SHYAM AND THE MONSOON RAINS IN MUMBAI

Stephan C. Hmar 27/12/2012

It was a young night in early June. Above the glare of street lights and skyscrapers, the city of Mumbai was enveloped by hovering monsoon clouds. Rain was imminent.

Meteorological Department reports a week earlier that the south-west monsoon has showered on the Andaman Sea and proceeds towards Kerela and is expected to onset over Mumbai in a week. Going by the prediction, the onset of monsoon should start the following day.

          Monsoon downpour in Mumbai often brings two things --- a mystic season and floods--- which can reduce to a disastrous showdown. It will bring greenery to places but which can play havoc of devastating floods. One moment can change for good; the same moment can change for worse. So, like other years, the locals here were yet again set to meet the immutable heavenly force, something to cheer and worry for, piteously to the same degree.

The locals on the streets around Kalina Masjid were busier than any other dusk. Beneath the huge white marbled dome and two soaring minarets of the Masjid, the commotion of people and vehicles were endless and nonstop. It was the preparation for the monsoon. Some unfashionably bargained on the vendors selling umbrellas and rain-coats. On the other side of the road, the wine keeper lit his agarbati and gave obeisance to the hanging frames of Durga, Hanuman, Buddha, Sai Baba, Mecca and Jesus Christ asking them for better business during monsoon, while his customers waited eagerly for their brands, to wash down in their throats, the memory of the last dry winter. Bhel and chai wallas too, were busy, for the first time in the year, inspecting their awning roofs. Meanwhile, some people walked down the street towards homes with rolled tin sheets on their heads, while some were riding their two-wheelers with bundle of blue polythene sheets tied on the back seats. From any direction to every direction, vehicles, men and women came out and went in. It was a torrent of humans, vehicles, rickshaws and cycles.

Not far from these rush of movements, towards a small alley that diverted to a small room, Shyam woke up from his sleep and switched on the TV with the toe of his right leg. Heads of presenter on his television asserts the need of hygiene; that accumulated rain waters could brings dengue, malaria and other related diseases. They informed mumbaikars to clean drainages and check any possible water-loggings in and around the house and prevent breeding of mosquitoes in stagnant waters. 

His face showed a washed-out feeling. He was not exactly concerned with the dengue or malaria. He was worried of his arthritis and the severity of how rain could do to his swelling joints. He then pill off a pain-reliever from the strip and reached for his water bottle. As expected, his mobile buzzed. He received a message.

gari 9 baji mein ane wala hain. Masjid ke samne

He looked at the clock on his mobile. 8:05 PM. He sighted “Hmm! I still have another 55 minutes”. He sat back and looked around his tiny rented room. Two big steel almirahs stood near the wall occupying one-fifth of the room. Adjacent to them, another wooden almirah, covered with black mica stood occupying one-fourth of the remaining space. Two small ceiling fans revolved in unisons, producing the same irritating noise in unisons. And then there was an old refrigerator, so old that it looked like the oldest model of any Indian-made refrigerator. He hated everything about this room, particularly the steel almirahs and the refrigerator; they were kept here by the owner as the memory of his long gone father. But the truth is he didn’t have no other place to keep, which he, in turn, cunningly used them for raising the room rent time and again.

Shyam was working in a BPO somewhere in Malad. His worked night shift--- from 10 PM till 6 AM every next day. Now, after working for almost 6 months, he seemed accustomed with the nature of the work. He would sleep from around 11 in the morning and would wake up around 8 in the night. Tonight, he has been awake for almost 30 minutes into the 8 hours stretch he would have to stay awake at BPO. He felt the pain and stiffness of his neck and spines. He said to his mind, “This is from your arthritis. Young man!! Try to endure it”. He popped the pain-reliever and gulped down water from the water bottle, flawless as any inherent instinct.  He then stood in front of the mirror and tried to straighten his stooped figure. After no successful attempts, he said to himself, “Thank God! You make me short!”

Shyam hates waking up from sleep. For him, there is no blissful time like deep sleep. When he sleeps, he feels no pains, no worries and his whole world with its entirety is forgotten. His soul vaporizes between his sickly and paining joints and wanders off in freedom. His soul has the command to choose and it chooses to visits time he longed the most---where lives were fond, bones were flexible, and the heart-beats were God’s masterpiece. But, around 8 PM, he must wake up.  And then the pains will come back to him like cascade waters rushing back into a sea. This will take him back into his world of pains he is suffering for a decade now.  The stark reality of knowing that this waking up is going to put him back into his hopeless world of pains he learn to endure is the hardest thing to term with. He is annoyed by the fact of his life of which everything he does and dream is curtailed by his relentless pain. Yet he cannot do anything about it save a mere bearer.

8:45 PM. Shyam walked out from his room and walked towards Kalina Masjid. The first monsoon breeze touched his face. He was picking his steps carefully so that he would not bump into people or vehicles. He walked pass the pan dukan, clustered by people waiting for their evening dose of paan. He walked pass the butcher’s shop, the road-side evening ice-cream trolley. In the meantime, he heard chanting about Allah through loud speakers from the masjid.

His friend Salman Khan saw him on the way. Shyam called him Salman because he tried to act and behave like the real Salman: dresses, hairstyles, walks, talks, etc. Salman cried, “Hey! Tu! Kiu aisa chalta hai. Try to walk straight like this”, he stick out his chest, more like salman than the real him. Shyam just smiled, but beneath the smiles, he cried. He asked himself why people could be so healthy while he is not. With a gust, he felt a few more steps towards masjid were heavier. He was just discouraged, to live. He was dragged into the world of meaninglessness. He could sense every second of the way and his pains were more severe.

And at last, he stood near the fencing of the masjid.

People hurried up and down. Lights from headlights, honking, chattering, and shouting are every where. Shyam wearily waited for the pick-up car, with folded papers in his hand.

