This is a topic I have always refrained myself from discussing because I have always regarded it as a trivial issue but here I am, finally bringing it into my realm of significances. Dress code. Im puzzled by the term itself.
Certain comments passed onto my post recently have led to me to question whether I should discontinue my personal publicity. I guess sometimes, when you’re deeply entrenched into something and you could even open up to this something, you tend to cross those lines you’ve so carefully drawn for yourself. Im redrawing my line, a single, bold line in stark red so I can always bar myself from stepping across it. In short, I need to have my own limits. There are dozens of decent bloggers and friends who have been supportive and amusing too.
July 30th was “my” day and I celebrated that special day locked up in my room, depressing myself, smoking, eating kuhva and surprisingly, listening to sentimental songs. When you’ve crossed that quarter mile and you notice a new line of wrinkle on the morning of your supposedly celebratory birthday, can you still craft a smashing party? No way! Well, for others who’ve gone further ahead of me, I may sound overtly obnoxious and self-centered, showing off what they believe would be the prime of youth, but I do, honestly, feel I have lost so much in life.
She’s my BESTEST friend, a friend in need and in deed. :) I had created a blog earlier but abandoned it because I did not find it interesting enough and was too lazy to write but Kuku (she’s the bff by the way), got me into the game again…she gave me back my mojo.. :)))
The fact that we oppose in terms of physical quality and emotional strength (she’s so going to think she’s the stronger one) makes us click. We have the right chemistry. Way back in our higher secondary days, while we were both studying in Shillong, we both happened to board the same bus bound for Aizawl. We had met once or twice earlier through friends and that evening only the usual reserved hellos were exchanged as is natural among distant friends and both turned to our closer friends. Then the usual landslide hurdle halted the bus near Dholai and we had to make do with petty jokes and boring paltry talks to stifle our hunger because there were no houses or shops around. My brother, still in his hormone raging stage, got up and tried his boyish charm on her and she, in her hormone induced pricey attitude, was acting uninterested. Seeing the pathetic state my brother got himself into, my defense mechanism stirred and I stomped towards them determined to rescue my brother. But just when I was about to open my mouth, she gave that smile that has got her boyfriend hooked and…and…I forgot to ask her nicely where they had gone for pee-pee earlier. Instead I grabbed her by the collar and demanded to know their secret hide-out. That’s how we became friends. In truth, I cannot really recall how we started our conversation but I remembered we were both foolishly deliberating whether we should walk on foot upto Vairengte. She suggested first. And I agreed. When I told my brother about our brilliant plan, I think he said “Wear a tin suit and a 3-inch soled s hoes to last the road”. We did not execute this brilliant plan, saved by the road clearance, and as we rode on and counted kilometers, we realized the unbrilliantness of the brilliant plan.
We met again on the first day of college after we had both retried our 12th std. exams and the rest is history. Its amazing that after so many years of friendship, we have never fought and never quarreled.Tough we did have our trivial misunderstandings, we always managed to settle our differences in a calm, forgiving manner. She’s responsible for this. I’m short-tempered and pride packed. She’s not. She’s intelligent and quick witted and always manages to come up with white lies and harmless excuses for the both of us. Im not as brainy as her but I have lent my own fair share of lies and excuses to save her butts. She has rubbed off her ciggy addiction onto me and I’ve introduced her to the reddish world of kuhva. She comes to me for advice and I go to her when I need the same. We openly share each other's tits and bits but we swore that to the outside world, our lives would never be open books.
We both have the same brand of scooty. Mine is old and overused. Hers is shiny and underused. I call myself a veteran driver. She calls herself a veteran driven. Probably a wrong vocab here but it suits her so well. She has always had a dedicated guy to take her around while I have had to gallop around forlornly on my scooty and occasionally, she takes the charge behind. But now that my trusty scooty is getting old, we have decided to officially use hers; besides, hers is going to rust away anyway among the dust in her garage . She can ride, alright, but she’s saving her energy for the day I finally wear down. Here’s to you, my friend, and to all the years of friendship to come. Happy Friendship day!
