Burial of the Bamboo Mug, Rice Beer and Folk Songs of the Tangkhuls

'You are not allowed to drink rice beer as Christians. It makes you do bad things that God does not want you to do...' Ashang listened to the sermon of the Christian Missionary with a strange kind of disturbed attentiveness. He had a notion that the missionary must be talking about some irresponsible drunkard as he was unable to recall any bad things he had done in his whole life because of drinking rice beer. He went home in-convinced and decided to postpone his earlier resolve to get himself baptized and convert to Christianity.

Holding a huge bamboo mug filled with rice beer, Ashang sat by the fire sipping the content talking to his wife (Phanitla) about the missionary's strange teaching.

Ashang: How can he say eating food is bad? My parents drink rice beer, their parents drink rice beer and we drink rice beer to give us strength to live. Can you think of living without it? Have I ever fought with anyone after drinking? Have I ever raised my voice on you after drinking?

Phanitla: No.

Ashang: Then why should I give up rice beer? I can't imagine living life drinking only water. And I don't like the taste of water where they add something called sugar to boiled water. Let my children decide for themselves, for me I'll not convert. As for you, you are free to decide. But, I suggest you also don't convert.

Phanitla: I don't know.. But, what if the whole village gets converted?

Ashang: Let them convert. The missionary was also saying something about singing folk songs. Once converted, people are not supposed to sing folk songs. Only heaven knows why.

Looking at the logs burning into live charcoal and then to ashes in the hearth, Ashang realized how life has changed so much in a matter of decades. When he was a child there were no coins, people just use to exchange things, but now people use only coins. He remembered the times when his father took him along for hunting and bird trapping. He often dream of the days when the whole village feasted when his father erected those wooden totems and huge stone slabs outside his house. The wooden totems have gathered moss over the years but still stand as strong as the stones.

He requested his wife to refill his bamboo mug and to give him his tingteila (Harp). Somewhere in his heart he knew his children would never know what was the past like. It pains him thinking how the future would be like for his children. A faint smile lit up his wrinkled face when he consoled himself that he would be meeting his parents again in Kazeiram (Kingdom of the dead) after death.

Ashang looked at his wife and said "When I die bury me in the family grave along with my bamboo mug, spear, dao, and harp." Not knowing what to reply, his wife answered "When are you going to die?" and suddenly realized the oddness of the words. Without waiting for further interjection from his wife, Ashang asked her "It must have been tough for you living with me all these years right? Do you still love me as you used to?" His wife just replied, "You're becoming sillier everyday" and giggled.

Ashang tuned his tingteila and started singing the folk song of how a man went to Kazeiram (Kingdom of the dead) and brought back his dead wife. The last logs in the fire were burning out and Ashang pointed to the few logs and told his wife that they are like the last logs in the fire burning away so quickly. If live coal are found among the ashes in the morning, a new fire would be lit out of it, else some live coal would be fetched from the neighbors. He can cover the burning coal with load of ashes to ensure some coals are found in the morning. However, he can't hide his children and grand children from the many changes that are happening around too quickly. He knew he would be buried along with his tingteila, bamboo mug, spear and dao but beyond that he was not able to foresee whether his children and grand children would sing the song that he used to sing, hunt like he did and drink rice beer as he and his forefathers did. To be continued...

Note: The advent of Christianity has totally changed the Tangkhul Naga's way of life. Many things have been forcefully buried. This blogpost is a tribute to my grandfather who lived and died without giving in to the wave of Christianity.

Tangkhul Naga Totem Erection Rituals

If I have a time machine, the first thing that I would do is sneak back a century and explore the lifestyle, culture and tradition of my forefathers. Changes that have occurred after the advent of Christianity and Western Education to this otherwise isolated hills are almost incomprehensible. It was so hard for me to believe the stories that my grandpa used to tell me about his childhood, adolescent, youth and the prevalent lifestyle, rituals and social practices. I often tasked dad to validate that there are some truth in the stories and tales that grandpa narrated to me. For dad, it was not that hard to believe as he grew up seeing and living some of the experiences of the times that are now lost forever. One of the stories I remember is about the rituals people used to perform before erecting totems and stones, which were symbols of prosperity those days.

As Tangkhuls are basically an agrarian society, wealth in olden days was computed in terms of food grains and livestock of the family. So a rich man is someone who has a surplus of food grain and cattle. Life was that simple. Erection of totems and stones was a luxury that only the rich could afford to do. The process involved feasting for weeks and even months of the whole village at the expense to the man who erects these symbols of prosperity. Many erected stones stand even today to remind the younger generations of the glorious past. However, there are only few moss covered wooden totems (poles) left even in interior villages, which would soon rot away erasing remnants of the past that was so different.

Erection of totems as I was told is done only by people who are rich and mainly by the eldest in the family or the clan. When it is decided that a family is going to erect totems, the news is made known to all the relatives, the whole village and subsequently the neighboring villages too. Preparation for the occasion include, searching for a witch doctor/priest, collecting spotless sacrificial animals(biggest to the smallest), bulk brewing of wine and beer (for the villagers and guests), bulk grinding of rice and other food grains, etc. Once these initial preparations are done, village elders along with the witch doctors go scouting to find the right trees and stones to be brought home for erection.

Trees and stone selection as I was told was not done randomly. Necessary sacrifices were offered and are felled based on what the tree or stone spirits reveal in dreams or through a medium. Only unmarried trees and stones are to be selected and felled. This is one part where I choose not to hide my sarcasm, unable to comprehend how trees and stones can possibly speak or could have spirits in them. Anyway, there are too many things that I don’t understand and may never understand about the past.

After the sex of the tree or stone is determined, the objects as I was told are adorned with the appropriate costumes of male or a female. Cross dressing entails serious curse upon the family which was believed to last for generations.
After felling the trees, the young men in the village are tasked to carry home the trees and stones in single pieces. The drinking and eating celebration starts with coming home of the first tree or stone and ends when all the totems are erected following strict sacrificial procedures.

Animals that are considered perfect in every aspect are sacrificed throughout the erection ceremony. There are folk tales that suggests even human beings were sacrificed at the time of totem erections. However, my grandfather didn’t mention about this particular thing. Maybe he didn’t want me to know that people then were inhuman, or maybe human sacrifice was discontinued at some point of time. It was strictly mandatory to sacrifice animals and fowls from the smallest to the biggest. Missing out a single animal was believed to be a bad omen which has an associated curse, which would run in the family for generations. Scary as it sounds this one seems to be true as there are families where some of the siblings have some abnormality that people believe is the curse inherited from totem erection blunders.

This is one of the practices that were still prevalent till the late 19th century. With the advent of Christianity, the practice became odd and conflicting with the new faith. There is nothing I can connect this practice with the Tangkhuls of today. The time gap and difference between the present and the semi distant past is too wide. It is more like the past Tangkhuls disappeared one fine day like the Incas and Mayans and the present Tangkhuls suddenly replaced them. I am a Tangkhul, one of the many who are struggling to connect with the past.