His mobile read 9:00 sharp. The pick-up car was still not coming.

He darted his stiff neck here and there to indulge in anything worth watching. Behind where he stood were unattended crushed stones and pebbles probably kept by BMC or local contractors or Implementing Officers or whatever?  On them slept peacefully, a man. Shyam was taken aback by the sight of the man. It was quite a contrast to the distressing scene on the street. His attention was just captured by the man.

The man pillowed his left hand, slept with his face down, his right hand on the waist. Oddly he was snoring deeply. He wrapped around a dhoti which, under the street light above him, could be dictated as of green and white stripes. He had long, unkempt hairs and thick beards on his neck, chin and cheeks and his whole physique revealed a man of quite a big stature, any small man could envy. Shyam could not take his eyes away from the peaceful scene this man enjoyed.

Shyam got a missed call. He checked the number and looked around. A milky-white Indica car was standing 3 meters away. He approached and boarded the car.  As usual, Varsha sat on the front, left of the driver. On the back seat sat the three of them, Shyam, Anket and Mitesh.  As the car moved away towards the highway, his three friends were discussing of the coming surprise test and how to look for a better Job. Shyam was silent all the way.

He was thinking of that man in dhoti. “Monsoon is coming. And it is going to last 4 months, until September. What is the hell with that guy? What will he be in the rain?”

How could a man, filthy as a stray dog could be so captivating to Shyam. Even Shyam was surprised. Could someone tell Shyam that it’s not the filthiness that impresses him but of the peace and painless life he enjoys?

The next morning, after the hectic work, Shyam was dropped by a car near the masjid, the same place where he was picked up, yesterday night. He got down the car with difficulties, closed the door, and said “Thank you” to the driver. The driver indicated his agreement with a nod and drove away. Shyam looked for the man in dhoti.

He was there, sitting on his home---the pebbled stones, resting his two big arms on his knees. There were no signs of discontentment and pains on his face. His hairs and long beards are obvious and unattended. He looked at the early commuters of the street and then with a smile, looked up the sky. He didn’t seem to have much need for them. They didn’t seem to need him either as their minds are full with wants and desires.

Anything above the surface of this earth should be trusted. Anything, not embedded on this surface is genuine. Oh yes! Anything high up in the skies is trustworthy. And so, it is not wrong to say satellites are also like mini-gods; their predictions of the monsoon turned true.

That afternoon, a gusts of winds, mixed with the mystic, flickering droplets started to pour. In no time, the tar roads shone wet and shiny like a freshly polished shoes. Commuters rushed for covers. Exactly after 15 minutes in the rain, the roads of Mumbai looked deserted. Autos are scarce, and few town buses and other public transports ply with closed windows and doors, not bothering to stop at their usual stops.

Quite opposite to these bewildering scene of the city, unknown farmers and livestock, dwelling in the outskirts of Mumbai suburb thanked gods for answering their prayers. It was an auspicious start of the month. Cows and horses smelled the first scent of mud mixed with the smell of rains. Everyone, men and beast, feel that the year ahead will bring good fortunes. And this timely arrival of monsoon was the sign.

The downpour was heavy. It disrupts many people in Mumbai. An aspiring actor residing in the PG in Kalina has to rush towards the closest roof. He was planning to go to Juhu and drink the sea water and shout “I will be the king of this City” just as the story of SRK goes. Beside him, another young man was holding his thin bag to his chest. Inside the bag was his script for Bollywood film. He feared that he would not submit in time.

Shyam was also there beneath the stingily protruding roof of a dukan, waiting for his pick-up vehicle. The man in dhoti was also sitting on the opposite side of the road, beneath a canvas roof, wetting his hands with the droplets of rains that fell from the edges. He was having a relieved smile when he did that.

Rains would not stop for months and the skies would look hazy and bleak. Sometimes it would rain the whole night. By morning it would stop. At other time, it would rain for few hours, stop for few hours and would rain again. Newspapers talked of the flooded train tracks, delayed trains, over-flowed rivers, drainages and nullahs. They also talked of people falling into manholes or sandwiched by uprooted falling trees.

For Shyam, too, rains are more of menaces than comforts. The wet earth and airs brought more congestion to his chests. He felt more like million of needles pierced all over his spines.  In the swarm of his pains, he felt a feverish sickness. His intake of pain relievers has to increase to cope with his work. But worse than these pains, he did not see the man in dhoti any more. But he did not stop thinking about him. Who will take care of him in these rains? What will he eats? Every time when he passed he would searched for him. But he was no more. Sometimes, when the rain stopped, he would walk up to the stones where he used to sleep. He would see the indentations created on the stone chips by his big body.

For four months, Mumbai was gripped by rains. For four month, Mumbai life was in confusion. And under the turmoil, Shyam lost his friend, the man in dhoti.

October came. And with it, a fresh sunlight, not annoyed by clouds or rains, came. Life started to race up again as usual.

Shyam also felt relieved, but was torn by the meaninglessness of Kalina without his man in dhoti. Sometimes life is more uninteresting when you are tangled by things you cannot do anything about it. It is worthless to know you can love something yet not having any authority over them. Some sight is so peaceful, so harmonious and so deep-rooted that you would like to see it forever. But, like the swiftness of a samurai, it just disappeared. Shyam felt he just missed him.

Time passed by and the intensity of his longing for the man increased. He would often go and checked the stone-chips. He wanted to ask passer-by if they had seen the man. But he did not do that as it would seem so irrelevant.

And then one early morning, at last, Shyam went up to the stone-chips. He sat on the stones exactly where the man used to sit, beside the indentations. The sun was still not out but early autumn breeze are neatly felt. The cheerful sparrows swing, to and fro, between their roofed nests in the building holes. Early risers and newspaper wallas are already caught up in the loop for the day.

Reservedly, Shyam sat there and thought shabbily, “Perhaps, he is dead. Perhaps dogs and crows feast on his carcass somewhere near the river or deep in the drains”. He thought.

