Friday, March 14, 2008

i dont know what to call this peice of shit

Someone says “Nights are always silent unless you make love” it is indeed true. But nights are always silent after sex too. And a silent night takes me anywhere. It often reminds me I am suffering in hundred ways. Yes! We have suffered like hell as we belong to Manipur , the jewel of India. Jewel is something a man or woman can posses and can do anything with it. Many rare cases in the history of mankind have happened inside this jewel of india, perhaps it is the reason why we are being called jewel, like Sharmila’s incident , Pebam Chitaranjan burning himself alive. If we belong to any sensitive part of this undemocratic world, there would have been so many great movies and singers and writers and activists. It will often lead them to Nobel prize, Oscar and any sort of prizes available. But we are just suffering! no one out of us are ready to celebrate our suffering, celebrate with anger celebrate with celluloid movies.

Or we are so damned comfortably numb to feel the pain, may be that’s why the film makers go to Rajasthan for a camel ride shooting in Jitendra’s favorite white suits. Our helplessness can be seen when we ride a bike in our own town. Once I rode my father’s Hero Honda CD 100 from khurai Chingangbam Leirak to Khoyathong, I was stopped by Manipuri commandos and asked every necessary questions and documents. I answered to them and show them every document they asked for. I remember by heart my driving license number my automobile number. If I could not answer them I would have got a slap or two. Finally they asked why did I wore a torn jeans, before I could answer, one of them put his finger inside the hole of my torn jeans and started pulling jeans to make my torn jeans worst. But I wore torn jeans because it has been with me for last six years. Even if I was fashion conscious, what was their right to tear it further. It hurt me it has made me furious inside. But I kept quiet with my brimming eyes helplessly watching them making fun out of my poverty.

This is the kind of freedom one feels driving or riding in the heart of Imphal city. Whom to blame? Whom to share? Whom to cry? Even in my friend circle there are people who doesn’t understand what was the situation? Whenever one say freedom it does not necessarily mean freedom from a state or country. It can be a freedom to ride your bike from Imphal to Moirang it can be of how you wear your jeans or how your wear you Sarong. But we have lost it. We suffer from both end. We are the slice of cucumber inside their political sandwich. I have a sense of belongingness that’s why I still wore that torn jeans, that’s why I still feel we have to fight against such act of barbarism or militarization. I know it is hard to fight, many of us has already been Sisyphus. Simply following what we have seen. Get married and earn and make love and die.

Even our intellectual society they speak jargon in their language, they publish books they attended seminar, they talk of rights but in their terms, it never reaches any grassroots where it is needed the most. They are like classical music. But what the suffering people need at the moment is rock and roll kind of music which breaks all norms of LAWS and RULES where it can be useful at the moment.

No comments: