The Clogged Space - I
By:- David Buhril *
On enquiring the "To Let" board for a friend who is looking for a room in Munirka, New Delhi, the landlady who owned the vacant rooms showered us with too many questions.
The questions left me feeling like we stole the last apple from her garden. But we didn't pluck any apples from her garden. Nor Eden. Most of the questions were unnecessary.
Some were smeared with contempt. Some were interesting. Some were surprising. Some were not easy to tolerate. Some were demeaning. Some were quite digestible. We served her answers after answers to questions like, what's your religion?
Do you eat dog's meat?
Beef?
Do you have girlfriends? Boyfriends?
At last she asked where we belong?
With overflowing pride about our beautiful place, we told her that we are from Manipur. But oh! She told us that she did not want any tenants from Manipur.
With a stern look that seem like the coming of a big storm and firm haughty face she closed the door abruptly. In silence we navigate buildings after buildings looking for a sign that says 'To Let'.
The silence was painful. Shameful too. Some rooms were available. But most of the rooms were far from habitable. No windows. No Ventilations. No room for air and light. The rooms were too small. Otherwise the bigger ones are expensive again.
Worst is that they are not taking anyone from Manipur. We speak Hmar and Mizo and could easily slip off by saying we come from Mizoram. But we just did not want to do that. We did not want that to be a trick. Or a lie. Or a password. Our sense of belonging is not to be tested with any of those rotten apples.
Another couple of landlords, again, told us that they are not taking anyone from Manipur. We argued about the fact that everyone is not Adam or Eve. Or Judas.
But it was not making any sense. I asked myself what the hell must have gone wrong with us from Manipur? Is it because of the Armed Forces Special Power Act? Silly. Is it because we are addicted to bandhs, protest and all those past time?
Or is it because they saw our women protesting naked in the street? Some said they are not keeping non-vegetarians. Is PETA winning here? They don't seem to know a thing about PETA. But we don't eat human flesh.
We won't. Besides we won't be sharing any pots or utensils. Not even the kitchen.
Well, we don't look that poor, needy and broke not to be able to pay the monthly rent. Looks are deceptive. But that's not the reason again. They owned TVs to have witnessed the economic boom in China, Japan, Korea and the East.
So what? We look like them. That's what they say. So we must be looking like rich and booming too. That's what I mean.
Otherwise our skins are not that yellow to look like jaundice infested tenants. My friend is healthy. Me too. Besides people from Manipur are sportive and strong. So that's not the reason again.
What then? Oh, my friend is not as ugly as Abraham Lincoln. He could become a model for some Burmese eatables industry anytime. Besides, there are quite a number of girls who likes him.
He's been, rather, facing the problem of choosing the right one. That's not the reason then. Of course we are Christians, but we won't do that conversion mission here. We did not come for that.
That is not what is expected of us too. We don't have time for that. We are not really interested in that mission. At least not now. We don't look dirty too. We do not even smoke.
We are not gays. We are straight. Our inclination is towards the opposite sex, anytime. Despite all that we were compelled to move from door to door. It wasn't fun at all.
Of course Ibomcha drinks and partied. Kimi hangs out everywhere with everyone whose skin is darker than anyone from Manipur. Athuiliu's skirt hangs too low. Chingnu may be overdoing her makeup in the evening.
They actually wonder where she goes. Khuplian seem to find difficulties in opening his eyes. He is getting thinner everyday. I was also told many of the pubs; discos and restaurants are not allowing people from the north east to get inside.
Looks like it is not all about money anymore. So what with all this happenings? True we all are from Manipur. But that is not to say that we all are doing the same thing. I am sorry for what must be taking place, but I am not my brother's sinner. And it is never right to generalize the assumption to a firmer ground.
I have been asking too many questions since then. I cannot answer them all. Is this discrimination? If then, is it racial or regional? Are we the others outside the "mainstream"?
Or are we the outsiders? Is multiculturism dead? Are the hands of diversity paralysed? Is secularism in the grave?
The adhesive, that is, understanding, seem to have waned. Or have we become the untouchables? In the face of differences creating indifferences we were left with few choice. My friend and I find it difficult to maintain that polite gentility. On the other hand we dare not be mean and hot tempered.
Oh Sanaleibak! What is in your name?