And then he looked up towards the skies, just as how his man in dhoti did. Then a delightful thought came to him. “Perhaps, he must be somewhere, in another part of Mumbai, resting himself on better stone-chips, with cleaner dhoti, freshened by the last monsoon rains”. Then with a reflex, he shouted out. ‘He is alive…alive...somewhere. He is there to teach serendipity and meanings’.

People walking gave a condescendence look at Shyam and hurried away. But he still sat there with contentment and happy face. Deep inside, he was measuring the certainity and also the uncertainity his disease hold for him. Tomorrow and beyond, they may bring something less worse or more worse. With them he cannot know where he will be, how he will enjoy or how he will cry. His life has been like a life on the stone pebbles and the only answer is not to worry. Not to worry at all. And to drag his pains all along until they kill him. But until they kill him, they ought to make him stronger, at least in some way.

He thought those thought and he felt he won some battle.

He walked around on the mount of pebbles. His pains didn't lessen a bit. But he felt them friendlier. And he smiled, not bothered by anything.

“IN TUNE WITH WHAT IS NEEDED THE MOST”

Stephan C. Hmar  1/12/2012

We need not look twice to see it­ --- our immediate need is economic prosperity which robs us of money and power. Poverty is our forefront enemy which strips us bare and making us slaves. It had turned us into a ridiculously less significant tribe. It was solely because of this that we were labeled with a flag of ‘ST’ or minorities-----a flag catering inferiorities, downtrodden and deprivations. Under its weight, we are none better than a lame duck. Any preaching or songs that try to promote this ‘poverty’ as a privilege from God should be strongly condemned.  It is neither a privilege nor a blessing in disguise. The firm truth is we don’t need poverty in any form, for spreading Gospel or for survival.  We cannot afford to be its friend.

  What we need (in real time as the clock tick) is a healthy bank balance (that may not be in crores) at least to buy us out from blatant dissatisfactions and “giving in” nature. We need hard cash to bail us out from our creditors. More importantly we need to see our confident “face of the uncorrupt being” when we looked into our glass mirror, for a healthy deep slumber. It is only that we are trying to justify this ‘real need’ diverting it in religious or worldly terms. Our immediate need will not change and will not change us, no matter how.

“Wine makes merry, but money answer all things”, King Solomon said in Ecclesiastics 10:19. It is true. Poverty is taking us too far in the dark that instead of knowing any answer, we end up in the amphitheater of scuffles. But, yes! It is not only us. You turn the pages of history books; you can read the ripple of destructions caused by wants of money and power. It has brought wars, slavery, kingships, democracy, radicalism, capitalism, militarism and all other -sm.  Everything of these revolves under the heft of money and power.

 Any nature that variously comes out of a deprived economy is a shattered nature, cunningly or foolishly one sided and terribly clinging towards the ‘need’ side. Under this economy, you try to indulge in one thing or the other; you will always end up trying to get your tangible needs. Trying to get aboard on an ideology that evokes the abundance of spirituality and disregarding the tangible world will only make you sick and look ridiculous. Long term practice of this ideology can result in one form of extremism, very destructive for our society.  

This extremism can foolishly bring a false immunity to this pesky disease of poverty that handicapped us, and wrongly orient us towards interpreting them in terms of the divine interventions. I am not sure if our God will be happy with it---we madly put blames on our spiritual life. Our blame for utter poverty goes as “You don’t pray much. Pray. Pray with faith” or “You attend less in church services” or “You participate less in the spiritual arena.” Then, we painstakingly learn to try to maintain our equilibrium with doses of spirituality and teach strongly how to be happy and showy in the midst of pitiful scarcity. The more we can convince our self and society that we are weak and poor till heaven comes, we ardently fulfilled the parameters of our society. We’re the ordained good guy reserved by Heaven. If you don’t have this spirit, you are the bad guy, destined for Hell.

Meanwhile, indeed, quite contrary to the “trying to” displaying these characteristic of renunciations, rejections and fuming spiritualities on our veils, sad tales of greed, self-interest, and prides swirls us like whirlwinds in the inside. The lack-luster acts of how we celebrate the Gospel Centenary, 2010 was just a tip of the ice-berg of our dishonors. We try to sound like fighting for heaven, but ridiculously end up fighting for the worldly stage. Everywhere we are divided by small and limited edition of gospels characterized by greed and hatred. Examine the antagonism between our churches and mission fields, all in the name of belief.  It is not coinciding with the peace, solace or the unity we are preaching. It is severely the opposite. What is this? Are we dressing up with the glittering ornaments of spirituality just to hide the fleeces of “self” that infect us within? Can we have a deep slumber with it? Do we have the needed economy to preach about the real Faith? Is it because of imposters in our society that we cannot break the ice?

It is not a new thing, conflict of interests which chiefly results from economic oppressions can leads to extremism. Reading world history tells us all. The extremity of the jihadis was the product of conflict of interests. Voodooism was, no doubt, the product of poverty and countless desires, all clubbed together. Hippies are the product of extreme spiritualism that disregards the hideous nature of men. In our judgments, they are all crazy vagabonds who will occupy the front rows of hell when they die. But do we scrutinize at ourselves when we passed these judgments? Unlike us, they practice what they preached and believe, transparently. They are in the world of realism. We hate them for their unmistakable rejection of every hideous, ungodly compromise that we had made and will be making in our proclaimed spiritual life.  Are we any better then them when we are also making a deal with our Gospel, fragmenting into bits just to serve our greed and desires? We are in the extreme spirituality of real imposters covered in the cloaks of the upright. Don’t interpret “extremism” as something foreign or ungodly, it is already here with us.     

