessarily believing in fate and destiny and all—but with a very particular starting and ending. I would take it is a farce at its best.

Remembering the First Few Years of Rock n’ Roll: A Cover Version of ‘School’ by Nirvana

It was a looooong time ago when I was 11, when I bought my first cassette.

I had already got from my cousins with their lazy asses a couple of them—which they had hurled at me after I ran some errands for them.

The memorable second-hand tape, I bought it from a second cousin, who was also a classmate. He sold me the first Nirvana album, Bleach, for 10 bucks. I paid him five bucks first and another two the next day, and then I got the un-negotiated discount for three bucks in the end.

He died of suffocation while he was high on pills, some five years later, leaving me a hundred of years to explore the world of rock n’ roll. It was a different era. MTV was only music—and guitar riffs, you only learnt by rewinding and forwarding till the cassette became a junk. Even revolutionaries were like, you know, revolutionaries and not some bloody extortionists.

Then everything changes. Now I have even started considering rock as some sort of pop music, hardly different from the boy bands. That …

It’s Kind of Anarchism and Resistance

Usually we like to be laid back, take things easy and stay within our comfort zone. We just like to enjoy the simple things in life, or just talk about them. Like bikes and cars and drinks. What can be more fun? Like girls and gadgets and the like. Nothing can be more fun. But certainly, politics is a big turn off.

It is just plain useless to talk about politics—it is not only ‘non-simple’ but boring unless our lips and tongues are, say, oiled with a few pegs of whisky or other spirits. It is indeed a special privilege for us, to drink and argue, while shitting on each others’ parties and groups and supports and all. In our case, these have been the political problems of living in a conflict zone. The debate seems to go on as long as the last bottle will be there in the neighbourhood whisky store. I have also seen that it is too arrogant to call people a political dumbfuck.

Most of the time, we are occupied with what we do for making a living, which is not necessarily same as living.…

The Areas Are Marked in Blood

Gunshots and echoes
More gunshots and more echoes
Guns have no echoes

-- Haiku Shots, From Home Is Where the Mountain Is
A pattern of violence is visible across Southeast Asia—sporadic in some parts, the condition is pathetic in some areas across the region

Let us start with a naked truth and a bare lie. We are in the largest democracy in the world. You can count it again and it is still the biggest, because of no other reason than just a high population arising from intentional disregard for the human marvel called condoms. Maybe there are also other reasons too. And when it comes to ground reality, we are little different from the military junta in Myanmar which nearest town is hardly three hours away from my native place in Manipur.

We are in India but are located around the gateway to Southeast Asia. At first glance, we are lost in never-ending conflicts while the likes of Bangkok and Hong Kong are only a few steps away from becoming one of the global economic giants. Deeper dow…

Fast Forward

At daybreak the shadow's waiting to cast long
Never have we found a thing so headstrong
But the hours will know not
This spot

How former favourite fests can become nightmares
Ev'n, of the new day, the light stares
On the prevailing darkness
Life's so artless

Ev'r be nice & be good & be happy & be beautiful
All the day's waiting to show the light in tankful
Show off the wonders shamelessly
But for me,

I see, in the horizon, the impending death
The day's as well short of its breath
The time's to be cured
Move, fast forward

That's how, of today's, we manage the bad, bad news
Ev'n worse it is marked, we can't ignore the blues
But depend all on tomorrow & time
To live & to let live, movin' forward I'm.

In March the cloud flies,
Taking flight, colourful wings;
Our black and white lives .......................................................…

With or Without ‘u’: The Politics in Amerikan Spelling and of English on our Existence

Jumping to conclusions are psychological errors, so the experts tell us. Against the expert recommendation, we are going to perform a psychological-cum-linguistic somersault, combining the English language, the politics in American spelling and the existential crisis of a self-proclaimed humanist.

          HOME IS WHERE THE HATRED IS                    Profanities, you can hear those colourful expressions in the most unlikely moments. I was putting on my Converse shoes, self-admiring a shade of Americanist image that is reflected from wearing export quality stuffs; no matter if those are imported from Moreh or elsewhere. Getting ready to visit one of your favourite joints in the evening is one thing. It is totally another when your friend, whom you seldom meet—came uninvited and without any ‘hey’ or ‘hi’—charge you for being pretentious because you use a foreign language, read English, for communication. You might want to take out one of your shoes and hurl it at him.

Probably you mi…

To Live Is to Kill; to Kill, Live

Impressions when bomb blasts become a way of life, right in the heart of Imphal valley, and on why we need a  voice of our conviction and aspiration

So the news is no news in its real sense. No man has bit a dog. Kill people. Murder people. Explode the bombs any time anywhere. It's a way of life.

The Indian summer has brought some respite. Even the sultriest days has an end. However, life is so far away from such natural consolation. The heat’s on in Manipur, as usual.