In this pallette like multicultural existence we need to negotiate with respect for one another. Cultural pluralism is a quintessentially modern phenomenon As a global pattern, it is a creature of the present century.
Maybe 'we' and 'them' are walking the road trying to learn. But the space is already getting clogged for us.
--------------------------------------
The Clogged Space - II
We have been squeezed into a clogged space. That is what it is. But as I am, at least, allow to celebrate my liberty. So I took the opportunity to write about me and my friend's experience, which I believed, has more to do with us as a people than merely the two friends.
I have bought the belief that innocence has no color. I paid a big price for it. So come down here, you won't be spared. Or leave, the leftovers won't be spared either. Otherwise stay and bear it. You will certainly become tougher and tolerant. Patient.
Understanding too. If that is what it takes to identify with the "mainstream", the path is far from right. We ought to have a sight. Maybe for a side. Or a site. Or a sigh. Its OK if we are leaving them today. But its never OK if we still have to live with them till tomorrow.
If this path will lead us to "integrate" with the billion races, the race will be too painful. It is no longer about grazing in the green pasture of conscience and reason. Rather, we are being hurled with the unwanted distortions of conceptions and interpretations.
That's the image. Yours and mine. There is no point complaining that we did not start the fire. The situation is already like reading a bad translation of the Bible. So we failed to deliver the meaning of our existence and us. We are not a mistake.
But we are already mistaken. We are not a blot. But we are already blotted. The slice of unrotten corner is occupied by pretension and their best affordable "goodwill". Of course their financial thirst too. That ground beneath our feet is not safe. We need to negotiate.
We need education to affirm and accept the diversity. Through a designed system we are imposed with thick syllabus that have big chapters on sick caste system and other sicker subjects that were taught in schools and colleges nationwide. Nothing about us. Nothing about our values. There's no trace that reflects about us.
Our coming here and there is a challenge to their domain of understanding. We exist outside them. Outside their geography, history and culture. While our politics is their hands. So the call has been to "integrate" and "assimilate". Our perceived image is that of the man whose frame never seem to relate to any other man they have come across.
We still exist as a big question. Even after paying big money for their caste ridden like small airless and lightless rooms, we were taken in, they said, with "grace", "mercy" and all those sweet butter flabs. I am a little tired already. For I cannot be strong and tough forever. I don't believe in superman.
And my tolerance can no longer be a courage that silently suffers all their ignorance and indifferences. I am tired of putting my rationality's strength to test. Is this a result of our non- affront ability or non- confrontabity?
I must mention another interesting experience where I emerged like the winner after a battle. It was in the hot June of 2005 when I landed in Delhi with my brother and sister for their admission to the University of Delhi. I happen to encounter this good man, Mr.Sharma, who is now the landlord of my folks.
He owned a room that can easily accommodate two people. We paid the security, and the advances. But then he said he wouldn't allow my sister to share the room with my brother. I told him we are brothers and sisters. I even showed him their certificates bearing our dear parents names. He told me his side of the story. He told me that this has been his "practice and tradition".
Besides he told me about "the girls from northeast". I was again in pain and shame. He thought my sister would be just like that too. He narrated stories, news, and all that crass that is designed to deliver the message that our sisters and girls are "cheap". Try to read all the meanings inside that word. That's the picture about our sisters.
That is how we are understood to be. I took my turn to tell him my side of story. I began by telling him that the issue is not about "cheap girls from Manipur or north east". I told him it is rather about the diverse culture and the big gap we are living with. I told him we failed in the negotiation. So we are fed with assumptions that are plastered with deliberate distortions and exaggerations.
I lost my temper in the hours of negotiations for the one room we are looking for. I raised my voice. His sons and daughters thought we were already in the middle of a fight. But he was an old man who has lived enough years to understand.
He was once a student of Hindu College. He is a retired government servant. Besides he owned a house in the heart of the Capital of India. So I told him he ought to be different at least. Not like all the others. So break free. I told him about family.
I told him we are from Manipur, but we come from a family where there are boys and girls, mother and father living together. So my brother and sister have also to stay together again, for all convenience sake too. He asked me silly questions, which I don't think is silly for him and his society. What will my family say? What will my neighbors say? "Actually you know", he said, "I never do that".
