Unique Tangkhul names: Literal and their actual meanings

In many tribal societies, names represent symbols, signs, nature of birth, social standing, place of birth, events of the time and many other things. Red Indians have very unique ways of naming their children. When some of these names are translated literally, they sound funny. However, there are deep underlying meanings even in names that sound really funny or silly. Red Indian names like, “Crow Mother Spirit, She plays all the time, All are at war, First to dance, etc,” are some names that come into my mind when thinking of funny names.

Tangkhuls, mainly before the advent of Christianity have a peculiar naming convention. Though the names have their special meanings, they sometime are really funny if you just take the literal or face meaning of the names. Some of the names I can recall are listed below along with their literal and actual meanings.

Chapthai: Nightlong weeper. A very unbearable child who cries day and night.
Pheikhui: Crooked Leg. Named if the child is born with a bend or crooked leg
Shangkai: Broken Clan. Child born at a time when the clan has some conflict within or without
Yarshi: Ugly one. Named if born ugly.
Ringshi: Unhappy. Poor family condition both financial and social standing.
Yangshi: Envy/Jealous. If people are jealous of the parents for some reason.
Yuishi: Envy/jealous. Same as Yangshi
Saphei: Animal leg. Named if the father is a great hunter.
Mikrei: Big Eyes. Named if the child has big eyes.
Miksha: Thick eyes. A child born with thick eyelids
Mikying: Blue Eyes. A child is given this name if he is born with blue eyes.
Maringthei: One who struggles to live. Child born to a couple who live from hand to mouth.
Maringmi: Not alive. If many children have died before the birth of the child
Maransa: Totem Erector. Son of rich parents who have erected totems to showcase their prosperity
Pairala. Shit water. If the parents have fields close to the village that is fed by the fertile waste water and sewage of the village. This is considered to be a good name.
Tatung. Dropped/lost. Orphaned child. Named so if the parents are dead or the child is abandoned
Thisan: Fed up of dead. If many children have died before the birth of this child
Shongfala. Roadside. If the child is born on the road.
Shongzanla. Roadside. Same as Shongfala
Horhai: Abandoned. Orphaned or abandoned child
Khanei: One who brings bad luck: Named if the child is an orphan
Mara: Orphan. Orphaned or abandoned
Luimashom: No cultivation. If the child is born at the time of draught
Luishomla: Cultivation. The child is born at the time of cultivation
Luishom: Cultivation (male). Same as Luishomla
Vachin: Maternal Hatred. A child born to parents who are not in good terms with the mother’s side
Manganaophan: Not able to bring up: Either of the parents died when the child was so young.
Ningchung: Split mind/thought. A child born to confused parents
Luimalei: No field. Children born to poor parents or a child who is the youngest who has no more/little property share
Yarho: One Son. The only son in the family
Luikai: Broken field. Child born at the time of flood that has resulted in the loss of property
Khungsha: Short neck. Children born with short neck
Ningtheng: Dried mind/thought. Child born at the time of extreme hardship.
Manaothei: Late Fruit. A child born to aged couple
Maungthei: One who can't come. If either of the parents are good in postponing things.
Mashangthei: One who can't manage being rich. Child whose parents are rich but not altruistic.
Ningmalum: Doubtful conscience: The child's parents have some fear about the future of the child. Example, a sickly child.
Maihung: Red face. For a child born with a red face.

The Funny Planet.
A little Indian boy asked his father, the big chief and witch doctor of the tribe, “Papa, why is it that we always have long names, while the white men have shorter names – Bill, Tex or Sam, for example?”

His father replied, “Look, son, our names represent a symbol, a sign, or a poem for our culture not like the white men, who live all together and repeat their names from generation to generation. Also, it is part of our makeup that in spite of everything, we survive.”

“For example, your sister’s name is Small Romantic Moon Over The Lake, because on the night she was born, there was a beautiful moon reflected in the lake. Then there’s your brother, Big White Horse of the Prairies, because he was born on a day that the big white horse who gallops over the prairies of the world appeared near our camp and is a symbol of our capacity to live and the life force of our people.”
“It’s very simple and easy to understand. Do you have any other questions, Little Broken Condom Made in China?”