Note this is a draft version that Google allowed me to post; If there are any grammatical mistakes or Typos, shoot a mail to Eric Schmidt and Google

Do Militants wear tattered clothes and torn shoes?

Another foolish and arbitrary act of the Assam Rifles (Indian Army) who call themselves as 'Friends of the hill people."

"Maaro, maaro.." ('beat them' in Hindi) was all they could understand before they were kicked, punched and hit with rifle butts. No one heard their painful groans in that dense forest where they've camped for days on a hunting expedition. That fateful winter day of 1996 is a day none of the six hunters would ever forget in their lives, not for being so pleasant a day but for being the most horrific one.

Amidst the kicks and punches and the groans of pain there were some weak sounds audible:

• Iya Kappan, chaena kappa kachanae ('this is the end, this is the end' in the local dialect)
• Iya Oho miran (Oh my life)
• Oh Ai (Dear mom)
• Iya Onushasha (my children) etc..

The hunters were from my village and were camping near Myanmar border. Winter is the best time for hunting in the hills. Hunters leave the village in groups and go camp in the forest for a week or two. They built temporary tents from wild banana leaves and plastic sheets as night shelters. It is not unusual to see multiple hunting camps in that part of the dense forest in winter.

When the hunters were about to have lunch that day, they suddenly heard the sound of guns being loaded from all sides. Then they saw uniformed indian army personnel pointing their guns and advancing towards them. All the way, the army jawans were shouting to them in Hindi, which the hunters couldn't make out. They were forced to lie down flat on the ground, frisked thoroughly and then were made to kneel. This was when blows started landing on them.

None in the group knew Hindi and were at their wits end when they didn't understand what on earth the army personnel were asking and what they were supposed to bark back as response. To their relief, there happened to be one Manipuri tribal in the patrol party and was called to interpret. The eldest of the hunters told him they are hunters and asked why they are being beaten? It was from the interpreter that the hunters came to know the Army issued no hunting notice to villages in view of Army Operation, which was not known to the hunting party from my village.

The leader of the patrol party was not convinced that the six rabbit like scared people were just hunters and not militants. They were all arrested and taken to Assam Rifles Post at Pushing, a place about 30 kilometers south of my village.

Fearing that they might be beaten and interrogated at the Army camp, the smartest in the group feigned madness and started acting strange before reaching the Army camp. All the hunters were worried not knowing what possibly might happen to them. On reaching the Army camp they were bundled into a small room and the door was locked from outside.


They were later paraded in front of the commanding officer, a well educated captain who instantly realized that his boys have arrested the wrong type of militants. The patrol leader was summoned and was asked what made him think those six hunters were militants? Maybe, the leader got a sound scolding, which we'll never know as none of the arrested persons knew Hindi. To the relief of the hunters, they were not beaten or interrogated further but, were fed well and were asked to stay in the camp for the night.

However, the arrest drama did not end there. The hunters were taken to Kamjong Assam Rifles Headquaters, approximately 60 kilometers further south from Pushing. The reason for taking them to Kamjong which was revealed later was to complete the proper procedure of arrest and release. The hunters were unnecessarily detained for a whole week at Kamjong camp. After a week, they were ferried to Ukhrul and let off there.

On coming back to the village, they were again summoned by the Assam Rifles camp commander of Khamasom to come and meet him. Khamasom is about 7 kilometers north east of my village. The hunters have to drag their asses all the way to Khamasom again even before recovering from the shock and trauma of being detained for a week. The commanding officer told the hunters to report to the army camp every day for a week as punishment for daring to go hunting when the Army was doing jungle operation.

Well, they did what they were asked to do for another week///\\\ The Army do anything that comes to their mind out there in the hills exploiting the ignorance and simplicity of the populace in the name of curbing militancy.

We'll never know the Army's intention of the arrest and torture of the hunters. It could be due to lack of common sense in deducing the difference between militants and commoners. As the army in that part is known for their cruelty at times of trouble, maybe they were simply venting out their anger and frustration on the hunters for:

• Being send for jungle operation by their superiors when they like to do was to stay at the camp sipping XXX Rum
• Their inability to track down the real militants
• Some of their colleagues being killed by the illusive militants

If it was due to mistaken identity, it would be an exposure of sub-standard training given to the Indian army personnel. Even an untrained person would be able to tell the difference between militants and hunters.

• Hunters in that part of the world wear only torn and worn out cloths. Militants wear camouflage uniforms
• Hunters wear rubber shoes or torn jungle boots. Militants wear uniform boots.    
• Hunters carry single shot shotguns. Militants carry AK 47, M16 and other sophisticated weapons    
• Hunters carry bamboo woven baskets. Militants carry backpacks and many etc..

Note: All the six hunters are still alive and their arrest incident is one of the favorite festival jokes in the village, a typical village way of trying to see laughter in pain and humiliation. Ringmi, Kanmi, Simon, Ninganung, Rinkahao are five of the six, I am not able to remember the sixth one..... In the near future someone will make a movie out of this incident titled as the "Unlucky and the Lucky Six." At least they were not killed in some well orchestrated encounter

Song for Coins on Hyderabad Metro Trains

MMTS (Multi-Modal Transport System), Hyderabad's inter city metro train has a unique treat for wonderfully distorted music lovers. To experience this voluntarily induced musical trance you've to pass through Borabanda-Chanda Nagar stations. This is where a song womanbird sings the famous Amir Khan starrer movie 'Raja Hindustani's song Pardesi.

With a custom made tambourine in hand this woman drains her energy singing away:

'pardesi mere yaara vada nibhaana

mujhe yaad rakhna kahin bhool na jaana

pardesi pardesi jaana nahi mujhe chhodke mujhe chhodke

pardesi pardesi jaana nahi

munh modke dil todke'

I am sure you don't expect me to churn out the exact meaning of the song as you all know my hindi knowledge is grrrrr. Anyways, the song is a sad one where the lover sings 'don't go away leaving me behind, don't ever forget me' to her lover who is going abroad. The clinging of coins in her begging steel glass adds philosophic touch to the melancholic song.

Thanks to the fairy of mystery, I hear the same sad song every time I take the local train. It makes me feel like Nadeem Shravan composed the song for this woman to make the local train commuters swim in the pond of confusion. Confusion, cos the commuters are not going far away from home yet they are made to hear 'don't go away.' Most of the passengers are either going to work or are heading home. As for me, the moment I hear the tambourine I reflexively start wondering who am I leaving behind and where I am headed. In that confusion, I always end up not making my due payment for being part of the jocund concert.

