One of My Fav Places...

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.
However, in this midst, if you’re  really unlucky, you come across offensive anonymous visitors who pass coarse remarks on you from their hideouts, obviously petrified of everyone finding out the fact that he is a supposedly decent, highranking official who goes to some plush office wearing a suit and a tie. With his reputation at stake, its natural that he hides behind anonymity to conceal the Mr. Hyde he loves to turn into. I am sad to have come across this kind of people whose antennae have been blunted from a cultivated disregard of other people’s feelings.

            With that being said, I can move on with my usual happy-go-lucky attitude and resume my ramblings…with less disclosure. The other day my colleagues and I were watching this clip on Aizawl of the 70s or early 80s and though we were yet to take shape in our mothers’ wombs during these times, we still felt pretty nostalgic. We were amazed by the amount of progress and development Aizawl has attained in just a few decades. But I shall not attempt to spot what a nation’s wealth is, and what augments it or how a country thrives, and why it needs no pearls and gold if basic products are available. Or why some profess that we continue to suffer and fester  while our rival country’s repulsive progress continues its upward spiral. It’s actually the Aizawl market, one of my favourite places in the city, I am here to pore over.  

In the old clip, the market was depicted and commented upon as bustling with life back then, I wonder what this commentator would say if he has to comment upon the same market today. The recent action undertaken by the Government to redo the whole area is a blessing for girls like us addicted to the  crammy second-hand clothing lanes. The center of the busy market was where we would shuffle and push in the narrow path between the bigger shops and the smaller but overtly crammed knick knack stalls. And Christmas was the worst part of this hullabaloo, my one time experience ages ago made me avoid this part of the market forever. I hope this year would be different seeing that the smaller stalls in the center of the market have been resituated elsewhere and in turn a wider space has been instated for all market goers, from shopkeepers to hawkers and most importantly, for market stalkers like us. This is one achievement where I would have to give a thumbs up to whoever is responsible. Whether the fund and facilities were fairly utilized or they were simply gobbled up by some semi-educated, pot-bellied, vengeful despots, I really don’t care. As long as I have enough breathing space and newer, cleaner building to shop my favourite second hand stuff, I would not volunteer to search for missing lakhs. Im too young to be a successful, trenchant, witty, barnstorming, jeering performer.