Lately, many rich Christians converted to Hinduism, Buddhism because they don’t find solace in our religion anymore. Hinduism believed in money, power and success and openly teaches about it. Buddhism doesn’t believe in too much of materiality and teaches the middle path. Larger percentage turns agnostic---doubting the existence of God.  And then, surprisingly in England, more than 40% of the Christians didn’t go to church any longer. The percentage of “English Christians converted agnostic” amongst youngsters is around 60%. They found they cannot take the life of an imposter any more by trying to believe what they cannot practice or practice what their needs contradict.

Where are we then? Are we different? Are we teaching the vanity of the materiality of life, the supremacy of the spirit, but always weeping in poverty and worries? Paying more and more respect to the “inappropriately” rich people openly even in our congregation, the platform for God? Swimming in the world of materiality while publicly denouncing it?

All these acts of ours are just deceiving acts unto ourselves, to our society and to our ultimate religion. More importantly, these corrupt acts will not make us successful in any way. Society (and its belief) is an abstract institution (especially for outsiders) and we are its agent. The only reality society and its belief can have is the reality of the fulfillment of self-interest of the agents comprising it, be material or spiritual. And to preserve our society and spread its beliefs, our main concern should be to protect our own interests religiously and materially.  

The only solution to our problem of “overdosed with spirituality” is to speak of material prosperity in the light of the Gospel. Let us speak of the importance of sound economy, money, power, honesty, professionalism, hard work, transparency and unity alongside our endorsement for Heaven. Let us preach the solution for the problems we face here and not trying to rely on the far away blissfulness and abundances of Heaven as Heaven is not just here yet. Let us preach that poverty is the deadliest of sins for believers. Let us encourage honest lump sum earnings than just preaching against our supposedly unspiritual earning. Let us try to exercise our interests and prides and display the entity of our society with zenith craftsmanship of richness, in power and money, effectual enough to create our own air of importance. This will demand taking the Gospel to the next higher level. This Gospel will rightfully disdain our superficial prayers, non-stop dancing with the tune of the projected Heaven and the many sliced pieces of limited gospels.

I believe this will be the correct medicine for our ailing society. Taking this real dose will eliminate imposters. All of us will then seek what we preach and preach what we seek. For us the preaching of denouncing the world altogether is a little high to reach practically. It is just making us drab and unfruitful. It is for the extra-rich guys only, not necessarily the ordained good guys of our society. More accurately, this type of preaching is not what we can afford now as a preacher or as a society, looking at our handicapped economy. I cannot deny the fact that God would look at us and felt pity on us as we always try to explain Him in the most complex way when He can be easily reached through our simple needs. The mind of God is always on what human can reads and digests. Humans are governed by necessities and He always appears to us through this instinctive nature of ours.  Sometimes, instead of finding the solutions and trying to workout for them, we embark on the other bank “the spirituality”. This act is leaving a big vacuum in our life. It is making us ridiculous.  

SUPERLATIVE PERIOD OF OUR LIFE

Stephan C. Hmar, 18/11/2012

Friend! I know your mind and thought…..

You check your mind and look for changes. And you see tremendous changes but a fraction of your thought still feel your are stitch to one rigid feeling—the feeling of the superlative period of your life. Superlative period? Yep!! You are still bind to those time where everything—sadness or happiness— was raw, bold and original, as innocent as they are; where you are not enslaved by the law of wisdom, norms or rules; where everything was what they are.

Oh my gosh! Your mind change quite spectacularly now, beyond a level you can imagine. It changes the way you greet, talk, like, want, need. Indeed, your mind change almost everything what you were, like a disfigured face whose originality may never be recognize again. Friend, let me proceed… Your fashion has change as much as what you want to hold and give has change. I am telling you, you are contrary to your sweetness or bitterness. What you say and what is inside your mind is contradictory. You go to the place where your mind is not. You smile when you don’t smile but cry when you really smile.

My friend, I know what is in your mind… isn't? I am confirmed. You are now governed by the burden of cares, survivals, money, health, dignity, pride, right, wrong, friendship, enmity…. Oh! Let me take a gasp.

I see more of your mind to know that you feel you are better off than when you started. But your thought tells you are still worse off. You feel you have all the luxuries you can possibly have but you are devoid of something and this often outweighs your luxuries. You drive on your own, have the whole world on the screens inside your four walls, and the first glare of the sun starts with the knock on your door by newspapers. You have no use for people who don’t like you as they don’t have much use for a nut like you. You are in real term with your own world. But still, your thought feels empty. Emptiness is your only clinging friend in this world of multitude. You toil to have more, to save more, to establish or settle firmly. But, my friend…your thought still seeks for those “superlative times” of bygones which may not be repeated again.

Friend, I am also like you….And lets rock n roll with the rules of life even if we are unsatisfied though….

TAWNMANG SENNAU

Stephan C.Hmar,

Agartala,

25^th Sept 2012

Kan chawr sawnga  ramtin ngaituoa inthrung chu, ka lo in zawm pei ta a. Kan chawr sawng epa thing le ruo insawi dal dal hai le, an hna kara thli innemtak hrang diel diel hai chun, ka sun imu chu suk har nekin, an suk inden lem a. A khupa zalin, ka kut vawitieng lukhama hmangin ka in innghil ta bawr bawr a.

“Pa! Tho ta rawh. Sikul khawm ka trin an ta hi”, tia ka  kut changtieng hung sawi, hung sawi, ka naupa thawm ri chun a mi suk har phat a. Ka mit ka hei meng a. Ka naupa hmel thra tak, kum nga mi hi, ka hmai zawna a lo inthung zing a. A hmel ka hei en chieng a. ka hmel sietna po po peihawna, ka thratna po inpumbil el, naupang fel tak a na. Ama hlak chun inphalamna le trit na nei hrim hrim lo hin ka mithai chu a lo en zing a.

Naupang hmelthra le fel, ka thisen ngeia insieng le mi suongtaktu hmel chun ka lungril chu lawmna le chapona’n an hluosiptir a. Ka lungril le inmil lo tak chun, “Bawite! I trin an ta? Vawisun sikulah iem in inchuk?” tiin ka hei indawn a.