I vouch the song would have profound effect on long distance travelers and am sort of tempted to deduce a theory that bards aka. beggars on long distance trains use this song as the favorite weapon to earn some coins for their livelihoods. I am not against that anyway. Yes, the lyrics has a 'never forget me' line somewhere. This must be the reason why I don't forget the woman and is logically the reason why I am writing about her and 'jaana nahin.'

As for her voice, take a joy trip between Borabanda and Chanda Nagar to draw your own conclusions. I am not Suresh Wadkar or Bela to comment; my croakish voice dictates me not to blab about music or someone's voice.

Coming to the choice of song, if I were given the chance to recommend, I'd rather suggest some lighter oldie songs like 'Mera Joota Hai Japani' from the movie Shri 420 starring Raj Kapoor and Nargis. Arrg, she won't want this song as she sure would know that her shoeless soles are not Japanese. Sorry, I have no sane suggestions to make now.

To enjoy the song to the fullest, I close my eyes and voluntarily kick myself into a trance like state only to be forcefully dragged back to reality when some passengers often shout at the bard 'Mein kahin nahi jaraha hoon,' 'I am not going anywhere.' That's when I also normally remember where I am going.

P.S: Will someone buy a nice tambourine for this bard?

World Population Chart

Tic-dock, tic-doc, tic-dock, and many children are born in the world. In that countless tic-docks of decades and centuries our mother earth has fed and sheltered 7 billion+ human mouths and heads. The race is still on with infinite tic-docks to come and go.

Are you curious to get the rough idea of your birth number on the human population chart? BBC has a chart to either scare you to a cabbage or to tease my pathetic mathematical aptitude. I hate math and even more when it takes the path of pure assumption. You'll just need to enter your date of birth to know your chest number for this life marathon you've already started....

Thanks to Aryabhatta, Brahmagupta, Archimedes, Euclid, Ptolemy, Rene Descarte, Newton, etc. human beings are now crazy enough to precariously calculate human heads just like that.

Anyways, I don't feel great when BBC has to pop display that I have seven plus billion brothers and sisters against the four plus billion when I was born. The saddest part though is the fact that I'll never get to know seven plus billion of them. Hold on, this doesn't mean I am an octogenarian or something. How many people can you know even if you are to live for 200 years? Few thousands?

BBC population chart suggests the period 1950-2000 are the most productive years in human history.

Does that scare you like the best horror movie you've watched???

Of Course, I Remember Those Days

Circa 2006: Freshly out of University having slogged for two prodigal years to earn a Master Degree in Shakespeare, sorry, English; was a little more than confused about what to do next. Hostel food sucks but the thought of not getting food cheaper anywhere troubled me the torturous final semester. Lately I doubt I might have leaked this survival anxiety in my term papers cos, my score was scarish. The only option to get food and a cosy room that cheap @ Rs. 500/month was to continue studying, which I was not so keen considering my laziness.

I hate having read 'The Treasure Island' in high school. I started dreaming of finding sacks and sacks of treasure or winning a lottery that would let me live a luxurious life without working. Not that I bought lottery tickets or go out with shovel and spade to dig places to gamble with the wild dreams. I wanted to just go home spend time the way I would want to, build my own house and create my own furniture. Heck it didn't happen.

Circa same 2006 August: I landed in Hyderabad, eyeballs rolling from utter confusion not knowing what I am upto or are going to be upto. Thanks to my teachers and friends for practically leading me around to acclimatized a village boy to city life. It must have been tough for them and lately I doubt I must have glared at anything that I haven't seen in the Northeast part of India. Yes, I stared like an unthinking goat at many things.

Almost two months slipped by frantically job hunting. My tribal north easterner accent and my super-fast snail-pace typing speed must have simply pissed off all prospective recruiters I vouch. I was on the verge of exploding thinking of how useless I have become even with all the degrees and certificates I have collected in my personal file over the years of my existence. Gosh, I won't deny that I tortured the computer keyboard almost in the same manner I'd hammer a nail into the wall. That must have been loud and people have the right to be scared even by hearing the torturous key hammering. Who would hire a carpenter to do the work of a writer?

Circa same 2006 September: My buddy, our teacher and me, we found a supposed two bedroom house and moved in to start a life which people call as corporate life. The owners were cool, but the house wasn't and the location nearly eat my brain dry in a matter of two months. An interstate railway track was just a stone throw away from the house and a station was just some more stone throw away. Day times were bearable but as night descends I can feel my a** shaking when trains pass by. The most maddening time is when those iron wagons came before the break of dawn, when sleep universally is mysteriously sweet.

Despite my horrible accent and un-commendable typing speed, I got a job when finally I confessed right away that my typing speed and computer knowledge was darn poor. The recruiter, maybe was impressed with my honesty, which was for me a make or break strategy. Much to my own amazement my typing speed increased considerably within weeks of joining. I fell in love with Google quicker than I thought, because my first job involved lots and loads of googling.

We decided to move out to a quiter place away from the railway tracks. A quiter place but a smaller one. We cooked anything that look like food and sleep like tired hunting dogs. Time just came and rolled on faster than a killer tornado. I picked up the habit of coming home at ungodly hours without anyone teaching me. Learning to party even during weekdays was some mischevous fun I discovered too.

Circa 2006-2011: 5 Years in the city, living in the 9th rented house and clinging on to my 3rd job; wow, I should say I am not a very bad gypsy country man..

Steve Jobs Immortalized with Apples

Post Steve Jobs' demise, the world virtually exploded and the web-planet was filled with poems, obituaries, images, RIP comments and posts about his views and life . It was somewhat awkward for me to post anything as I don't know this iconic personality in person, though I never missed any of his keynotes, lectures and even films made about this great man.

People who never had written poems in their lives came out with touching goodbye poems. Even arch rivals have only good things to say about this man only when he is gone and won't hear or care anymore. Well, it is human nature to acknowledge greatness when it is too late. And all those emptying of emotion is part of a farcical cycle.

Here is something, which I think don't fit into that predictable mourning or paying tribute tradition.

A Montreal-based artist Olivier Lefebvre, making a portrait of Steve Jobs out of 3,750 apples is some sort of an out of the box tribute to the departed former Apple Chief and genius. Though the creation is very much temporary, it is like a heartbreaking love letter written on the sand. Life after all is like a letter written on the sand which gets washed away by the sea no matter what.

The downside of the creation is that the apples used for this artwork were rotten implying there was no waste. It would have been a more touching goodbye creation if the apples were fresh. Steve Jobs at least deserve 3,750 fresh apples if not more for his contribution to technology.

On a second thought; is Olivier Lefebvre suggesting life is like rotten apples???

Goodbye my Dearest Friend. I'll Miss You Every Day.

You were shy when we first met and I remember staring at you from head to toe. I never told you why I stared at you the way I did; I was trying to peep into the future to determine whether we'll become true friends and to know whether you'd be a great friend. I doubted you, I regretted for this when you became more true to me than I ever imagined.