In the long heated negotiation, I did not really care for the room anymore. I was taking the pain just to deliver my side of story which seem too new for him. And when the sun has set long ago, unexpectedly, he told me that he is impressed and convinced about my explanations.
So he allowed us to take the room but on a long list of conditions over which I signed my name. Since then, everyday we live to prove and to reveal the immense values of humanity, which we also have been treasuring just like them.
We live everyday to be acceptable and to be accepted like them. We are not supposed to make a mistake. But that's not human. Although that's expected of us. Otherwise we can be down and out anytime.
If this popular belief is what the democratic population is hatching, the whole chapter of democracy, multiculturalism, diversity, secularism, etc., has to be redefined so that we can all come closer to understand its pragmatic aspect.
Culture should act as the filter of our understanding. The present progress did not reflect anything towards that. The myth of superman and his superior culture cannot be a valid standard of acceptance where we are seen as the lesser, weaker, inferior, mortals who are expected to bow to their will.
At such moments, I decried over the artificiality of the collectivity and grow doubtful over the possibility of the diverse unity. We don't seem to be representing ourselves anymore. Rather we represent the fixed image they shaped for us.
This ought to be contested and challenged. With our march into the modern state as "equal citizens", we are bounded by the reality shaping power that is exercised in multiple ways: fixation of the image of a citizen, patterning a popular culture, containment of population movement, etc.
That has been quite successful. Ask anyone if you and I look like one of those from the "mainstream". True, they say we did not look, act, react, or think like them. Mr. Sharma was right.
He is brave enough to say that, " We failed to understand the culture of the people from the north east". There is a missing. There is a gap. These are not isolated examples.
They are everywhere. Worst it lives in their minds. It will not leave.
The space is getting clogged.
-------------------------------------------
The Clogged Space-III
A friend asked what "The Clogged Space" is all about. He is from down south of India. Science has nursed him during his graduation days. So I told him that it is about the need for a big bang when the clash of civilization occurs. That's the easiest explanation I can manage in a sentence.
It doesn't make much sense to him, but I deliberately did that for the need of brevity. Brevity is essential. That's what I have been realising from the clogged space. Explanation is never always an answer. Sometimes I felt like an old whore. I cannot sell (explain) anymore.
Worst they won't but it anymore too. Unfortunately, the old whore did not believe in delivering anything free. That's me, I suppose. So I was not very ready to repeat the long story for my friend that might go like another uncatched raindrops. This is not about a dwell in the island or the village.
If anyone thinks it is about that, their sight can be the prodigal sons and daughters of the view from the pond. If not they must be racist. Otherwise, they thought that we are the unreasonable tribe who deserves this clogged space. But I must assert again that we are not lesser than anyone.
We are a little fortunate not to be grouped into the class of 'untouchables'. Our food culture, they say, could have granted us that membership anytime for free. With our taste buds wetted and wedded to unique smells of 'Imagi Ngari' (fermented fish), fermented pork lard (sathu in Hmar) and fermented soybeans, they just cannot imagine any civilized palatable dish out of those smells.
These are Home's signature smell for us. They are one thing that comes closest to defining Home for us. However the absence of understanding, of the need and importance of these smells, have been another big reason of our step into the clogged space. The smell is no longer about good or bad for us. It is already rooted to our historic culture.
They already flow in our blood. We are eating them not in celebration of the glorious inheritance. But just because of the simple fact that we like them too much. If they expect us to omit the smell from our food, this is a big asking. How can we live chopping our tongue?
The inheritance is from the past where we cherish the smell as the stamp of our popular food culture. They are one thing we dearly share in Manipur. Who knows, they might be the bonds that keeps us faithfully together in Manipur. Imagine Manipur without 'Imagi Ngari'.The picture of differences pops us with the people sharing just indifferences and really nothing. Maybe that is where our "unique history" begins.
I remember the first day in Delhi's kitchen where I was told by my uncle to be very careful when burning the treasured fish I brought from Home. I burnt the fish feeling like I was doing something sinful. Something sexy …you know that kind of thing. Something not acceptable.
Just because they set and said that it is not the right time and the right place anymore. But can it be like that? Should I allow it? Or should I let them win? I was hoping to feed myself with Home's food and then slumber off to dream about home. I was too sick for Home then. "Imagi Ngari" was supposed to be some sort of panacea.
