IMPHAL DIARIES
Next is your turn, gear up pretty deb! - said Aditya with
adorable alacrity, a tall and handsome anchor of the show. Lazikla hiding her
edgy eyes asked in much seriousness- imaa how am I looking? Ek dum bhalo
dekhacche - I replied, adjusting her phanek. Before I could do some
final itsy-bitsy adjustments in her attire, I heard her name being
announced. Rush rush lazi, yai fabiro. I
closed my eyes in nervousness but not to hear her sing the much practised lines
of legendary lataji’s song, my soul wandered in those musical lanes of Calcutta
where I met Nara, fell in love and married him.
Being a Bengali wife
to a Manipuri man was a big excitement for me. Bani’you’ll love Imphal. It is
as beautiful as heaven, have you been to heaven? If not very soon you will -
giggled Nara- a hunched guy in his twenties’, full of life, laughter and fun, working
as a translator to tourists, reporters and others longing to know Manipur more
than militancy. So typical is the name-Thang-mm-mmei-bband,
shifting door mat in my newly settled adobe based in this locality of imphal, I
uttered the word with much needed hiatus between the letters in a staggering
manner. How would I be able to learn the whole language? Nara, what about those
pamphlets? Why you bowed down to those masked men? They seemed angry. Nara, I
stretched the last letter ‘A’ with full of vigour for I was dismayed by his
silence, why don’t you answer me. Why can’t I listen to Bollywood songs? And
what is the logic behind not wearing Saree. I love them. So do I- said Nara
holding me tight in his arms, he kissed me, muting me for a while. Shrugging him
off, I continued- Isn’t weird? Song and movies can’t uproot some culture and we
belong to this country, so Hindi language belongs to us. It is the national
one. “Indian cultural invasion has dangerously undermined the strength of the
region's socio-cultural roots" Read the pamphlet. Ok leave it Bani Das, the epitome of
nationalism. Yes! My Nara Bhagat Singh- replied I with all smiles. Leaving the
conversation, I swayed to lyrics of my favourite Hindi song and went to kitchen;
Nara lowered the volume of the music but not my love for music.
Its black and white little angles - giggled Nara’s Imaa. Nara
you are an ipaa now. Hollering and dancing I will do whole night, I am on cloud
nine, Bani thanks for two gifts at once – said he, and kissed me on my
forehead. Lazikla- black beauty, my little ichaanupi (daughter)
and Yanga- my little ichaanupaa (son), we named them in a full
Manipuri tradition. Kids are growing and it was all like a happy life but
something is bothering me these days; Nara’s changed behaviour which was
palpable even if he tried to hide it. Kids entered middle school and I was busy
earning money for my family. Amid all the Cacophony, bargain of products, in Ima
keithel (All women market, one of its kinds in Asia) I packed my stuff
in much hurry thinking about the promise I made. Nara would be angry, today I
promised to come on time, I was babbling and whizzing my cycle with my plethora
of un-sold handicrafts on it while on my way to home. As scurried over the stairs and was about to
knock the door something stopped me. I
heard Nara yelling- I will throw these Cd’s to dustbin; go and study, and don’t
follow your mother. You are Manipuri Lazi. I knocked with anguished bang on
door. Yes, Nara they are Manipuri and Indians but not Koreans I hope. Hindi
bothers you but not the Korean. Can’t you see our cable TV airing channels from
far South Korea; kids are following their celebrities, their styles (holding
yanga’s spiky hair ), their stories but what about the country we belong to.
You are marking a sense of alienation in their minds for their motherland for
which our freedom fighters laid their lives, shed their blood; to see this day.
Nara you are a changed man. Not the man I got married to. Nara angrily went out to meet some secret man
I have never seen before.
For a week that secret man bothered me so I came to Kolkata
(Calcutta) along with Nara and kids to my parents’ home for avoiding something
dreadful which I sensed in Imphal. I opened the door while combing my hair.
Call Nara- said a stout man in his 40’s standing outside. Nara got ready
hurriedly as never before and said Goodbye to me. How they got here Nara? I
asked in bafflement but to go unanswered. Ok come soon. Nara looked back but
said nothing. Day passed and it was getting late enough to be worried. I once
again stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched street
dog that was lying down miserably near the gate, there was not a soul to be
seen anywhere. Rain water had puddled under the lamp post. A breeze ruffled the
mango tree in the courtyard and a few twigs fell down and broke. Thunder
rumbled in the distance. Did I hear a soft knock at the door? I turned back to
notice that same man standing outside with whom Nara went as I opened the door.
Where is Nara? He went with you. Why are you silent? My voice was shivering in
certain expected fears. He pulled out a packet and turned back. I ran behind that
white Van but in vain. Packet had a letter and some money. Letter read-
“My strong woman Bani Das.
Willingly or not, I have to go.
Take care of kids.
Yours
Nara singh”.
I returned home and locked the door. Holding kids in my arms,
crying profusely, that day became the last day I saw Nara, my man.
Well done Miss North east. You are an inspiration to
millions. I heard when I opened my eyes and ears as well with that loud music
breaking my train of thoughts and landing me here in the backstage of the
audition hall. I was called on the stage. Lazi hugged me tightly while holding
some badge in her hand. “I did all hard work to raise my kids with dignity.
Lazi’s love for music is in her genes she got from her mother. I knew she want
to sing so I shifted here to Kolkata to provide her a formal training, Rest is
in her fortune”- I uttered my part of speech I prepared last night in the wake
of avoiding embarrassment for if I get a chance to speak.
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