And the news is in the rising accusation and condemnation of selectivity. The charge, from certain quarters, is that civil organisations and defenders of human rights have unabashedly had an eye only for the natives. Yet they are deaf and dumb when the gunmen kill the outsiders, mainly the labourers from Assam and Bihar and other parts of the country.  The human rights bodies are at the receiving end, though it is no surprising the activists have nothing to comment on this issue. All of us belong to the silent gene…

Rambling Nongmaijing

All the departure's on time
All creams that build a humanity
All the arrival's on time
No matter all the shrieking noises of labour pain
Ev'n all death comes with atomic clocks
All's been on time
All but this thing: all but this living.

            ON CALLING THE NAME OF AN EASY ASS         
You know not, my name
I am S-E-G-S — S.E.G.S., not Segs
Is it easy to pronounce?
Just call me S.E.G.S.
It is easy to remember,
It is as easy as S.E.G.S. as much as calling an easy ass an easy ass.
Call me names but what I want is to kill the masters with an easy manoeuvre.


Disillusioned II

I've given in to my solitude
At least that's how I'll relate to you,

And though it is no possible
Can you convince me when I'm with you
We have no trouble; we are too redundant to be afraid of death
From the thousands of stray bullets that dot
Every inch between you and I, and man and man?

And though it is no lewd
Can you show how we can make love
And there are no worries for posterity,
For all we would have is a union of love,
No worries for giving birth to crooks and kitsch?

And though it is so apparent
Can you believe we have a life beyond this slum
Our life in the lowest of the lowest scum
We can survive with money and we can survive with guns
And what use are of—your dreams and your company,
your knowledge, your wisdom, your experience?

And though you have given me a thousand statements
How sunshine is important and our lives so precious
How knowing is good for real and our smiles make us angels
How thinking is and how talking is and how we are,
What do you d…

While My Guitar Gently Sweeps

Leisure activities teach us several things. An awareness is being instilled, which otherwise would not have been possible in our mundane life. The knowledge that soaked consciously or unconsciously in our pursuit does a great deal to make us understand things.

It does not matter what you do, but how you do it. In solitude or in company, there are several things we can pursue for recreation. These activities in our life are provided with several doors, which lead us onto large rooms for exploration as well as discovery.

For the past ten years, we have been playing guitar for fun. This hobby has fine-tuned our receptory veins, enabling us to split the best piece from the better lot, and the better one from the good collection.

You cannot call me an expert because I still don't know how to read music on staves. But the years that I have spent strumming my Signature semi-acoustic instrument, have been quite an experience. One of the most remarkable experiences is gaining the knowl…

Room Number 704

This is a rendition of Tapta's Manipuri song, 704 Room. Check the lyrics on Tapta Fan Club's blog.
I was walkin'cross the cinema
When I came 'cross that movie poster
When I saw it's an obscene movie
It's a double show, a two-a-day show
I halted, wondering should I watch it
But did I have the money?—I checked my pocket

It was when I saw my ex-partner
That gal from room number 704
It was when my surprise almost killed me
That really killed me!

I took a piece of kwa & a cigarette
—"How have you been
Memma, hope all's well with you; have a kwa."
So shy was she, she smiled and said
—"Yeah, your gal's been good, man
Yeah, everything's been good."

See the two synching hearts, the spark 'been so sure
There was something 'tween the hearts
See the broken man have I been with empty pockets

There was something between our eyes
But the time's never been good

See the situation, see the time's never been good
See the br…

I Want to Be What I Am

I want to be what I'm
In me lies what I'm
In my image judge me not
In my shadow measure me not
See in your eyes
See in your mind                     I don't mind your replies
What crystal clear sight you encounter
What blemishes you love to ignore
I would not mind but that's not me.

I want to be what I'm
The surprising autumn rain washing
Sultry airs of the summer so exhausting

The flowers that will melt all the bullets and sweeten them
           am I fed up of the rattling sound of the machine guns
The bookmarks that will fuck every error in each books
           in them wise men had separated us like we are devoted groupies
All the nuances of the native tongue I have lost in worshiping foreign words
           be one with the spirit no matter the mundane words galore
The germs that eat the scum of our surroundings
           there will be one less bastard, and one better way to deal with life

All the pain that saps the energy of bigots and gunmen and looters

Us and Them in Monosyllables

Get a spade, dig and cut the earth
Let's split the world in two
Live: Us, on side one, and them on the two
          —Then we will live happily ever after
          So will be they forever and a day after
And see no more lines 'tween us and them
And hear no lies of strange kings
And see no more things that ache the eyes
And hear no shits of the fiends
And cast no pearl 'fore the pigs
But make all good and beaut and cool
And do go to a place of choice, all we have is our half now
And do dream 'bout love and a dove
And fade off: Yes, hear it right; life has no end
But we will, and leave one day for good

No land will save
No god will aid
No wealth will help
The lines and the parts, us and them, one and all
          —All is just passing.


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