But I was feeling like Judas, for the silly reason that our landlady who lives in the first floor did not allow us to burn anything with those "dirty smells". She would call us "dirty children" which we used to miraculously tolerate.
I must confess now that I succeeded in seducing her son to like the wonderful foods from Manipur with that smell for which he still dearly remember me. The poor boy has grown up. But he hasn't grown out to like what he likes. I remember giving a long lecture to his mother about the importance of what comes out than what goes in.
She was right. She said that it is not their practice. They stuffed butter and sweets inside that is converted into flab. What come out are the thorns of evil caste and narrow class that we are confronting. Unfortunately it seeps inside Manipur too. They never seem to leave them and us free.
Sir Charles J.Lyall, an Englishman and a scholar, seem to be in a very sorry state when he wrote in May 1908, that "… while Burma has accepted the mild and gentle religion of Buddha, and thus profoundly modified the original animistic cult, Manipur has been taken into the pale of Hinduism, and has imposed itself burdensome restrictions of caste and ritual from which its greater neighbor is happily free".
The clutches clogged us in every way. Not the religion. But the sub-culture that has borne out of it. And out here, the foods that we so much love have become an instrument to corner us to that exotic group. I must tell you this again.
When I joined JNU in the year 2000 for my masters programme, I was told of this beautiful and painful true story that took place in one of the hostels in JNU.The monotonous menu of the hostel was designed to suit the taste buds of the democratic population whose culture and every other thing is closely interrelated to it.
For a relief, as well as to eat what he likes, Ibungo was burning his treasured Ngari, which he managed to export with great difficulty from Sanaleibak Manipur. To his surprise, his neighbor and floor mate knocked on his door to complain about the "foul smell." I was told they had a heated argument.
But the dry fish was never save from further burning. So this man went to the warden to complaint about the fortunate smell. The warden and a good gang knock on Ibungo's door again. After another argument, Ibungo told them that he is already tired with the imposed "food imperialism".
His final question to the warden will always remain beautiful. He asked, " Sir, now tell me, what smell is allowed in the hostel and what smell is not allowed?" If I were in the authority, I would have nominated him for receiving the bravery award in the coming Republic day.
If popular culture is supposed to be hatched by the larger population who are always up to defining what not to do for the others, there should be enough space where the others could also draw their own line. The knock is a burst of the pride that apes superman and his belief that "might is right".
I make no apology for such obsession with a pride in the multiplying boom. A million or billion boom it could be. That's not blooming .If this is democracy, I am not to pretend that democracy represents the collectivity. Our presences are drawn on blank blur lines.
We actually did not deserve this. As I am writing this piece, I was told of the appalling news that was aired on the All India Radio, Aizawl. The sad news is that thousands of innocent Hmar villagers from Tipaimukh area of Churachandpur district have been displaced by the valley-based militants who are occupying their villages.
They are fleeing towards Mizoram leaving their hearths and homes. They are called refugees in another state. No Home for us anymore.
Another big chapter of the clogged space.
I only have to hope for the dawn where we may wake with no fear for any clogged space. Otherwise, it is clogged here now.
Clogged there too.
------------------------------
David Buhril,a research scholar in JNU, contributes regularly to e-pao.net.
The writer can be contacted at davidbuhril@yahoo.com
This article was webcasted on January 11th, 2006
By:- David Buhril *
On enquiring the "To Let" board for a friend who is looking for a room in Munirka, New Delhi, the landlady who owned the vacant rooms showered us with too many questions.
The questions left me feeling like we stole the last apple from her garden. But we didn't pluck any apples from her garden. Nor Eden. Most of the questions were unnecessary.
Some were smeared with contempt. Some were interesting. Some were surprising. Some were not easy to tolerate. Some were demeaning. Some were quite digestible. We served her answers after answers to questions like, what's your religion?
Do you eat dog's meat?
Beef?
Do you have girlfriends? Boyfriends?
At last she asked where we belong?
With overflowing pride about our beautiful place, we told her that we are from Manipur. But oh! She told us that she did not want any tenants from Manipur.
With a stern look that seem like the coming of a big storm and firm haughty face she closed the door abruptly. In silence we navigate buildings after buildings looking for a sign that says 'To Let'.