You were with me day and night and make sure you were there when I needed you most. I learned the value of true friendship from you. Now that you are gone, you have made me realize that life indeed is unpredictable. I feared that you may die by drowning considering how obsessed you were with water and swimming. But, of all creation you died due to unnatural aging trauma, you aged before the time was ripe and right. Your going away has shaken my weak heart into half and I know not whether I'll be meeting you again in the next life that religions promise?

You never deserted me even when the whole world went against me; what truer companion can a man dream or ask for? You were too selfless. Life indeed is a mirage and friendship some sort of a bubble that burst into thin air on days you least expect.

Today, I regret most for not being able to tell you I like you so much when you were so much around me. Now that you are gone, these words which I meant to write out as obituary sound so hollow, empty and useless. Nevertheless, I'll write on even if you are not here to listen nor would care. I miss you so much, mucher than you can ever imagine.

After you were gone, I went kind of paranoid. I roamed and roamed like a lunatic hoping in the hopeless hope that I'd find you in some corner waiting for me.

Yes, I searched for you at every mall and showrooms in the city. I was not able to find you nor any of your brothers in those malls and shopping centers. Oh, how foolish of me to forget the truth that you were made in Thailand and sneaked into the Northeast of India through Moreh International Market.

You were a unique checked shirt that I won't be able find again in this world. I liked you and you were with me for more than ten years making sure that I study and graduate and earn my master degree too. Yes, you even sat with me when I wrote about W. Shakespeare, John Donne, Austen Jane, George Bernard Shaw, etc. etc.

You guided me even when I started earning my first coins. As for your remains, I've chosen to use you as a dirt wiper instead of cremating or burying for I am sure you'd want me to make good use of you whatever comes. My good friend rest in peace, oh, my dear checked shirt...

Building Traditional Tangkhul Houses in Olden Days

This would without doubt will be my toughest post to understand and probably the most boring one as I am going to flung us all back to the times when there were no iron nails, saw, and other carpentry tools to build houses. This is when the axe and iron chisel were the only tools Tangkhuls used for building their houses. We are glaring at early nineteenth century, the pre-Christian era in the Tangkhul hills.

I can understand a bit of what mammoth effort it would have been to build a house with only an axe and a chisel in the hands of the carpenter. I am a part time carpenter and I vouch it would take me a decade at least to complete a house with an axe and a chisel.

Traditional Tangkhul houses are unique in every way. The front portion consists of huge carved pillars with the gaps filled by wooden planks. The back and sides are covered with horizontally placed wooden planks which are joined by ropes.The roof is slanted and covered with thatch.

The wooden planks were chipped out from huge trees, which are split in the middle first and then the two sides made into single planks. Thus, a huge tree which could build a whole house if modern tools were used were just made into two planks. Some of the wooden planks measure 3/4 meters. Depending on the length of the tree, the planks are cut into multiple pieces to fit the height of the walls.

The huge carved pillars for the front side are made from single woods, which are chipped and shaped with axe and crude chisels. It is said that 90% of carving on the pillars are done with axe, which is sort of unimaginable.

The interior of the house is partitioned into two sections separated by wooden planks and carved pillars.The front side which forms major part of the house is reserved as the cooking area and the smaller portion is kept as the bedroom.

The front door and the bedroom doors were usually made of single wood planks and are heavily carved. One side of the doors have pointed ends which are slightly longer than the main frame. These pointed ends are fixed to hollowed out wooden frames on one side of the door that makes closing and opening of the doors possible. Hinges were something unheard of then.

The Building Process:

The whole village in some ways or the other is involved when a house is built. Men are responsible for felling trees and cutting them into planks and to carry them home from the forest. Craftsmen and carpenters in the village are responsible for carving the pillars and the doors. Women and children help in collecting the thatch of house.

The owner of the house feeds the workers until the house is completed. People who are rich build more magnificent houses to showcase their social standings. The house of the rich apart from being larger has more carved pillars. The workers do their duties voluntarily, with the understanding that they are just helping each other. Rich people host a grand feast for the whole village when the building is completed, this is in addition to feeding the workers throughout the building period.

It is said that building a house take months. After the advent of Christianity and introduction of modern carpentry tools the traditional way of house building got replaced by simpler and less time consuming strategy. Pure traditional houses are hard to find today even in the most interior Tangkhul villages.

After moving into the new house, the heads of animals slaughtered at the time of building it are hung on wall of the cooking area as decoration. The front wall of the house used to be adorned with wild animal heads killed by the head of the family. It is said that during the days of head hunting, the heads of the victims are hung at the front wall of the house between the carved pillars.

The carved pillars and doors too have vanished. Some of the pillars and doors were looted away by antique collectors which most of the villagers gave away at throwaway price not knowing their value. It is a shame that we have lost almost everything that can remind us of our glorious past. In some villages, the wood totems were cut down to use as fuel which otherwise has withstood for centuries.

Author's Note: A writeup based on memory from stories I heard from old people by the hearth.

Things I like about India!!!

I am an Indian, and there are some things I really like about my India and my fellow Indians.

Honking unnecessarily

Have you ever imagined what use would a vehicle be without a honk? Thanks to the inventor and the inventor should be grateful to Indians as we feel we are the only nation that make good use of it. We have the liberty to honk at anyone and any place we feel like. In India there is no penalty for honking even in restricted places. Well, we don't even know what are the places where we shouldn't honk. This is what we call real freedom. Here, your vehicle will never be towed away, at least for honking.

Peeing anywhere Just Do It style

This is sort of an addiction and you need not be surprised nor be shocked if you see someone peeing wherever you think isn't appropriate. Roadside, railway platforms, railway tracks are some places that mysteriously inspire us to relax and relieve. Is there a logic at all in spending a coin to use the public toilet? Moreover, public toilets are hard to find and are maintained so well that the stench in most of them kill even flies.

Scratching crotches

This is one of our favorite pastimes scratching away, like the way primates do. It is not in the least related to habits, for your kind information. It is more of a hobby to scratch our crotches in public places to draw attention. Whose attention do we get if this is done in private? We call this sport as "Mission Show Off."

Conversing while mo-biking

We Indians are super duper hard working. We don't have time to spend even with our wives. So, it is an implied fact that we have no time to talk to our closest friends and neighbors for years. The only chance to spare time for our dearest friends and pour out our emotions is while mo-biking on our way to and from work. Don't ever think it is odd when you see friends biking side by side and conversing making the narrow roads filled. There is no use objecting to this wonderful moments of emotion sharing as even our police finds it touching. We also use biking time for texting, sexting and chatting to stay in touch with our near and dear ones.