Disclaimer: This blogpost is not a piece of mockery, but written and posted in good faith that it reminds us of the past.

How Time Flies: Sweet Childhood Memories of Monsoon

The toy pistols, wooden motorcycles, the shiny marbles, sweet wrappers and cigarette covers, oh and the torn pants, catapults and ever flowing nose; thinking of whatever was childhood I sometime fancy myself to have lived for more than a century.

I am glad I always ran to my village to spend my holidays with my aunt and grandpa rather than stay with pa and ma, where I was compelled to stuff my brain with ABC and 123.

Summer and winter school breaks have their own seasonal stamps of importance. Summer breaks, which are concurrent to monsoon were days I mostly slept with the catapult hanging on my neck, not to showcase the world a new trend of fashion, but more out of forgetfulness and exhaustion associated with bird hunting. The kill doesn’t matter much; the real fun lies in chasing the young birds that haven’t yet learned to fly far. For animal rights activists, this would sound inhuman, but for children born so near to wild natural nature, things happen without being directed.

Getting soaked in the rain, swimming in any temporary ponds created by the rain water, dealing with leeches from time to time are some images I recall about monsoon childhood. There were no thrashings as mom and the rod don’t usually come along with me to the village. The result was that more silly fights happen with friends as there was no possible punishment.

Days were always fun filled even when forced to stay indoor. Eating away roasted fresh potatoes and corn, playing marble inside the house, acting the role of grownups and dozing off for a wink can make the sun set so easily without extra effort. By dusk the house always turns into a messy mess.

The only thing I hate about monsoon is the time when grandpa picks up the plough and summoned me to follow him. This was when I have to lead stubborn plough harnessed buffaloes while grandpa handles the plough from behind and dictates me where to go or come to make the land ready for cultivation. Grandpa's favorite trick to make me concentrate was to throw a lump of mud on my back whenever my gaze strays away from the land being ploughed. This trick must be from where children learn the game of shooting each other with clods.

Most part of the days was spent ploughing or tending the herd of buffaloes. Liberation comes very soon as ploughing last only about a week, but tending the buffaloes still was my responsibility. However, that wasn’t as boring as ploughing for I was all on myself. All I have to do was to take the buffaloes to a green pasture, leave them there and go for my own sort of adventure or just sit on the back of one of the buffaloes and listen to the cultivation songs coming from every corner. I used to wish monsoon and the school holidays last longer than a month, but wishes are granted hardly even to children. The school bell summons me back from the village only to be released again during the winter.

Winter breaks were more inventive. Winters are reserved for wooden motorcycle racing, playing shooting game with soft clod and catapult, scouting the jungles, experimenting toy guns with real gunpowder and sand, fishing and bird trapping and of course caroling on Christmas wearing new apparels.

Wheels of the wooden motorcycles were made from a very special flowering Rhododendrons tree trunks (locally called koklui thing), which also was widely used by craftsmen for making indigenous wooden plates. Children of all ages go scouting in groups to find the roundest trunks in order to build the fastest motorcycle. It must be similar to my forefathers scouting for a handsome trees to erect as totems. The dust, pants getting torn in the butt, hands getting cracked, getting thrashed by elders for owning a motorcycle were all normal.

Winter deserves a special write up... To be continued.....

India, the land of scam, corruption, fraud and poverty (Other side of the coin)

Here are my latest hobbies:
1. Hating to read the Newspaper and
2. Hating to watch my favorite News Channels on the TV

Not wanting anymore to do what you used to do but ending up doing the same in the end is really a confusing heck of a hobby. Lately, newspapers and news channels on the Television have become nothing more than a scoreboard to keep track of murder, scams, corruption, fraud, poverty and those many bad bonuses happening in the country. I prefer hundreds of black cats criss crossing my path than to pretend I am reading and seeing only good news.How long will we go on watching the same thing over and over again?

I was never good at calculations and remains the same me when it comes to math. But, I can't help gaping and glaring at the digits pocketed by scammers, fraudsters, corruptors: even a fool would know that it's a lot and lot of sweet smelling money. And hell, we still talk about India being poor. What were these defaulters planning to do with their money if they were not caught? Draw your own conclusions, but be sure that not even a penny will reach those who are struggling to earn their daily breads and the homeless who die everyday on the streets.