The silence was painful. Shameful too. Some rooms were available. But most of the rooms were far from habitable. No windows. No Ventilations. No room for air and light. The rooms were too small. Otherwise the bigger ones are expensive again.
Worst is that they are not taking anyone from Manipur. We speak Hmar and Mizo and could easily slip off by saying we come from Mizoram. But we just did not want to do that. We did not want that to be a trick. Or a lie. Or a password. Our sense of belonging is not to be tested with any of those rotten apples.
Another couple of landlords, again, told us that they are not taking anyone from Manipur. We argued about the fact that everyone is not Adam or Eve. Or Judas.
But it was not making any sense. I asked myself what the hell must have gone wrong with us from Manipur? Is it because of the Armed Forces Special Power Act? Silly. Is it because we are addicted to bandhs, protest and all those past time?
Or is it because they saw our women protesting naked in the street? Some said they are not keeping non-vegetarians. Is PETA winning here? They don't seem to know a thing about PETA. But we don't eat human flesh.
We won't. Besides we won't be sharing any pots or utensils. Not even the kitchen.
Well, we don't look that poor, needy and broke not to be able to pay the monthly rent. Looks are deceptive. But that's not the reason again. They owned TVs to have witnessed the economic boom in China, Japan, Korea and the East.
So what? We look like them. That's what they say. So we must be looking like rich and booming too. That's what I mean.
Otherwise our skins are not that yellow to look like jaundice infested tenants. My friend is healthy. Me too. Besides people from Manipur are sportive and strong. So that's not the reason again.
What then? Oh, my friend is not as ugly as Abraham Lincoln. He could become a model for some Burmese eatables industry anytime. Besides, there are quite a number of girls who likes him.
He's been, rather, facing the problem of choosing the right one. That's not the reason then. Of course we are Christians, but we won't do that conversion mission here. We did not come for that.
That is not what is expected of us too. We don't have time for that. We are not really interested in that mission. At least not now. We don't look dirty too. We do not even smoke.
We are not gays. We are straight. Our inclination is towards the opposite sex, anytime. Despite all that we were compelled to move from door to door. It wasn't fun at all.
Of course Ibomcha drinks and partied. Kimi hangs out everywhere with everyone whose skin is darker than anyone from Manipur. Athuiliu's skirt hangs too low. Chingnu may be overdoing her makeup in the evening.
They actually wonder where she goes. Khuplian seem to find difficulties in opening his eyes. He is getting thinner everyday. I was also told many of the pubs; discos and restaurants are not allowing people from the north east to get inside.
Looks like it is not all about money anymore. So what with all this happenings? True we all are from Manipur. But that is not to say that we all are doing the same thing. I am sorry for what must be taking place, but I am not my brother's sinner. And it is never right to generalize the assumption to a firmer ground.
I have been asking too many questions since then. I cannot answer them all. Is this discrimination? If then, is it racial or regional? Are we the others outside the "mainstream"?
Or are we the outsiders? Is multiculturism dead? Are the hands of diversity paralysed? Is secularism in the grave?
The adhesive, that is, understanding, seem to have waned. Or have we become the untouchables? In the face of differences creating indifferences we were left with few choice. My friend and I find it difficult to maintain that polite gentility. On the other hand we dare not be mean and hot tempered.
Oh Sanaleibak! What is in your name?
In this pallette like multicultural existence we need to negotiate with respect for one another. Cultural pluralism is a quintessentially modern phenomenon As a global pattern, it is a creature of the present century.
Maybe 'we' and 'them' are walking the road trying to learn. But the space is already getting clogged for us.
--------------------------------------
The Clogged Space - II
We have been squeezed into a clogged space. That is what it is. But as I am, at least, allow to celebrate my liberty. So I took the opportunity to write about me and my friend's experience, which I believed, has more to do with us as a people than merely the two friends.
I have bought the belief that innocence has no color. I paid a big price for it. So come down here, you won't be spared. Or leave, the leftovers won't be spared either. Otherwise stay and bear it. You will certainly become tougher and tolerant. Patient.
Understanding too. If that is what it takes to identify with the "mainstream", the path is far from right. We ought to have a sight. Maybe for a side. Or a site. Or a sigh. Its OK if we are leaving them today. But its never OK if we still have to live with them till tomorrow.
