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Bean There, Daikon That

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The season has done everything for the cabbage
All the things it needs but our painfully missing serenity
For us the cacophony is blatant in the market
All it shows is the metaphor of ache and inadequacy
The picture of what we long and with us what is wrong

The green capsicum knows it before it turns yellow
Tho’ still it knows the change and the change it is for good
And it is far better when it equates with the ennui
We know around us the colours never change
Perhaps we can say the brightest red is as it is
We see it in the street, we see it in the blood-stained gunmen
They are teeming in numbers more than the highest seasonal produces

We cannot buy some peace
And the unchanging grey sky only enhances the scum
The French beans elsewhere claim they are better
Our own broad beans have ducked in iromba ’fraid

It is frustrating when we don’t have what we can call as ours
The market-shed verbalises the show
Of seasonal abundance
Of all the flight of happiness but our plight
And we canno…

Hingkho Eekho 1: Ibopishak

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A series of Manipuri poems from eminent poets based in the Imphal valley, translated to English. The first set is from the poems by Thangjam Ibopishak



• I’m the Dead Man
Poem: Eini Siriba Nipa Ase; Book: Meegi Manam, 2000
………………………………………………………………………………………………

When I saw my neighbour
When he was building a big, tall house
I told my other neighbours
I’ll build a bigger, taller house
It could have ten storeys and that I can do
But it’s not—it’s only because I refuse it
The thieves have got everything
Are they not ashamed before their wives?
Stealing and building and making bloody lives.

When I saw one of my friends driving a car
I would tell another friend
I’ll buy a car, a bigger car
But it’s not—it’s only because I refuse it
Oh! How these rich prigs are picking people’s pockets
And ever they carry on stealing, robbing, no matter what
And no matter whom: No mothers, no sisters, no one
Whenever there is money, they never stop
They will fuck and be fucked; it’s all set
Shamelessness is th…

Made in India

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Racism /ˈreɪsɪz(ə)m/ noun
the belief that all members of each race possess characteristics, abilities, or qualities specific to that race, especially so as to distinguish it as inferior or superior to another race or races.
In the last couple of weeks, a chain of racially motivated cases of assault and murder in New Delhi has reemphasised that racism not only lives, but also thrives in India.

We are always in a vicious cycle of racism. The Americans call the mainland Indians curry and coolie, and these mainland people call us momo. We belong to a very terrible place of the world, bracketed as the Northeast India (a term which is in itself problematic that we will see later). For the sake of continuity we can add with what we call those who are considered even lesser unfortunate—and further cover the whole circle—but we have different issues at hand here. Maybe, a drier eatable would follow after curry and momo. Dry dabaluti—it’s white?! 

We get the gist of racial craps if we look at …

The Head Act

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The other day I was at the Furtados in Lajpat Nagar. I saw a collection of Taylors, all acoustic; and all the pieces look perfectly fine except one thing. The lowest price in the lot was a mahogany-top piece, priced INR43K. The shop manager, a friend, he said there is a discount of 4K. But no thanks! There was also a spruce-top piece at 87K. Why the hell are they so expensive? Nevertheless it was a treat to check each one of them, clubbed in a circular hanger. It was not hard to find the superb sound quality in those guitars—one level above the normal. Then I saw the immaculate heads that looked similar in all the pieces and finally I got this pic when I reached home!





February Blues

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1 What We See and What We See Not
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

The sun’s in the south would I see
It’s only been daybreak
And the sparrows are yet to scatter
The morning starts with the unusual

I see the moon turns black
It looks it has been burnt with defeat
In all its cycle what we do is what we would not
And what it would not, is what we do

The peace is tailed to the dove’s ass
Like an endless tail
But now it cannot even fly, no wonder
The tail is cut anytime with no afterthought


The relationship is overwhelming
You and I and us and them
We are like we are ever dreaming
And it is never real

Like the sun rising from the south
Like the black moon charred with impossibilities
Wise men are wrong, we can only imagine
The impossibilities ever prevail.

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2 Auf Wiedersehen
 ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

Never will I make the call
It is only you — only you can wave
Your hand
You can only sing the s…

Uninvited Design: Minimal Film Posters

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A random collection of film posters in a minimalistic approach
The collection does not mean to include any kind of most-favourite or 15-films-you-should-watch-before-you-shit stuffs. I have chosen the titles randomly and for an impulsive guy like me, it is no surprising that after spending a few hours to think the list looks alright, I am considering to include a few more titles that I really like watching. I feel I should include some of the films that I never mind re-watching any time, such as The Godfather and the Bourne series. A few recent films like Dallas Buyers Club and American Hustle would also make it in the list, if I open the PSD file again, but not! Let it be for the day.

You can also check the posters of some local Manipuri films in the Sunday Matinée. 











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