The gap between the have and have nots seems to be getting wider everyday. I'll get nothing pointing my finger at the defaulters and those money mongers nor will I get anything by lambasting them (actually I don't have the voice and power to do that). I still remember the day when some Members of Parliament wave wads of bank notes inside the parliament. Many eyes and ears, without doubt were opened on that day to make people realize that everything can be bought and gambled with, here in India, which we all proudly consider as our own country.

If you are new here, CWG 2010 stands for "Cash without Gaurantee 2010," 2G stands for "Too Good" to be hidden, Black Money means nothing but bank notes that have become slightly greasy and so on. The list is endless, but it's just that we all have limited memory space to store this sort of information.

Do you still find the word "honesty" in the latest dictionaries printed in India? I need to get a new one to know for myself. Human beings used to live in between Dystopia and Utopia. Looking at the alarming speed we are moving toward Dystopia, I fancy myself waking up one fine morning with horns on my head, a tail between my legs, robbed of human values.

How long will it take for leaders to act just as leaders, legislators just as legislators, Bureaucrats as bureaucrats, diplomats just as diplomats and human beings just as human beings with all humanly feelings and qualities?

Oops, I won't like waking up with horns and a soft tail. Let me be just me.

Srisailam: The Mallelatheertham Waterfalls, Nagarjuna Sagar Tiger Reserve and the Srisailam Temple

This time allow me to write lesser than what I usually do. This trip to Srisailam was an instant and instinctual plunge that involved no pre planning. My friend asked me whether I'd want to join him on his trip to Srisailam on Friday; a trip scheduled for the next day. An ultimate offer to escape from this finicky hush and rush city life. I had too many sane reasons to accept right away. Glad I decided to be part of the jocund road trip party of only three friends to be with nature, monkeys, antelopes and deers.

Mallelatheertham Waterfall is something I am still unable to comprehend. The location is strange, but the water surprisingly chilled and clear, it lies somewhere in the middle of nowhere. The area is covered by dry deciduous forest with scrub and bamboos forming the major vegetation. This waterfall in many ways reminds me of an oasis (I've not seen one but have read about a lot). You just have to walk down 250 steps to be welcomed to a tropical like forest where the waterfall await those who come seeking for her. I would never know where the water comes from nor want to know. It's too blessed to be investigated. Lets cut it right here.

The only thing I cared at that moment was to strip and get a thrashing treat from the droplets that fall from above. That was what we exactly did. I can compare the droplets hitting my back to that of small hailstones beating down on my head. Sometimes, it feels heavenly if you do things knowing that it involves a little pain. Punishing oneself once in a while is never a crime.

Those wildly tamed monkeys were a sight of relief and surprise. They ate from my hands, I don't care about the legality of what I did.

Another scenic molestation came from the meandering route cut out from the rocks below the Srisailam Dam. I just had to roll my eyes and hold my head so it doesn't roll away. The view of the dam was also majestic and I fell in love with the sunset being reflected on the dam water.

Crossing the Nagarjuna Sagar Tiger Reserve was another cool experience. I like the monkeys having their afternoon naps combining bliss of the warm metaled road, the soft breeze and the shades. I wish I had counted those nappers, but they were too many. They have claimed the road as their evening napping cots.

Tigers were not to be seen as expected though it is a Tiger Reserve. The panicking part was saved for another occasion for that. The journey was not bumpy as the government seemed to be doing a great job maintaining easy connectivity to the famous temple town of Srisailam. We had to squeeze ourselves into a single room that cost us around 800 bucks, which I should say was a little off the track considering the size. Nevertheless, it was clean, so no hard feelings.

Adieu for now, I will consider writing more when the crazy romance with this place subsides, lest I eulogize it too much and sound too bias. I would definitely love to revisit the dam during monsoon to see the overflowing of Krishna River.

Opps, a confession: I missed going to the Temple as I was too lazy to budge in the morning.

I salute you Srisailam.

Thanks Aravind for the wonderful photos.