Showing posts from April, 2015

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hip hop in midlife’s backdrop

i was born in the gutter i was raised in the gutter
this is a song of savage, a song from drainage
a sewerage, blooper, brother, vagabondage
life was a bummer in the indian border
the schools i grew up learning the cussing for everything
and grass was greener in the school playground
empty the baccy, crush the grass, fill the bong
and sing the song for the bong all along
i see the greens every time i get up for work every day
it was hard: life played its card when i rot in a house of graveyard
cannabis-filled courtyard, junk-laced gates by a pond of booze
it was all blues and i had no clues and i walked with no shoes

the thief sues the robber, the robber the killer, the killer the master
the thief sues the police and peace has left us a long time ago
the priest is preaching for peace the police is preaching for peace
the priest is preaching for peace
everybody is pleading for peace
but peace has left us a long time ago
peace has left us a long, long time ago, a long time ago
life hangs by the highe…

The Home Minister Inc

No matter what, home is where the mountain is. This is an abstract collection of life and living on the other side of my life; with their sheer sleekness and sophistication seemingly surprising me on more than one occasion. NB: This is not related to any government/minister as the title may suggest—for that matter the government is only as good as a wet Moreh blanket.

Check: Nongmaijing 2/3: Shapes and Shades

On Seeking Self-hood

Can I be a cowboy
Have I no horse, alas
Neither a hat nor a handgun
Am I just a bewildered wanderer
Too broke to buy even a boot.

Am I Auden
Alas, life goes the local Kangleipak style
And I got a cowboy costume, out;
And it gives a seemingly true self, in;
Cowboy, nay, possibly a sickly cow.

Maybe I’m the Moon
Like the lack of its own light
Like its distance from the Real
Sigh again.

Got I to be the government
Might as well I be the master
Yet the only rule I have is of no rule
My only ministers are only my desires
My only subjects are only my whims.

Maybe I’m Manipur
Broken and bruised and bleak
Yes, it looks getting closer
With no horse and no light
All along I have not been seeing clearly.

Maybe I’m just the shadow of the deserted over-bridge.



 No God, No Master

2/2 Western Literary Movements: In Pixels!

[Image guide: The first few lines are a short description and in all caps, those are some of the popular authors, of that particular movement.]

Continued from 1/2 Western Literary Movements: In Pixels!

1/2 Western Literary Movements: In Pixels!

Literature, like any living entity changes with time. It might be half as old as human civilization and its definitions have been changing over the decades and centuries. We would need a couple of volume of books to discuss each aspect fairly. Somehow, it is possible to have a glance over its existence from a bird’s-eye view, as seen through the various literary movements.

This post emphasizes on Western literary movements and schools, most notably from the United States and a few parts of Europe, and again focusing more on London and Paris. However, that is not the end: we have a couple of them from Latin America and India as well. In a way, this is a collection of literary movements in English language.

Learn about the details—there are various sources and have a deeper insight when you read your favourite writers and their works.

The post has been divided into two sections to make the page load faster.

[Image guide: The first few lines are a short description and in all caps, those…

Prayers in the Time of Unrest

For Gayatri

Ong bør bøwa søwa
The divine self—to hell with it,
You are bloody adorable—we cannot help but love it,
You illuminate the three worlds
When one is just enough,
I offer my prayers to you
You shine like a fucking sun
You shine on me, over my receding hairline
As if it is some kind of joke. Not!

         For Uncle John

Our father, who fart in heaven and hell
Profanity fills your name,
Come to your kingdom—hell, no
You will be done
Like on earth the Western Asian suicide bombers do
As in with their heaven assured with seventy-two houris,
Give us this day one more reason to ignore you less
And forgive our untouched foreskin
Like the god would have, if he were really there
Lead us not into opium den
Deliver us from the kings and his people
And this forbidden hometown.
Uh! Animals.

Design in the Time of War

Ten English quotes on social revolution translated in Meiteilon

Authors quoted above

① Leo Tolstoy
② Emma Goldman
③ Leon Trotsky
④ Subcomandante Marcos

⑤ Ursula K. Le Guin
⑥ David Mitchell
⑦ Otto René Castillo
⑧ Victor Hugo

Modern Tabloid Front-Page Design Project

Good design is making something intelligible and memorable. Great design is making something memorable and meaningful.
—Dieter Rams
The layout and design of a newspaper can make or break it. The arrangement of texts and images enhances the prominence of news stories depending on their relevance and significance—and it makes the visual uncluttered as well as easy on the eye. The Modern Tabloid Front-Page Design Project is a whimsical take on the tabloid format. Each single spread has been balanced proportionately to a conventional dimension of 432×279 mm. Two such pages are further condensed into a single double spread of 680 pixels wide, which I normally use for images in this blog. It is ironical that I have created these pages in a sheer impulsive approach despite its importance. Bloody impatient nihilist! Then the name—I picked it up from a list of dozens of them that popped up in a couple of minutes. The inevitability to depend on system fonts and a few free pieces from here and th…

From Pomelos and Primroses

By the pond we’d pry on your privacy
Schadenfreude is just a fancy word but we can see
Your misery. Sad animals.
For the romantic and quixotic
We’re the saviour; the refuge from the mess
An irrelevant substitute of the noise
The tender, the softer, the calmer the better
So go to the living hell
Your gun can only kill yourself
We’ve nothing to do with it
So much so, to the overly fond heart-owners’ delight.
In winter when we rise, in others when we grow
You have to keep killing yourself—each other
While the bard in you seeks for the sweetness in us
As if nothing’s wrong with you,
Nothing’s wrong in us
And an old man says “fuck art, let’s dance.”