Perching on Railway Tracks

You know what morning hours are for, don't you? The best place to welcome the rising sun is on the railway tracks. The surroundings are clear except for the occasional trains that whizzed by. You would probably think we are relieving perched on the iron fish plates. Do not be mistaken friends, we call it as sun bathing though in most cases we end up emptying our bowels. It is the sun bathing part that is more important than the relieving.

Garbage Disposal
Do not preach us about cleanliness and civic sense as it won't make sense at all. We are just happy to take care of ourselves. Life is short and where in the world do you think we'll have time for others. So, we feel it is absolutely justified to throw waste wherever we feel as long as our houses and compounds are clean. We can bear with the stench of rotting garbage outside our houses, actually we are used to it now. It is our birth right to throw waste wherever we want. Where else on earth do people exercise that insane liberty except India? I love my India!!!

Yoghurt addiction

Being a cow country, we have plenty and plenty of cows and milk flows even from walls. Whatever, we are not able to drink we make it into butter, ghee and yoghurt. We have some ethics not to eat anything without yoghurt. So, we mix rice, yoghurt, salt and water thoroughly until the mixture oozes out from between our fingers; then we finally slurp aloud and eat wholeheartedly. Licking our hand and fingers to make justice to the well mixed food is a sequential natural ritual.

I was Born Brilliant, Google Spoiled Me

How Useless has Google Made us?

Google's mission statement "to organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful," has in many ways rendered our memory power useless.

While Google as a company climbs the success ladder higher with its knowledge repository becoming bulkier by the day, our brains are getting lazier at an alarming rate.

Google is the undeclared universal knowledge opium. Once you are on it, you sure have signed the satanic contract not to store anything in your brain and to Shift+Delete your temporary memory folder as frequently as you pee.

I won't find it so offensive if Google were meant just to augment our knowledge, but it is not doomed to be so according to Eric Schmidt who without blinking declared the war cry "The goal is to enable Google users to be able to ask the question such as ‘What shall I do tomorrow?’ and ‘What job shall I take?"

Is Eric Schmidt hinting that we all should consider Google as god and that we place the Google logo in our homes and burn incense and do puja every day?

Likely!!! Yes, let us all start worshiping this giant search engine logo for spoiling our brains. Will someone refresh my memory regarding how knowledge was amassed inside human brains before the blooming of Google? Will someone also tell me who earn the revenue that Google ads is earning now?

Tell me only one example that we don't need to Google for without Googling? Are you too dependent on Google like me? If the answer is positive, you too need to change your Gmail signature to something similar to mine; "Sent via Google Mail service (gmail); if there are any grammatical mistakes or typos complain Eric Schmidt & Google."

Thanks to Microsoft for providing spell check feature in MS Word, else I'd be Googling all the words written in this post to proof read... including even the simple words such as was, is, the, of, so, etc.......

No thanks Google for making my brain latent but, I won't stop using you as you won't stop spoiling me no matter what!!!!

Are you Googled too???

Raitha Mihao Atamna:

Matun ngaireo tunhaowa Zimik

Makum khangai kazingla kumluiura

Atamna kasing mikumo shongzala

Manarsingpai karphalung-nga shingashong.

Somkhangai apamwui eina khangthuishap

Paropngaiching kachi ning-ngaila shimanmi,

Khamana atamla ngahunmihai

Khipakhana makhayui atam pangthem.

Ngapak khavai rasamkaphang pheikar

Phaningching kapai otsak sakrumhai

Mahanung mara atambing chi vaolala

Khanishi mawon kapai mirin riyan.

Raitha mihao Imangli ajava atamna,

Mazangta khangai yur katei luiramli

Ringkapha khi leira kahao kapam;

Ngashanla makhamalan kaphung zingshoram.

Ngasotnao, ramnao, shimkhur phaningungching

Ningtha sangmi kahaiwui kachot sarisak

Malairekda malai kapaiva maning

Kar-rum zatrum kahai ringkapha pheikarbing.

Nganuingaishon, yaron ngala sangaichingnga

Makar ngaireo karda thuihai rasai pheikar

Kashi maphenpai khangachei hupta

Kapar ngavai khamarar mari ngalungla.

Mangshong ngasa kahai aya kaho

Makot kapai wuklungli ngayinsai

Mapingasakpai ringpha khangasak kachihan

“Atamlungli zakmai zingkumna ngacheihailala,

Samphang luira leishikhamatai Iyarnaobingli

Makhangachei zingsho kaphungram chili.”

*** A tribute to all the members of Timrumshon Yar, and Tangkhul alumni of D.M College of Arts Imphal.

Mock Christmas Carols to Welcome Christmas

Every family has a nickname, derived from silly blunders committed by the parents or grandparents. The children are called by that nicknames, sort of a mockery for mistakes they never committed.

Some of the nicknames are wet, egg, pot, potato, fox, wild cat, quail, water can, big bird, dice, etc. All the names have history of their own. Someone pissed in his pants in the past after getting too drunk, his grandchildren are called wet. A man once steals an egg, his children are called egg. Someone in the past got into potato business and ran into deep debt, his children are now called potato. Fox tail given to siblings of a guy who is cunning and a cheat.

Wild cat is a name given to the grandchildren of a person who hid a half roasted wild cat inside the blanket not willing to share the meat with the neighbors. A person steals a quail from his neighbor's bird trap, his children are called quail. Water can, a name given to the grandchildren of a person who once tried to cook sticky rice in a narrow neck aluminium water can. A young boy during the Second World War commented the bomber planes are birds having never seen a plane before; his grandchildren are called big bird. Every family thus have funny names. Dice is a name given to a freaky gambler and his children.

These names all come alive in the Christmas season. Well before Christmas day, the children of the village get together every night and have mock Christmas carols beating drums and singing Christmas hymns. The scheme is mischievous and the sole aim is just to have a nice time and a hearty laugh exploiting the funny names.

During the mock carols, the children halts at every doorstep, the leader shouts out the nickname of the family and reads out a list of mock donations made by the family for Christmas. When the leader stops, all the children booms, scream and have a hearty laugh. The mock donation list also would be something related to the nickname of the family.

Some of the funny mock donations are: "Fox and family is donating a fox tail, fox ears, fox meat and fox legs for Christmas." "Potato's family is gifting away a bag of rotten potato, roasted potato and potato seeds for Christmas." Needless to say that children from all the families in the village are in the group. As such, there is no intention of insulting each other among the children. However, the mock carol tradition didn't go so well with the elders. Only few often would come out and laugh along with the children. Maybe those are the people who understand only childhood has that real thing called 'fun.'


The mock carol processions continue till Christmas Day. After Christmas, the children then turn their attention to building wooden motor cycles to spoil their still new Christmas dresses.

The author once was the leader of that mock carol party who got replaced in the process of growing up.