“Pa! Nursery rhymes dam maw.. Chun, bel le pei khawm!”

“Ka naupa hi chu a hmel a thrain, a fel a nih aw..” ti malamin ka hei pawm a, a bieng innemtak chu ka hei fawp ngawi ngawi a. Ama khawm chun, ni dang  nek taka nghet le det hin a mi kuo ve a; a min dawn ngai lo, “ Pa! I mi ngai” tiin lungsetak ni awm tak hin, ka dar chunga chun a khak innghatin, chawra thinghna insawi del del hai chu a hei en a.

“Bawipu! Iem a ta chu chu I mi’n dawn a. Ka ngaizing che an nawm”

“Pa Pa, kan dawnna san che ka hriet naw ie. I maw, vawisun maw.. twinkle twinkle little star khawm kan inchuka maw…Kan hotunu’n I thiem taluo a mi tih. Pa! arasihai umna khi a hla maw? Vana an um maw? Ei them thei naw maw? Pa! ei thi pha vana ei fe ve ding maw?” tiin naupang lungmawl ta chawk chun, a min dawnin a mi hril mawl mawl zing bawk.

Vawisunna ka bawipu khawsak hi ni dang a ang naw deuvin ka hriet tlat a. Ni khat thil thua intlak danglam thut a, zawnna mak tak tak a min dawn el hi, a san thei ding awm zawngin ka ngaituo zawm zing a.

“Bawi! I sikul uniform van thlak raw leh. Zinga I bun nawk ding. Suk bal pal I tih”, tiin room tienga thuom hnaw inthleng ding chun ka tir phei a.

“Pa! Pa! Kan thleng pei nawh. Ka la hak nuom” tiin, innuisak pumin a kehai truongah a tet chawr chawr a.

“Iem a ti leh?”

“Pa! Ka sikul form kan thleng nghal chun maw…Vana ka fe vat el ding an nawm..” tiin ngui rat te hin a mi hung dawn a.

“Bawia” tia vin taka khek khumin, “Hmang lo lo hril naw rawh. I thuom hnaw van thleng rawh”, tiin inrum takin ka hei tir nawk a. Tawnglo le hnungtieng min nghat nuom lovin, room tieng chun phur lo zetin a lut a. chuonga room tieng a pan lai chun a mi en zing a. A mithai vawikhat khawm ka mita inthawkin a lak sawn nawh.

Kan ring hman hma chun, ka bawipu chu, a half pant thar leh, a T-shirt var leh, a pheikhawk thratak  leh, famkim taka inthuom zosa diemin ka hmaa chun a hung ngir a. Inril le inthuk taka mi enin, “Pa! Zani khan bazaar-ah ei fe ding I ti kha. Fe tang ei tih”, a hung tih bawr bawr a.

Naupang anga hrietna det le thienghlim nei hi an um nawh. An kawla hin thil hril mei mei chi khawm an naw ding a nih. An lungrilin an pai zing el hlak chu a ni hi. A zanita ka thu hril, ka lo hriet zing ta lo chu ka naupa lungrila chun a lo det em em el a.

Ka naupa ka duot em em hi, a nuom zawngtak ka thawpui chu, ka pei am, ka pei naw, ka sin a ngaiin, bazaar-a fe ding chun kan in fiel tluk ta a.  

Vairik favang nisa hnuoia chun, cycle-in bazaar tieng kan inphur phei ta a. Ka naupa duotlai chu a hnungah kan thrungtir a. Ama hlak chun, vawikhat khawm min thla lovin det takin a mi kuo a.

Vawisuna ka naupa um dan hi nidanga a um dan leh an ang nawh. A um dan hrim hrim hi, a tawpna ding tak ni awmtak hin a um vawngin ka hriet. Amiruokchu, ama kan dawn chuong nawh. Cycle a kan tlan lai chun, lungrila um ni thrak lovin, “Bawia! I mi ngai” tiin ka hei indawn thut a. Indawn khawm kan dawnzo hma chun, ka naupa chun, “Pa! Ka ngai taluo che” tiin a mi hung kuo inrek zuol sauva. Vawisuna kan um dan hi, a danglam a. Nisienlakhawm, a san ding awm ka hriet chuong naw leiin thil dang dang ngaituo lui fawmin, thei nghil ka tum tlat lem ta pei a.

Kan lampui hraw a chun mi intuokpui ding an vang. Asanchu, vairik nisa intreng hun lai a ni leiin, mitin an inah an la um re lai tak a na. Nu le nau, khawlai dunga tuolchai hun a la ni hri naw leiin, kan lampui hraw chu tlang leipui lam angin a ruok ral a.  Lam sira hung kur tla, ngaidi hna le hlohai ti lo chu mihriem intuokpui ding an vang.

Cycle chun kan tlan pei a, kan thlung hla tiel tiel a. “Pa! tlan hrat naw rawh” tiin, hun inpam ni awm tak hin a hung ti a.

“Bawi! I tri maw? Iem a ta?”. “Pa! Ka tri le….Nang leh ei ni hi te!. Iem ka tri nasan ding”, tiin a mi dawn a. Nisienlakhawm, a thla a muong naw a nih ti ka hriet thei a; kan thlung hla po leh a nguizuol deu deuin ka hriet. Ka ngaisak rak chuong nawh. 

Darkar chanve cycle-a kan tlan hnung chun bazaar chu kan hei thlung ta a. Mi tlawm lai tak a ni leiin ka ring nek hmanin inhawi ka tih. “Bawi! Iem I dit a?” tiin ka hei indawn a. Ka kut par nghet taka chelin, a ngha kuol vel a. A mi dawn nawh.