This month is supposed to be the most anticipated month of all months: bro's wedding was scheduled for the 16th, my bday falls on the 30th, my favourite nephew would come finally home and other minor festivities are also in store. But, the heavy toll of the wedding was not something that I expected (the reason being this is the first of its kind in our family),
I don't really know if the saying up there is accurate but its definitely what it is for the English and the German football teams last night. There's a German term called "Schadenfreude" which means pleasure derived from others' misfortunes and how apt is that for the German team? The English may as well drop this piece of German word from their dictionary before their opponents realize that its in there, that they understand its meaning and that they can hurl the word at them and laugh. And laugh they certainly can because they deserved to win, they played "a little" better. My "better half" was in a foul mood last night as goal after goal shot into the English nets, i could have sworn i saw a speck of tear hastily wiped away from his cheek, well, that's an exaggeration but he was definitely at the point of bawling and crying his lungs out after the fourth goal...'
....is what i am. Been really busy filling up my brother's shoes at home while he's away at work and its strenuous! Besides watching WC with my dada every night, i flex my muscles for my dad's supposedly engineered blueprint for a new floor and stairs in hrahsel bhavan lol. Bro's getting a bigger bed...so..
Im watching an exorcism performed by a hmar pastor on the local channel. Its sort of terrifying. I can only view the action from time to time for my fragile, sensitive but stubborn heart cannot bear to see an equally fragile and delicate child being manhandled, whatever the case may be.So, im writing this blog as a distraction The supposed victim of the devil is a boy of about 10 whose baffled eyes denote his lack of comprehension of the entire event. I sincerely sympathize with the boy though i definitely abhor the evil spirit in him, if its in there. The boy had become muted when one year ago, a whirlwind caught him, lifted him up about "the vertical length of a house" and he landed with three little devils inside him. He has stopped talking from that moment. This particular pastor is now earnestly praying for the boy's health and safety. He seems sincere and im sure, as a man of God, he has no violent intentions other than to exorcise the evil spirits in him. The boy is crying and is obviously scared as the pastor vehemently shouts at him aka the devils. Now a miracle is happening....
Romantic love, we say. It’s a condition that probably one-third of the world’s population is experiencing this very moment. While there are people who keel over it, there are also an equal number in the ratio who detest it because they are either love-a-theist or it had once injured them. To some it is a nurture, a soothing aroma that heals all pain and fear while to others it is a mischievous sprite, a host that preys on the heart and slowly takes the life out of you. Love encompasses happiness, comfort, satisfaction, valor, gallantry(for men??), sadness, pain, fear, dissatisfaction. In short, a jumble of emotions.
Romantic lovers, often desperate to attest its unique existence, turn to the only expression they know hoping that it would strike out antagonism or skepticism about it. They say “I love you” to confirm their sincerity. It seems to be the only adequate expression they can think of to convey one’s feelings towards a beloved. Have you used it? I have encountered and seen the power it has upon lovers and how it can melt even the toughest of men. I have been a witness to countless number of laughs and tears that this powerful chemical has brought forth and I have been a victim to its lure as well. Without love, Shakepeare would have sat idle in his chair and died nameless.
Saying “I love you” takes only a few seconds but it will take you a lifetime to prove it. If you’ve been in love, you know what I’m talking about. And in that lifetime, different waves of emotion perforate - exhilaration, passion, joy, elation, pain, fear, frustrations…all in a bundle. If love can make a person laugh and sing, it can also make him/her kick and scream. It is sensitive and yet so harsh. It can make the most stubborn heart melt like butter but can also make the most fragile/delicate being brave all dangers. Each person experiences love in his or her own terms and I’d say your heartstrings are tugged depending on your lovers’ commitment. Love embraces both platonic love and extreme intimacy. Love, to me, is the mutual reciprocation of adoration, “Your heart in exchange for mine”. There’s a saying “Its better to be loved than to love”, but I say, “Its best to be loved and to love.” It would be a tremendous agony to know that your beloved is lagging behind and resists sharing your notch.