Tarot your Boredom

What do you do when you are darn bored and are on the verge of exploding? Read a book? Go to sleep? Fart like farthead? 100 etc. etc. etc. If none of the things are good enough for you, go read your tarot card, which I just did. The card of mine made me feel so funny that the boredom vanished like a genie. Don't tell my boss that I tarot my boredom!

You are The Emperor

Stability, power, protection, realization; a great person.

The Emperor is the great authority figure of the Tarot, so it represents
fathers, father-figures and employers. There is a lot of aggression and violence
too.

The Emperor naturally follows the Empress. Like an infant, he is filled with enthusiasm, energy, aggression. He is direct, guileless and all too often irresistible. Unfortunately, like a baby he can also be a tyrant. Impatient, demanding, controlling. In the best of circumstances, he signifies the leader that everyone wants to follow, sitting on a throne that indicates the solid foundation of an Empire he created, loves and rules with intelligence and enthusiasm. But that throne can also be a trap, a responsibility that has the Emperor feeling restless, bored and discontent.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Sihai Khullen, Sihai Khunou and Sihai Kahaophung

Sihai is a general reference to a cluster of villages (Sihai Khullen, Sihai Khunou and Sihai Kahaophung) that lies in the north of Ukhrul District headquarter in Manipur state within the union of India. Sihai Khullen, the nearest village from Ukhrul is approximately 37 kilometers from Ukhrul town connected partially by National Highway 150 (Imphal-Kohima via Ukhrul and Jessami). A hamlet (Zero Point), 29 kilometers drive from Ukhrul on the Ukhrul-Jessami highway is where you have to take the right turn to reach Sihai Khullen. From here one has to walk or take a rather bumpy village road ride of about 7 miles to reach the village from the National Highway. Sihai Phangrei, a long hill range is sure to give a mesmerizing view to those who love gigantic natural landscape. The hill range also in many ways look like a natural fortress of Sihai. The villagers have to drive or walk through the meandering road cut out beneath the hill range to travel to the district headquarter and other places.

Origin of the Name

The name 'Sihai' is said to be a derivative of the word "Saan-Hee" the local word for 'Cow's Diamond/Jewel.' There is a myth behind the name, which the locals believe dates back to many centuries to the time of migration of their forefathers. According to the myth, a cow was slaughtered as a sacrifice to commemorate the occasion of the settlement. As was the practice in olden days, the sacrificial animal was defect-less in all aspects. The cow was slaughtered after performing proper sacrificial rites to ensure the settlers and the generation there after are blessed. When the villagers cut open the slaughtered animal, they found a diamond inside the bowel of the cow. The elders then decided that the name of the village should be Saan-Hee. However, due to mis-pronunciation by outsiders, the village became better known as Sihai. The name of the village as called even today by some of the neighboring villages in their local dialects do suggest that the name of the village indeed was and is Saan-Hee.

The jewel found inside the bowel of the cow was retained by the chief of the village. After a few generations, the jewel was given away as a marriage gift to the then chief's daughter who married the son of Phungcham village chief. Phungcham is a village about 30 kilometers north west from Ukhrul town. There is an unconfirmed theory that the jewel in the possession of Phungcham chief till date is the same jewel given away by Sihai chief to his daughter. The jewel is said to be bowl shaped and shiny. It is believed that the bowl was used as a means to know the the nature of rain and harvest the year will bring. The bowl being shiny indicates a good year and being moist suggest it is going to be a bad year. Moreover, there also is a myth that the bowl is non-transferable. The bowl is rumored to have been stolen many times in the past, but always finds it way back to the owner (Phungcham Chief) in mysterious ways.

The Present Sihai

With expansion of population, the village got bifurcated into two, Sihai Khullen and Sihai Khunou somewhere in the early 19th century. However, till date, the three villages are in theory still under one chief though administration is run individually. The new settlement came to be known as Sihai Khunou, which is about 6 kilometers from the original settlement beyond the river. Sihai Khunou further got bifurcated into Sihai Khunou and Sihai Kahaophung somewhere in the 20th century. One of the strongest reasons for bifurcation was to occupy more of the inherited land and to move closer to arable land on the other side of the river. The original place of settlement came to be called Sihai Khullen meaning 'old settlement.' At present Sihai Khullen is inhabited by about 150 families with some 10 percent of the domiciles residing in nearby towns and cities for work, business, education, etc. Sihai Khunou has equal population and Kahaophung has about 30 families. Immediate neighbors of Sihai are Mapum, Zingsui, Shirui, Lunghar, Longpi and Khamasom.

Places of Interest and Best Time to Visit

The rich species of flora and fauna in and around the village is one reason why nature lovers love to visit this village. The best time to visit this village is in the spring season. Rhododendrons of many varieties bloom in the month of April and May. One can see the whole stretch of stream beds in full bloom of white and red rhododendrons (locally called Ngayawon and Kokluiwon). This is the time when the young people of the village celebrate the spring festival to commemorate the beauty of nature and youth. The people are friendly and welcoming.

Hunting, fishing and hiking are things that will attract people those who love outdoor activities. The month of October offers a mesmerizing natural view of the surrounding. The view of ready to harvest paddy fields, the blooming of cosmos everywhere and other pre-winter flowers indeed are sights worth seeing. October, is a special month considered almost as the second spring of the year. This is the month when young people of the village keep aside a day to celebrate as Cosmos Day.

Sihai Phangrei, a long hill range is one of the favorite picnic spots in Ukhrul district. The ownership of the hill range was in dispute between Sihai and Lunghar village. The dispute which lasted for decades was finally resolved through Tangkhul Customary law. In olden days, disputes where none of the parties involve relents, the final and ultimate test were to eat a morsel of earth from the disputed land or for the disputing parties to immerse in water. In the first case, something untoward happens to the guilty one after eating the soil and in the latter case, the guilty one will float unable to go underwater. The customary water immersion trial for the dispute of Sihai Phangrei was done in October 2008 and Sihai village was declared the winner and the rightful owner of Phangrei.

Author's Note:....................................................To be added later

Manipur the Land with Too Many Demands with no Concrete Solutions

The first question people usually ask me on knowing I am from Manipur is 'is the place very beautiful?' The answer I normally give is 'yes,' an open ended response, which in many ways implies 'I don't want to talk about my home state.' In very rare cases there were interjections like 'oh Manipur is very famous in sports,' which once in a while make my face light up. For reasons best known to mainland Indians, even the educated lots don't know much about Manipur and other North Eastern States, which in many ways again make my life easier with lesser questions to answer about my trouble torn state. Militancy, kidnapping, bomblast, rampant corruption, frequent agitations, strikes, bandhs, etc, I feel are not positive things I can boast about to my friends and co-workers.