Ka naupa chun, ka kut chelin bazaar sungah chun a mi kei pei a. Dawr kan intuokpui tin hma a chun a mi ngirpui a. A thil dit zawng ni awm tak hin, chawm khat a mi ngir pui pei a. Dit hmu zo lo ni awm takin, “Pa! a khelah fe nawk tang ei tih”, tiin dawr dang hmaah a mi ngirpui nawk a. Chuong ngawt chun, dawr pasarih a mi en pui a. Ka lungrilin “Naupang tak hi chu aw…” ka ti zing a. 

A tawp taka chun, darthlalang zawrna dawr kan thlung ta thut a. Ka naupa chun, inching thutin “Pa!” tiin ka kut nasataka chel rek zuolin, darthlalang tieng en ding hin a mi kei a. Ka hei en chun, darthlalang dawra chun darthlalang chi dang dang an zawr a. A lien deu, a chin deu, bangah chun an inkhai threp thrup a. Darthlalang pakhat chu ka hei en a, ka naupa, sam sen thal, mit meng mawi sing seng, ka kut chela ka kawla ngir zing chu ka hmu a. Ka naupa khawm chun, chu darthlalanga ka limthla chu, mit inkhap hrim lovin a lo en ve zing a. A san mumal hriet thei ni mang lo chun chawm khat kan in en tuo  a.  Darthlalanga kan inentuo zing lai chun, ka naupa chun, “ Pa! In tieng fe nawk tang ei tih”, a hung tia.

“Bawi! Ieng khawm ei inchawk naw ding maw?”

“Iengkhawm ka dit nawh” tiin hnuoi tieng a kun tlat a.

Ka kutin a hmai  duot taka chul pumin, “Bawi! Iem a ti leh?” tiin ka hei indawn a. Vawikhat khawm hieng anga hnai hin ka naupa hmel ka la en ngai nawh a. Ka naupa khawma hieng anga lungngai hmel hin a mi la en ngai bawk nawh.

“Pa! Darthlalanga ei lim kha hrezing rawh aw.. Pa! Mihriemin hung piengnaw lang khawm, I lungrilin mi duot la, mi hre zing rawh aw. Pa! Ka ngai taluo che a ni ..aw” ti lawng lawng pum chun thli, hrat takin pilvut a len hmang ang hin, ka naupa chu ka kuta inthawk chun len hmangin a um a. Kut par kara thli vuong hmang ang el hin, chawm khat lo chu ka naupa chu ka hmu ta nawh. Bazaar-a invak vel hai chun an hriet nawh a. Dawrkai hai khawmin an hriet naw bawk. Tu khawmin an hriet nawh. Bazaar, mi re thrup lai chun ka naupa, ka mit hmu ngeia inthawk chun a bo el ta a.

“U Ste! Tho ta rawh. I in sawt tah. I office kai ding in hnung I tih. Imu hi chu I va hei du de aw..” ti rawl inri lawng lawng ka hriet a. Ka mit ka hei meng chun, ka naupa hmel ka hmu ta nawh a; Ka nuhmei, hmel innotak chun a mi lo en zing lem a. Ka room ka hei ngha kuol vel a, favang thlifim ri  le ka naupa ding awm ka hei zawng ruoi a. Ka nuhmei naw chu a dang tu khawm an um nawh. Iengkhawm a danglam a um nawh. Ka natna hai chun, ruoltha ringumtak angin an mi lo la bawm zing a; lungngaina muol tamtak mi hrawzopuitu ka nuhmei khawm a khat khatin a lo la um zing. Darthlalanga ka naupa hmel chieng taka ka hmu khawm kha, tawnmang sennau el chau a lo nih.

Nursery Rhyme Twinkle, twinkle, little star-a a hril vana arasi, themphaklo vansanga lunghlu anga a eng sing seng angin, ka TAWNMANG SENNAU khawm, them theilo ka ngaituona, van anga lien sunga hin lunghlu angin a eng zing el ta a. 

TAWNGTAI SATLIE

ȚAWNGȚAI  SATLIE

Stephan C. Hmar, Agartala, 10/10/2012

Mark 11:24 chun, “Chuleichun ka ti cheu hi, ieng kim țawngțaia in hni taphawt chu, hmusain inngai unla, chuongchun hmȗng in tih” a lo tih. Iengtinam hi chăng hi ei hrilfie hlak a? Iengtinam ei hriet dăn? Hang tiem thuok chun, nasataka ringna le țawngțai-a ei thil dit hai hni chun, hmu ngei ngei ding zăwnga hrilfie țhawk țhawk thei a nih. Hieng lai zing hin Jacob 2:26 ei en nawk chun, “Thlarau țhang naw chun taksa chu thi a nih, chuongang bawkin thilthaw țhang naw chun ringna khawm chu thί a nih” tiin ringna leia thilthaw a țulzie thȗ a lo hril nawk. Hi Bible chăng pahni hi lungrila păi in ei petek na zawng suok hei tum ei tih.

Hί Bible chăng pahni hin, thil thu hmun an hril a, tin zăwn pakhat char an nei; chu chu Ama ring ding, chu ringna lẽ țawngțai ding; chu ei ringna leia ei țawngțaina chun thilthaw a min neitir ding ti hi a nih. Ringna, țawngțai le thilthaw hi a nih hlawtlingna chuh! Hi thil pathum hai hi zăwm famkim lova, țawngțai satlie ringawtin malsawmna a um ring a um nawh. Ei ni rawi chu ei hei in en a, ringna ei nei a, țawngțaina khawm ei sin ropui tak a nih. Amiruokchu, thilthaw tieng pang ruok chu ei fail puok der hlak in an lang. Ei lo thaw ve ngȗt khawmin, malsawmna ei dawngna ding tak thaw lovin, a ni lo dei thawin ei in khieng-in-hlăwn lem.