That naked little angel struck me once and his arrow is sure hard to pull out once it inflicts its potion. That potion gushes through the veins and when it reaches the heart, it explodes, sparks fly and you become powerless. You know youre in love when “he” makes you smile for no reason, makes you laugh at the unfunniest stuffs and makes you feel safe in the midst of trials. When you really love someone, you want him to be happy even if his happiness means you are not a part of it. To me, friendship facilitates love and when I can be myself, not having to pretend but not feel stupid when Im around him, then I know he’s the one. And when all the infatuation dwindles, friendship is what drives love further on and makes it strong. A newly loved couple may overlook all faults, conflicts and perhaps abuse too. Love in its genesis can be a refreshing, wonderful feeling but undying love emerge only through time. When you’ve reached a point where you become critical of one another, become easily irritated at things that didn't bother you earlier in the relationship and you become less patient with each other, but still…in the midst of all those hiccups, you manage to put in little efforts to revive the sparks and “will not give up” on each other, then you’ll know you’ve stood the test of time. Sighh!
A trigger! Bullets towards the heart and BAM!!! Im on the ground rolling in pain. But it was with chocolates and flowers that you started. You saw my tears but knew they could dry with the perfect warmth. You raised the degrees, tripled it in fact, and as the tears evaporated, we waved goodbye to the tears of sadness. “Will it ever come back?” You nodded. “Why?” You smiled and hugged me and I knew…Of course it’d come back, it’s a part of life, but never again in this shape. A different sadness, life’s penalty. “Brave this with me”. The kiss sealed the agreement. You blindfolded me, took my hand and led me to that path. Our Path. Five turnings we took, each gratifying but testing. Gratifying because you fed me and described to me, in that wonderful assuring tone, the scenes blurring past me. Testing because I stumbled and hungered. I needed to see. On my own. “How can I sketch a scene for you too?”, “I want to lead the way too, take you to my special place”, “Can I see on my own now please?” A firmer grasp of the hand was the answer, you’ll lead the way and I’ll follow. Fifty or more was what you asked and for the first time, that sadness descended smirking. But I pushed it back…back, back , back… “Help mee, where are you?” A jolt and a jerk and its gone and you’re almost late. Almost. “What about next time?” A kiss and the blindfold was gone. You said I was ready. “I was ready from the first turning”. You didn’t nod this time. “Why?”. You pointed behind and I looked. I saw clouds, storms, thunders and only a little ray of light and I wept. “Thank you”. You told me you love me. I believed you. Together we traveled on. Together we observed the sights. Together we were bliss. Bathing in the pure ecstasy of harmonious love.
It was a rotten apple. “Shall we take a bite?”. You stared and watched and nothing. Nothing at all. No nods, no hugs, no kisses, no “Nos”, no nothing. You made me decide and you failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You! I took the bait and the sneer and it hurt. “Help me”. You took a step back. “Help me”. Another step back. “Please”. Another step with your soundless “I Love You” and still you moved, backwards. “I Love You” "I need that blindfold". You stopped and I saw that sadness creeping into you, stabbing you and piercing you. “What have I done?” I saw the bullets too, they came dazzling with sparks, as you pulled the trigger, as sadness became you. You have murdered us both.