Is Manipur really going to the dogs? If yes, who is responsible for dragging us nearer and nearer to the dog's mouth? Everyone can make a long list excluding their own names. We all have become very good in blaming others. Every day is scary, every week and months are risky and every year in Manipur has become unpredictably uncertain. There is always someone or some group to be blamed; there apparently is no scarcity of scapegoats in Manipur. The latest blame game trend, moreover, have gained sort of a communal identity. The gap between the various communities living in Manipur seems to be widening every day. It would not be wrong to say that we unconsciously have adopted an attitude something like 'We are Meiteis, don't listen to what the Nagas are shouting,' 'We are Nagas, why should we care what others think or speak,' 'We are kukis, Meiteis and Nagas shouldn't interfere.' I have come across open and unrestrained lambasting between the people of the major communities of Manipur in many social networking sites.

What have we all molded Manipur into? There is nothing wrong with the land; it's we the people who are sympathetically making this 'Switzerland of the East' into 'Somalia of the North East.' Gun culture is fashion of the day. The common man has almost come to a frustrating conclusion that elected representatives are meant only for piling up public money and the militants are for dancing with their guns and looting both the have and have not. The word ‘peace’ has become nonexistent for people of this small state. The concept of ‘a small family a happy family’ at least is not applicable for Manipur although it works so well for smaller states and Union Territories in India. There are too many demands from every nook and corner of the state that have no feasible solutions in sight. Most of these demands have their root in discontentment with the system in place. All the governments that have ruled the state, on retrospect were and are only good in hiding the wound rather curing it. Attention is given only when the wounds get pestered and become hopelessly worst.

Blocking the National Highways have become a favorite sport for the people to address their woes; sort of a suiting tactic to wake a sleeping government I should say, though it won’t be legal in other states. However, everything seems to be legal in Manipur. We all shout for integration and end up working for disintegration. The art of listening to what others feel seems to have been buried long time back. People, groups and communities in this small state finally have mastered the art of imposing on others. We all know what can be the outcome of two people sitting together with each of them shouting to the other ‘you shut up and listen to me.’ This imposing attitude make the parties involve alienate further rather than make them think and speak alike. Sense of belongingness gets distorted when voices are muffled. Will I want to call home as home if my voice is not considered as a contributing factor in making and maintaining that home?

Why do Manipur have the largest number of militant groups in the country when it is such a small state? Why do we have militants at all? Why are people putting up seemingly unending demands? Well, I feel these ugly facts speak volumes of how united and happy we are. As a person not so much inclined to politics, I have no ready political theories to offer as solution to the pestering situation in Manipur. Maybe, it’s time for us to drive home the example of bigger states that are much peaceful in spite of being multi-ethnic and cultural like ours.

A Simple Farmer and a Brilliant Rat

No sane farmer will ever say good things about rodents that know only about eating away whatever they store in their barns and granaries. The following is a transcript of a conversation between the kindest farmer and a shameless rat.

Farmer: WTF, is this what you give me for giving shelter to you and your parents and forefathers? I am really pissed off!
Rat: What did I do to invoke this unwanted anger? Take that WTF back.
Farmer: Don’t tell me you are not the one who’d been shitting on top of my corn and grains in the barn.
Rat: Hold on! Where else do you expect me to shit? My parents did that and my forefathers for sure must have done that too. Wait, are you asking me to change something that is tradition?
Farmer: I don’t care. I am tired of sifting out shit before I cook. I’ll banish you from my barn if you don’t stop your disgusting relieving habit.
Rat: Try me!
Farmer: That’s it I’m bringing home a cat.
Rat: Oh yeah, cat shit for a change. Not bad!
Farmer: And why do you have to party every night on something that I worked so hard to get? And why do you fight with your friends every night while partying?
Rat: Don’t tell me you humans don’t fight after partying! Humans even kill each other after drinking; at least we rats don’t do that.
Farmer: Shut your mouth!!!! Are you also the one eating my clothes as if stealing food is not shameful enough?
Rat: Don’t be too mean. I too need a cozy bed to sleep. What is so wrong in taking some of those old cloths of yours, which you don’t even wear?
Farmer: You are so annoying at times.
Rat: C'mon, you look ugly when you are unpractical.
Farmer: What?? One more annoying habit of yours is sneaking into my room at night. Do I not deserve to have complete privacy with my wife? Have I ever intruded you like the way you do to me?
Rat: I am sorry about that OK. Hey wait, you've intruded into my privacy many times and you still do that.
Farmer: When and how?
Rat: You banging on the wall to scare my friends whenever we party. That itself amounts to mental torture, you know that right? You remember the shit in the barn? Those are dropped by my friends, some for being so scared and most as revenge whenever you bang on the wall.
Farmer: What? Angry for trying to dissuade you from stealing? Remember you don't have an iota of right to party on something that's rightfully mine.
Rat: Whatever. You can't make or change rules overnight. I am what I am.
Farmer: It's useless trying to reason with you. Stop shitting on my food grain and don't sneak into my room.
Rat: OK old man, you should also learn not to bang on the barn wall whenever I am with my friends.

iPhone 5, it would be too hard to resist you!

It's almost three years since I moved in with iPhone 3G. The initial days were like "no complain no demand" days. With the launch of iPhone 3Gs I was all jealous because of the new features that my iPhone 3G doesn't have. However, for the fact that it had given me memorable days and nights playing some of the amazing games like Super Monkey Ball, Real Soccer 2009, Cartoon Wars, Field Runners, etc made me hang on to you.

Boom! Came along iPhone 4, rebirth of the super child called super jealousy. Thanks to the late launch of iPhone 4 in India it made my jealousy die a slow and painless dead. I know you (my iPhone 3G) has become a complaining hag but the rumor of iPhone 5 launch beckon me to hang on with you rather than replace you with iPhone 4. I forgive you for being too complaining lately and for crashing too often when I am about to acheive new heights while gaming. You have become overtly annoying.

In my unsuccessful attempt to say adieu to Apple, I tried cool smartphones with physical keypads just to realize I am torturing my fingers for no sane reasons. Latest touchscreen smartphones that people say are superb don't perform better than my complaining iPhone 3G. Did Steve Jobs drugged me to get hooked to the i-Series? Should I sue Apple for making me a small i-eyed monster to add another lawsuit to the company's list?

Dear Apple the world possibly would have been a better place if you were just a fruit. Or say a company that don't spit out heart burning gadgets. The world is going crazy with people selling their virginity for iPhone 4, selling kidney for iPad and MacBooks.

I won't be surprised if people start selling their life for iPhone 5 to the devil. The end is near, I can see the devil in the corner with a basket full of iPhone 5 giving away the gadget to people in exchange for their souls.

iPhone 5 again sounds like it is coming to rule the smartphone world, like it or not. It would be super hard for me to resist this time!!! Hearing all the rumors make the wait even harder and painful.