Mark 11:24 khi tu chena kan khăwmna a ka chăng hriet ngun tak le hril hlaw tak nin ka la hriet. Churachandpur nisien, Delhi, Mumbai, Tripura nisien a danglam nawh. Inkhawm rẽng rẽng țawngțai a țan, țawngțai a sunzawm, țawngțai a suk tawp a ni vawng hlak. “Țawngțai in hni la pẽk in um I tih”; “Ma lovin țawngțai rawh, malsawmin um I tih” ti in ei khẽk pum pum a. Țawngțaia Pathien sin pẽk țeu țeu a, mani sin bova in siem a, țhal ruosur nghăka malsawmna hung sȗr ding lo nghăk hi ei thiem chί am a ni aw. ei ti rum rum chang a bo nawh.  

Țawngțaina hi ei addict tah. Ei thlarau a chau deuva ei hriet leh ei țawngțai. Biekin a inkhawm ei tlawm leh, mihriem tamna din ei țawngțai. Ei khawtlang ta dingin ei țawngțaia, chu khawm dit tăwk lovin khawvel pumpui ta dingin ei hei bei sa a. Ring tah ta ding, ring thar ta ding, ringnawtu ta ding, ei țawngțai hmăt vawng bawk. Lien taka hei thlίr lem chun, Pathien ti lo phawt chu ei țawngțai pẽk vawng el an ta naw am nih. Ei țawngțai rawn deu deu, țawngțaina ding subject ei hriet rawn deu deu. Tulai lem chu ei țawngțai subject hai hi ți um khawp rakin a sei tah.

Chun, thil pakhat ka hriet sa chu țawngțaina ding subject ei nei naw chun Kohran thlarau chău-a in ngaina ei nei dei thung.  Chun, țawngțai thiem le Pathien kuoma thiem taka thil hni thei hai chu țawngțai dingin ei ruot ngun hlur. Thil dang po po nẽka Pathien thu ei zăwm na tak chu țawngțai taimak hi ni dingin ring a um.

An leh! Zăwna pakhat “Ei țawngțaina hai hi dawnin a um am?” tiin dawn na siem in la. Indik taka dawn ngam ei um chun “Dawnin ei um nawh” ti annawleh “Ei hni rawn huin dawn na ei hmu tlawm” ti ning a tih. Sierkawp,”profit and loss” formula hmanga chawk lem chun, țawngțaia tha le hun ei khawral po po man hȗ khawm ei hmu nawh nίn an lang a. Ei țawngțai rawn deu deu, ei țawl deu deu lem khawm a ang hiel lem. Nisienlakhawm, vangduoi tlăk takin a san ei in dawn ngai naw a. Țawngțai hlak a ni ti det tluta hrietna’n ei sip a. Ei țawngțai phawt chun ei lung ei suk ăwi a, dawn ei ni le ni naw ei ngaiven phăk ta ngai nawh. Chun, dawn anga ei in hriet leh Pathien remruot ei ta, ha hίp in ei hril a, dawna um lova ei inhriet leh Pathien remruot lo ei ti a, mani le mani thiem ei in chan nawk zal bawk. Pathien Thu le țawngțaina hi vawk bu chawkin ei chawk hruoi mei mei el a ni awm? Ei chawk hruoi lei am an ni aw hieng lawma ei ngir hmun inhnuoi el ta hi!

Ei ram dela a lien tak Manipur khi hei thlir ta. Kum khata mipui in pawisa a mamaw khi crore 2000 vel a na; kum khat sunga sum ei them suok ruok chu crore 100 vel chau a nih. Khί harsatna khin eini tribal-hai in ei thaw hlă tak. “Pasie” ti tawp ngirhmun nei hi tribal, 58.34% vẽl ei um. A umzie chu, tribal um po po chenve tawp nẽka tam, zing tin zăn tin făk ding la zawng chawp annawleh kum khat făk ding tăwk nei zo lo ei la um a nih. Ei ngaisăng tak săp hai pawisa dollar hmanga inkhί lem chun, ni khat a dollar khat man ang hu făk fă phak lo tribal lai 70% nẽka tam ei la um. Ză ah sawmsari tribal in bawngnene, vitamin, thei le a dang dang hriselna ding ei făk phăk naw a ni chuh! In zăk um deu a nih. Tribal po po deu thaw Kristien ei la hei ni nawk ta nghal.

Manipur-a mihriem chẽng khi India-a mihriem um zăt le tekhi in 0.2% vel ei na, nisienlakhawm HIV/AIDS invawi po po lai, 8% vẽl chu Manipur mi-le-sa ei um an ti chuh! Kum 2006 khan NGO le sawrkar hma lăkna leiin ei pieng-murna rama HIV invawi zăt 19.8% in a hung tla hnuoi a; khawm chun mihriem um um zăt le tekhi in khawvel-a khawm a lan săng tak an la ti tho (Manipur State AIDS Control Society). Chuong hai laia a pawi zuol chu, AIDS invawi zing puma inrai nuhmei ei tam. Tu hin, ieng zăm AIDS invawi ei um a ti hriet thei an nawh. Anachu, tuta inthawka kum 20-30 hnunga chu hi natna leia thi hi sipai le helpawl kuta thi nẽkin tam ei tih an ti bawk.

Chu, ei khawsak dăn (life-style) le fak-le-dawn zir naw leiin Manipura cancer invawi lai 34.1% chu Kristien hai ei nih ti a ni bawk. (Editor, Feb 21, 2011). July 2, 2012 khan Imphal Free Press-in kum thum sunga Goa Police han nuhmei inzawr dinga man an sansuok 179 um hai lai 39 chu Mumbai mi an na, 31 dang chu Manipur mi an nih tiin an suo. Mihriem zawr tieng khawm hin India-a khawm ei hming an lang phak an tah.