If this path will lead us to "integrate" with the billion races, the race will be too painful. It is no longer about grazing in the green pasture of conscience and reason. Rather, we are being hurled with the unwanted distortions of conceptions and interpretations.
That's the image. Yours and mine. There is no point complaining that we did not start the fire. The situation is already like reading a bad translation of the Bible. So we failed to deliver the meaning of our existence and us. We are not a mistake.
But we are already mistaken. We are not a blot. But we are already blotted. The slice of unrotten corner is occupied by pretension and their best affordable "goodwill". Of course their financial thirst too. That ground beneath our feet is not safe. We need to negotiate.
We need education to affirm and accept the diversity. Through a designed system we are imposed with thick syllabus that have big chapters on sick caste system and other sicker subjects that were taught in schools and colleges nationwide. Nothing about us. Nothing about our values. There's no trace that reflects about us.
Our coming here and there is a challenge to their domain of understanding. We exist outside them. Outside their geography, history and culture. While our politics is their hands. So the call has been to "integrate" and "assimilate". Our perceived image is that of the man whose frame never seem to relate to any other man they have come across.
We still exist as a big question. Even after paying big money for their caste ridden like small airless and lightless rooms, we were taken in, they said, with "grace", "mercy" and all those sweet butter flabs. I am a little tired already. For I cannot be strong and tough forever. I don't believe in superman.
And my tolerance can no longer be a courage that silently suffers all their ignorance and indifferences. I am tired of putting my rationality's strength to test. Is this a result of our non- affront ability or non- confrontabity?
I must mention another interesting experience where I emerged like the winner after a battle. It was in the hot June of 2005 when I landed in Delhi with my brother and sister for their admission to the University of Delhi. I happen to encounter this good man, Mr.Sharma, who is now the landlord of my folks.
He owned a room that can easily accommodate two people. We paid the security, and the advances. But then he said he wouldn't allow my sister to share the room with my brother. I told him we are brothers and sisters. I even showed him their certificates bearing our dear parents names. He told me his side of the story. He told me that this has been his "practice and tradition".
Besides he told me about "the girls from northeast". I was again in pain and shame. He thought my sister would be just like that too. He narrated stories, news, and all that crass that is designed to deliver the message that our sisters and girls are "cheap". Try to read all the meanings inside that word. That's the picture about our sisters.
That is how we are understood to be. I took my turn to tell him my side of story. I began by telling him that the issue is not about "cheap girls from Manipur or north east". I told him it is rather about the diverse culture and the big gap we are living with. I told him we failed in the negotiation. So we are fed with assumptions that are plastered with deliberate distortions and exaggerations.
I lost my temper in the hours of negotiations for the one room we are looking for. I raised my voice. His sons and daughters thought we were already in the middle of a fight. But he was an old man who has lived enough years to understand.
He was once a student of Hindu College. He is a retired government servant. Besides he owned a house in the heart of the Capital of India. So I told him he ought to be different at least. Not like all the others. So break free. I told him about family.
I told him we are from Manipur, but we come from a family where there are boys and girls, mother and father living together. So my brother and sister have also to stay together again, for all convenience sake too. He asked me silly questions, which I don't think is silly for him and his society. What will my family say? What will my neighbors say? "Actually you know", he said, "I never do that".
In the long heated negotiation, I did not really care for the room anymore. I was taking the pain just to deliver my side of story which seem too new for him. And when the sun has set long ago, unexpectedly, he told me that he is impressed and convinced about my explanations.
So he allowed us to take the room but on a long list of conditions over which I signed my name. Since then, everyday we live to prove and to reveal the immense values of humanity, which we also have been treasuring just like them.
We live everyday to be acceptable and to be accepted like them. We are not supposed to make a mistake. But that's not human. Although that's expected of us. Otherwise we can be down and out anytime.
If this popular belief is what the democratic population is hatching, the whole chapter of democracy, multiculturalism, diversity, secularism, etc., has to be redefined so that we can all come closer to understand its pragmatic aspect.
Culture should act as the filter of our understanding. The present progress did not reflect anything towards that. The myth of superman and his superior culture cannot be a valid standard of acceptance where we are seen as the lesser, weaker, inferior, mortals who are expected to bow to their will.
At such moments, I decried over the artificiality of the collectivity and grow doubtful over the possibility of the diverse unity. We don't seem to be representing ourselves anymore. Rather we represent the fixed image they shaped for us.