Seeing the Ugly face of Dead in a Casualty Ward

I suffer a bit from syringe phobia and hate the smell of hospitals. This is one reason why I rarely visit hospitals until things sort of turn sour and extreme. The latest being my visit to Mythri Hospital to consult a physician for my persistent cold topped with fever, severe headache and vomiting spree.

For some unknown reasons, the receptionist at the hospital asked me to directly walk into the casualty ward. There was no time wasted as the young doctor on duty listened to the detail of my ailment. He scribbled some injections and asked one of the nurses to give me the injection and then come back to him after ten minutes of rest on one of the unoccupied beds.

One injection finds its way into my veins and the other swam to my system through my back, which I should admit was painful. About five minutes after I took the injection, something went wrong on one of the beds in the casualty ward. The man who had been lying on my left was losing breath. When this was discovered, all the doctors and nurses in the room rushed to the bed. The doctor who attended me started pressing on the chest of the half alive person to stop the man from going to the world of life after dead.

Within no time all medical equipments were up. Though I was screened away from the live scene now and then, I could hear the monitor beeping, the oxygen supply pipe hissing, the contraction and expansion of the suction bottle in the hands of a nurse and the whispering of the people everywhere. Everyone in the room was send out except those lying on the beds. I stayed on as I too was on a bed.

After about twenty minutes the screens were partially parted and I saw droplets of sweat running down the face of the doctor who attended me. The next thing I saw was the multiple wires attached to the chest of the patient and his faintly visible pumping heart. Looking at the face of the doctor, I was assured that the patient was going to be in this world for some more time. The only thought in my mind at that very moment was, when I will get out of this rather gloomy room, which by then looked more like a passageway between life and dead.

The doctor looked at me and asked me to stand up and sit in a chair. Maybe, he took a trip into my mind and saw how shocked I was or maybe he realized that I have waited for too long. I had to wait for another ten minutes for the doctor to come back to his desk to take home his final prescriptions, which appeared like eternity to me.

The doctor indeed came back and apologized for the delay and started scribbling down my name, age and other details in the doctor's note. However, my expectation of leaving that room was short-lived. Another half alive patient was pushed into the room before the doctor even wrote out one of the eight medicines that he is going to prescribed later.

All patients and attendants not on the beds were send out again; this time I was out too. Standing outside, I could clearly hear the monitor, oxygen pipe and other reviving equipments, which by then have become more fearful than the hissing sound of a poisonous snake. I was really tempted to leave the place then, but the thought of going through all the ordeals I have already been through in another place beckoned me to stay put.
The wait continued maybe for an hour or so. The door finally opened and the patient who was in coma was taken out to an ambulance which was waiting outside. I walked in praying that there be no extreme emergency until I get my prescriptions.

The young doctor apologized again for the delay. I just asked him, 'is today a normal day or a hectic day' to which he admitted that it indeed was a hectic day. I got my prescriptions, said thanks to the cheerful doctor and finally walked out of that gloomy room.

Coming back home I realized the fragile nature of life, the scary outbound flight of the so called spirit out of the body, the mysterious pumping heart of human beings and the ugly face of dead. Life indeed is mysterious and precious, worth to be lived in a cheerful mood like the confident young doctor who managed to smile and make others around him smile even when time and duty crushed him hard and tried to squeeze every ounce of smile out of him.

I ended up spending about four hours, to get a service that wouldn’t even take an hour if it were a normal day for the doctor on duty.

Tangkhul Naga Burial Rituals

Tangkhul, a sub-tribe of Naga tribe inhabitants of Ukhrul District in Manipur, India and some in Somra tract of Myanmar had very distinct burial rituals before the advent of Christianity in the late 19th century. The pre-Christian era rituals reveal the tribe's reverence and respect for the dead.

Like many other tribal communities, Tangkhuls believed in the concept of life after dead. The abode of the dead "Kazeiram" was believed to be on the other side of the living world. Tangkhuls of yore believed that the gateway to the kingdom of dead was manned by Kokto for which reason a shawl and some other gifts were buried along with the dead as a gift for Kokto.

Tangkhuls bury their dead outside the house in family vaults which are dug out like slanting tunnels of about 12 feet deep and 3-4 feet wide. Some of these graves can be found in old settlements even today. The mouth of the vault was usually covered with a big stone. The vaults are used only if the last burial was more than a year. Vaults of relatives are used in case burial in the family vault is lesser than a year. The bones and remains of previous burial are collected, given a wash and wrapped in a piece of cloth and put back in the corner of the same grave.

On the day of burial, an animal befitting the social standing of the deceased is killed. A buffalo or a mithun is slaughtered for a rich man. A cow or a pig is killed for people who are not very rich. Part of the meat is cooked and the left over is distributed among the relative of the deceased and the priest. The cooked meat is consumed by the attendees of the burial after making due sacrifice to the Death deity.

The Burial

Before sunset the deceased is tied to a flat wooded plank and slide into the vault after all the burial rituals are completed. Various articles for the use and comfort of the deceased are placed in the grave for use in the other world.

Clothes, daos, spear, shield, drinking cup, tobacco and pipes, ornaments, coins and quantities of food and drinks are said to be placed in the grave. Extra drinks and food are also placed for Kokto the deity who manned the gate to Kazeiram. In some cases a dog is killed to give the deceased company through the long journey to Kazeiram.

The mouth of the grave thereafter is sealed with a big stone slab. In the late evening a pine torch is lit near the grave. This is the time when all the mourners leave the grave and the fire in the deceased house is put out and all the ashes cleared. A fresh fire is brought from the neighbors to make a new fire.

A pine torch is lit near the grave for three days. It was believed that the spirit returns after having an interview with Kokto one day after the burial. For this reason all the doors are left open until the sending off ceremony of the spirit, which was usually done after 10 – 12 days from the day of burial. Until the sending off ceremony, food and drink share of the deceased are placed twice a day on the seat used by the deceased when alive.

Sending off Ceremony of the Spirit

10 - 12 days after the burial, the nearest to the deceased had to find a person who has some resemblance with the deceased to be his/her representative in the ceremony. Animals are slaughtered and a feast is hosted for the whole village. In the evening, the representative is escorted to the village gate with all sorts of gifts and messages, which are to be passed on to those who have died recently. All the lighted pine torches are put out once the final words are said and gifts given away. To symbolize that the spirit is finally going away from the living world, the representative walks away from the crowd and returns to the village taking a different route.

The Tangkhuls believed that spirits live life similar to the one they enjoyed in this world. The rich are rich the poor are poor even in Kazeiram.

Note: This write up is based on whatever I can remember of elders talking about burial rituals of the Tangkhuls, which is now discarded and even forgotten after the advent of Christianity. Death in some way was a burden to the living considering the un-necessary feast and ceremonies, however, it also is a testimony of how much respect and reverence the Tangkhuls once had for the dead.