Churachandpur district khi iengtik ănthawk am an ta a, pasietna buru ei tawngna khi ka ngaituo suok thei ta nawh. Ințhanglienna dinga sawrkar sum hung lȗt hai hlak, a hmun a thlung hman a boral pei. A hausa tlawmte hai an hausa duok duok a, a tamlem mi pasie hai ei pasie zuol deu deu. Țhangțhar hung suok hăn pasiet na nghawkin, a țhen helpawl a ei lȗt, a țhen ram dangah, kum tling le tling lo hril lovin ei lȗt mẽk bawk. Pasiet năn mumal nei lovin, ẽk vuok chẽk angin a mί vuok chek zo tăwl tah. Ei țawngțai hlak ei thaw nasa deu deu, Pathien hni ding ei hau deu deu.

Kristien 93.54% vẽl Churachandpur ah ei um a. Nisienlakhawm, ințhangna/malsawmna ei hmu sun chu, a let zăwnga ințhang/malsawmna a ni lem. Nau suol an pung deu deu; a hminga biekin kai le țawngțai satlie mei mei ei tam deu deu; biek in a tam deu deu; indikna a tlawm deu deu; hla ei hau deu deu; thlarau chawm thei hla a tlawm deu deu. Ei hla thar hai hrim hrim hi a thu ngai chet chet la, ei pasietzie in zăwt na, ei lungngaina kulpuia inthawka vanram ngaina hlă deu vawng a nih. Ama ei hausatpui, văngneipui, ei hnίeng-in-hnar pui leia Ama ei inpăkna hla chu a văng.

Ei Pathien hi hausa hle sienkhawm ei ta ding hin a tik a kawm tlat el am an ta ding chuh! AMOS 4 a Pathienin Isarelhai a hrem  ang khan ei chan a sie tah. Ei chunga ruo sȗr ding a chel tăng a, hmun dangah an sȗrtir lem a. Ei ram a țawl a, ram dangah făk ding zawngin ei tlăn a, khawpna ei hmu chuong nawh. Ei thilnei hai tuktulung in a făk zo a, hripui ți bai umin tlangvalhai a făk zo a, thing kăng ȗt lăk suok angin ei in ȗt veng vung an tah.

Ei țawngțaina hai hi dawnin a um am? Hei in dawn nawn năwk ei tiu. Mi țhenkhat chun țawngțaina hi dawnin a um ti in țhang sa rum mei an tih. Chanse tlawk tlawk, fak ding dawn ding nei lova ka um lai țawngțaina dawnin a um a, mak taka sansuok in ka um ti thei tam ei tih. Chuonga ti hai chu indawn in la, “I thilthaw țhang lovin maw?” tiin. An dawn na ding chu hieng hi ring a um. “Ka Pathien Thu hrilna pa/ ka pawisa inpȗk tir na pa/ ka ruol pa a’nthawkin ringlo takin țhangpuina ka hmuh” tiin an dawn ngei ring a um. Pathien a inthawka țhangpuina thilmak hi ei thilthaw zul zuiin a hung thlung hlak a nih. A tlawnin, a hlawpa tẽlin a hung invir tla el ngai nawh.

Mumbai ah, Pu Darzakhum, IRS in a min dawn hlak a, “Țawngtai ngat ngat la, lekha tiem si lovin, I exam na pass I ti?” A dawnna indik tak chu, “Pass lo ding” ti a nih. Ei hnamin hieng ang zawna hi a nih inhmăi tuok pui ngam țul ẽm ẽm ta chuh! Pa pakhat chu “Lalpa! Hriselna mi pẽ la. A dang po chu kei in thaw vawng ka tih” tiin a țawngțai an tih. Țawngțaina chapo le nuizatum khawm a hawi. Anachu hieng ang zăwnga ei thei tawp pe ngama ei țawngțai hi a țul an tah.  Ei thawpei naw leia țawngțai satlie ringawt am ei nih? Annawle, in lang gospel nuom lei? Țawngțai hlawtling ding hin, pe theitu Pathien le dawngtu ding mihriem hin mawphurna ei nei ve ve a nih ti hi hrieng ei tiu.

Ka la upa naw a chu, țawngțaina hi dawna a um hun le dawna a um țhak lo hun hre thei tăwkin ka upa tah. Chun țawngțai na hin thil pahni, “thilmak țha” le “thilmak țhalo” an thlun theizie ka hriet chieng bawk.

Pathien kawlah mani mamaw le thil dit hai hni a, chuong hmu thei dăn ding kawng-a-lam hai mani’n hriet tum a, kam peta theitawp suo chun, thilmak țha hi Pathienin ei ta din a suk lang hlak. Ei ram khi, hieng ang hin lo țawngțai hlak in la chu, tuta ei ramin thilmak țhalo a tuok zing hi ei lo pumpel thei ding kha a na.

Țawngțai satlie ringawt a, mani’n thăw tum lova, malsawm na’n kawt a hung nok lo nghak tawp el hin thilmak țhalo a thlung hlak. A chunga, ei ram pasietzie, a hrisel naw zie, sum hmu na ding chun mihriem zawr chen khawm ei ngam tăk zie, zer tla vănga ei hung hril hai khi a nih thilmak țhalo chuh! Bible chanchin sui kίr la, Pathien hnam thlang Isarel hai meu khawm, Pathien malsawmna dăl zăwnga an um pha chu, thilmak țhalo hi an lo tuok ve el hlak a nih. SAM 78: 59-64 en rawh. Chun AMOS 4:6-8 en bawk rawh. Thilmak țhalo hi Bible a ziek lang na a tam a, chu taka inthawka him dăn kawng hi a nih Pathien in mi hril hriet a nuom chuh.

Ringna, țawngțaina le thilthaw ah mani piengna ram suk mawi thei mang lova, ram tin ram tang inhnik lăwr hin mawina le hlawtlingna um chuong naw nih.

“Mί, a țawngțai leia mihriem țhalem a hung suok chun, chu ngei chu a nih a țawngțai dawna um chuh!”:

(Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered)

George Meredith (Wisdom May, 2012)