Since boredom advances and boredom is the root of all evil, no wonder, then, that the world goes backwards, that evil spreads. This can be traced back to the very beginning of the world. The gods were bored; therefore they created human beings.
— Søren Kierkegaard
The believers have so many things to say believe. I’m also a believer, but not in a traditional sense for I believe in the nonexistence of gods. I wish only goddesses exist. Yes, these are things a man says when he got nothing to do. So, better make some graphics.

Silent Chaos

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.
Martin Niemöller
Ibobi and his gang always talk of life as perfectly normal in the state. Even the ringmaster—the governor earlier this year—remarked, ‘The state police have been able to keep the law and order situation under control while maintaining public orders despite working in an extremely sensitive security environment.’ The chief minister added, ironically, the AFSPA will be repealed when the law and order situation is under control. Still, everything is fine, according to them, despite the record number of bomb blasts, murders, extortion cases and our collective decadence from bad to the worst. As always, multiple tragedies have made us mere zombies…

Net Neutrality: Save the Internet

Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day; teach that person to use the Internet and they won't bother you for weeks. —ANONYMOUS
On March 27 last, The Telecom Regulatory Authority of India (TRAI) released the convoluted  Consultation Paper On Regulatory Framework For Over-the-top (OTT) Services (, which is precisely a plan to build walls on the Internet to satisfy the corporate greeds. As of today, April 14, news report indicates over 150,000 e-mails and e-petitions have been sent to TRAI and the Union Ministry for Communication and Information Technology.

DoTake a minute off and respond to TRAI here:

ReadThe World Is Watching Our Net Neutrality Debate, So Let’s Get It Right on Wired and a list of related articles on MediaNama. A basic guide to net neutrality is illustrated below: 

The Internet is full. Go away!

Chaaikhre Ngasi Nangi Loubukta

Arambam Somorendra’s Chaaikhre Ngasi Nangi Loubukta (originally written in 1989) translated by Arambam Sophia (April 2015)

Today on your fields is strewn
The blood of your sons
To merge with your soil
That it may be nourished
For seasons forthcoming
O green phige-clad Mother
O beloved Manipur!

Smoke shrouds
Your sky
Ceaselessly rising
From the pyres of your sons
Smoke shrouds
Your sky,
Blown asunder
By the unfettered wind
It spreads
All over your sky

To pour forth as rain
In every corner
Of your hills and valleys
The seeds of the past
Now slumbering
Shall be awakened afresh,
New sprouts shall spring up
On your vast fields and fallow lands.

One day at dawn
In the sun’s crimson rays
Your old faded clothes
Shall be changed anew
Your favoured ritual attire
Shall be sprinkled
With golden hue.

Listen to the song on Youtube

Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

A three-day long festival of music and arts with a view to respect, honour and protect the environment, Where Have All the Flowers Gone? has been the first of its kind in Manipur. This is the second edition. This year, the venue is at the Santhei Natural Park, Andro in Imphal East. This festival is inspired by music and environmental activism of the late American folk singer Pete Seeger who passed away in January 2014. This will be his 96th birth anniversary and we wish to commemorate the day by carrying out activities dear to his heart and fundamental to the survival of our environment. Starting from May Day i.e 1st May there will be tree plantation drives in various places of Imphal and Andro.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone? will also have painting competition for school students, performances, photo exhibition by Wildlife and Habitat Protection Society (WAHPS) and art fair that consists of art installation work, painting exhibition, etc. Indian singer/songwriter Susmit Bose, who h…

Down & Out: Beat Generation 101

WAHOUDOK  I stumbled across the Beat Generation around five years ago. The realisation of Hobessian life being solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short drove me to seek for some meaning, despite my thoughts being overwritten by nihilistic whims repeatedly. Growing up in awe of romanticists like John Keats, William Wordsworth, Khwairakpam Chaoba and others in high school was one thing but it was totally another to relate to the things social, political and economic and shits, happening around us.

Simply put, it was making me disillusioned in a hometown whose description of a society can be summed up alliteratively in blood, bombs and bullets. Now the high school stuffs are gone and I even have a term, ‘heiraang-leiraang lit’ (Heiraang Leiraang in the Write Direction, Nov 2010), to label these poets and their verses of sweetness and softness.

Do not accuse me of defection! I do like a Lamabam Kamal or a Dylan Thomas work now and then. However, in the beatniks, at least I have seen, if…

Pop Nonstop

I learnt to fly
It was before I could drive
It was before I could hardly walk
When my father kicked my ass from the rooftop.

Oh boy, fun it was in those days
Just run and play along the tilted metal roof
Those days we’d wave to the CRPF men calling them bhaiya
We’d sing Rabindranath Tagore’s national anthem by rote   
Happily, smoothly, along with our-father-in-heaven prayers
And Ganga and Jamuna had a threesome with Jesus Christ.

And the jolt! The kick in the ass!
And I fell from the roof like a sparrow
The sort of a poor drenched ’parrow, just out of a pond
Just that I was an animal, and not a bird.

And I learnt to dive before I could swim
When another day my father hurled me into our pond
Like a circus monkey lost in a dreary town
I ingested, in twenty seconds of sinking, an eternal experience
Of darkness and nothingness, outside
Of a blunt physical experience, inside;

Father, those were nothing—with today’s life, living
But you are not even here to listen to these craps.
It is no surprise how anth…


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