FC Internationale just won the finals!Yay! Don't really know why im celebrating though hehe I guess i share their joy. Can't wait for Mourinho and his quirky comments. He must be in a total managerial felicity right now...He's such a controversial figure with a good sense of style, swoon...i wish he's a distance uncle who adores me. i do love his edge but im afraid he recieves more hate notes than love and i dont want this sort of a person 2 be a close relative and esp not as a father or a brother. I wish i can have him as a stand-by, i wish i have the Jolie power to enchant men and put even the most assertive men on leash. then I'd trap him with my feminine charm and put him under my spell and i'd conratulate myself for having power over even the most egotistical man in the world. But then i'd have to be a bitch and adopt some kids from underdeveloped countries. I digress. All the players played generally well but I could see that bayern Munich deserved to win, they definitely had a higher percentage of ball possession. Knowing Mourinho and his obssession with winning, its natural that Inter was playing defensive after a one goal shot and half of the field instantly went vacant and for a looong time. I coud see black and blue stripes flocking round their goal, eager to seal all potential cracks in the defensive line.
This is absurb! why am i even ranting on and on about football in the first place! I do love the game but Im so not here to give an anlysis of the game...ciao..siani nangmah ni leh mai...lol
siani i tan ni leh mai hehe ciartu neih ve chhun hehe kei lanu riang hi! just put my niece n nephew 2 sleep. They had a hard time falling asleep and when all the soothing and then the threats did not work, an idea or rather a challenge came to me. I remembered how engrossed i used to be with my late grandma's bedtime stories as a kid and i figured "What the heck! better to be prepared early 4 my grandkids anyway". So, i went through the translated versions of Mizo folktales fr. MizowritinginEnglish and related the story of Rairahtea. Kudos to U Zualtei for the brilliant translation. Re-rendering it into Mizo is strenuous though. However, despite my pitiful struggle to deliver the right tenor, the kids apparently accepted it as a pitiable attempt and showed interest. They soon became hooked to the story, bad as i was, and soon fell asleep much to my relief!Whew!It's gonna be tough looking after kids. But the story's opium effect now boosts my confidence in terms of family planning. I "hope" to tell more tales to my own children, if ever i have them. Pssst: u better read some too cos ya know...u never know when youre gonna have kids or maybe you do already..either way i strongly recommend feeding young Mizo kids with our own bedtime stories than cinderella and her peers or maybe we can relate both n they can compare and contrast or even if they dont maybe we can, in the process of the storytelling or whatever....Just Tell All!Knowledge is bliss!
This is no longer a toddler recounting her initial steps! its crazy the way the world moves so fast these days,esp, in the virtual world where you can be an infant one day and the next day you wake up as an adult...what prompts me to write 2nite is my encounter with a friend of a friend today. we both gave hesitant smiles as we go through quick mental time travel, each trying to locate where we had met. My head was apparently slower to register as she beamed and called out "JASMINE!!! how are you?". I was glad she saved me the embarrassment of having to ask for her name but I wasnt excited about the new name given to me either. I returned a friendly smile with a secretly ungrateful "hi" and quickly exited, not becos i was swollen-headed but becos i didnt want the situation to turn even more awkward with me having to conceive a new name for her as well, as the name never came to me. As I walked away, I silently fumed "AAAArrrgh! The burden of names!"...The impossible pronunciation and intonation of our Mizo names have let many people to adopt names in the language that is dominating the world today. It can, though unlikely, be taken as a our attempt at subversion of the colonized world; just as writers like Raja Rao, Rushdie, etc. have “Chutneyfied” the English language, can our acts represent our struggle to conquer the west by pirating their names? Also,there's a claim that the adoption of Western names is a "colonial hangover" and people's attempt to westernize themselves. The fact that there are people who adopt English names to appear sophisticated is a certainty but there's also a flip side. I don’t think we can really claim that this is the reason for all. For instance, my older brother was named Lenny because my parents, still romantic in the early stage of their marriage, read together a very inspiring novel about a young boy named Lenny while my mom was carrying my brother and they decided to name him after this boy. So, here we have a case where the naming is done purely on the basis of an inspiring story. Even if the boy’s name had been a Mizo one, I don’t doubt for an instant that my parents would still name my brother after him. Likewise, he was also named Vanlalmuana by my grandmother who was inspired by her Christian faith. So, naming depends on inspirations, experiences, influences, etc. etc. At the same time, I support the claim that there is a ridiculous zeal for English names among the Mizos. It’s absurd to see a very traditional, custom-bound, Mizo-faced Mizo from a remote, typical, Mizo village bearing an English name. If we force ourselves to view this from a different angle, then this can be taken as proof that communication has become easier and with development and progress, even the most far-flung parts of the state have tasted the west. But I cannot see the influence except in terms of appearance, out and not in. All we seem to care about is to bear an English name and dress like them and voila! you’re a westerner, as if one’s identity can be changed by clothes and names. Identity is a marker of difference and I think culture, language, race and religion are the basic components of identity. Its my identity as a Mizo that makes me distinct! With the advent of globalization, people are taking renewed interest in strengthening their identities, eager to participate in the multi-cultured global village and bringing with them their own cultures and sharing them with the rest. We cannot escape the globalizing forces which are starting to enter our own society, as seen in the development of mass media and communication, and as such, we need to be secure in our own identity in order to face and utilize these forces. What we have may not even be identity crisis but only progress crisis! We seem to believe that by adopting western names and fashion, we can share the pedestal that the west has placed itself upon, big mistake! Wouldn’t it be weird if an American in the US decides to wear only Mizo puan and have a Mizo name albeit he(a “he” seems even more hilarious to imagine than a “she”) still professes his “American-ness”? Progress comes only when there’s a stable self and the self exhibits interest in knowledge of one's own culture. It is time we realize that by denying our own culture and assuming others’, we have reverted to being “the colonized”, Do we really want to be the “other” just when our beloved(???) India is quickly becoming one of the world’s most powerful countries and we can enjoy its benefits? I, too, am among the unfortunates bearing the burden of an anglicized name and I had often made my parents upset by pointing out how much I hate my name though they were not the culprits. To this day, I have suffered humiliation, both from my identity-conscious generation for having a mannish, anglicized name and from the older generations who almost always have difficulty pronouncing my name. I am fated to smile when people say “Hey, you have the same name as Jamie Aditya, the VJ, Ya know, the "guy" from MTV” or “The Ushers for this month’s church services are James/Jimmy/Ja(Mizo lett "a")my/Jasmine/Jemmie/Zeemie/ Zamie/Jem,etc.”. There’s one, tiny, consolation though and that's, my name originated from Hebrew or so Wikipedia claims and though, it definitely spells a western fervor, it at least originated in the east even though it means “supplanter”.
One of my fav novelists had recently remarked that one must practice writing in order to improve one's creativity. Out of sheer respect for her and an increasing weariness of my tedium, I have decided to torture myself with this routine hoping that it would somehow evolve into an enjoyable hobby. I have never felt the necessity to cultivate any zings nor felt truly alone becos i wasnt aware that a whole other world exists virtually. I was contented and comfy in my own, sluggish, passive but vibrant-to-me daily life. But when my own studies demand that i do an intense brain exercise and bring out the results in the form of writing, it makes me realize the difficulty of forming thoughts into words. And that very moment of realization should have been an epiphany, only it wasnt!My own laziness, timidity(???)and insecurity ensued and I could not bring myself to write. I have always been too lazy to indulge in the world of the internet, limiting myself only to emails, orkut, fb, ebay and googling and now I'm suffering the consequences...I go "Duuuuh" when people mention "internet" terms and often feel my skin wrinkling away in the midst of friends who animatedly discuss the latest technologies and internet facilities. It saddens me to think that I have become outdated in my prime and out of touch in my twenties. So, I have resolved, in order to fit in, to keep in touch with the happenings around me even as I learn to keep up with my generation in the world of the internet.
testing testing 123 123.......seems to be working just fine....goodie...now i finally have a tool to vent out my repressed.....*wink* *wink* whatever.....hmmm...now lets see if its really as gud as ku2 says it is..