This ought to be contested and challenged. With our march into the modern state as "equal citizens", we are bounded by the reality shaping power that is exercised in multiple ways: fixation of the image of a citizen, patterning a popular culture, containment of population movement, etc.
That has been quite successful. Ask anyone if you and I look like one of those from the "mainstream". True, they say we did not look, act, react, or think like them. Mr. Sharma was right.
He is brave enough to say that, " We failed to understand the culture of the people from the north east". There is a missing. There is a gap. These are not isolated examples.
They are everywhere. Worst it lives in their minds. It will not leave.
The space is getting clogged.
-------------------------------------------
The Clogged Space-III
A friend asked what "The Clogged Space" is all about. He is from down south of India. Science has nursed him during his graduation days. So I told him that it is about the need for a big bang when the clash of civilization occurs. That's the easiest explanation I can manage in a sentence.
It doesn't make much sense to him, but I deliberately did that for the need of brevity. Brevity is essential. That's what I have been realising from the clogged space. Explanation is never always an answer. Sometimes I felt like an old whore. I cannot sell (explain) anymore.
Worst they won't but it anymore too. Unfortunately, the old whore did not believe in delivering anything free. That's me, I suppose. So I was not very ready to repeat the long story for my friend that might go like another uncatched raindrops. This is not about a dwell in the island or the village.
If anyone thinks it is about that, their sight can be the prodigal sons and daughters of the view from the pond. If not they must be racist. Otherwise, they thought that we are the unreasonable tribe who deserves this clogged space. But I must assert again that we are not lesser than anyone.
We are a little fortunate not to be grouped into the class of 'untouchables'. Our food culture, they say, could have granted us that membership anytime for free. With our taste buds wetted and wedded to unique smells of 'Imagi Ngari' (fermented fish), fermented pork lard (sathu in Hmar) and fermented soybeans, they just cannot imagine any civilized palatable dish out of those smells.
These are Home's signature smell for us. They are one thing that comes closest to defining Home for us. However the absence of understanding, of the need and importance of these smells, have been another big reason of our step into the clogged space. The smell is no longer about good or bad for us. It is already rooted to our historic culture.
They already flow in our blood. We are eating them not in celebration of the glorious inheritance. But just because of the simple fact that we like them too much. If they expect us to omit the smell from our food, this is a big asking. How can we live chopping our tongue?
The inheritance is from the past where we cherish the smell as the stamp of our popular food culture. They are one thing we dearly share in Manipur. Who knows, they might be the bonds that keeps us faithfully together in Manipur. Imagine Manipur without 'Imagi Ngari'.The picture of differences pops us with the people sharing just indifferences and really nothing. Maybe that is where our "unique history" begins.
I remember the first day in Delhi's kitchen where I was told by my uncle to be very careful when burning the treasured fish I brought from Home. I burnt the fish feeling like I was doing something sinful. Something sexy …you know that kind of thing. Something not acceptable.
Just because they set and said that it is not the right time and the right place anymore. But can it be like that? Should I allow it? Or should I let them win? I was hoping to feed myself with Home's food and then slumber off to dream about home. I was too sick for Home then. "Imagi Ngari" was supposed to be some sort of panacea.
But I was feeling like Judas, for the silly reason that our landlady who lives in the first floor did not allow us to burn anything with those "dirty smells". She would call us "dirty children" which we used to miraculously tolerate.
I must confess now that I succeeded in seducing her son to like the wonderful foods from Manipur with that smell for which he still dearly remember me. The poor boy has grown up. But he hasn't grown out to like what he likes. I remember giving a long lecture to his mother about the importance of what comes out than what goes in.
She was right. She said that it is not their practice. They stuffed butter and sweets inside that is converted into flab. What come out are the thorns of evil caste and narrow class that we are confronting. Unfortunately it seeps inside Manipur too. They never seem to leave them and us free.
Sir Charles J.Lyall, an Englishman and a scholar, seem to be in a very sorry state when he wrote in May 1908, that "… while Burma has accepted the mild and gentle religion of Buddha, and thus profoundly modified the original animistic cult, Manipur has been taken into the pale of Hinduism, and has imposed itself burdensome restrictions of caste and ritual from which its greater neighbor is happily free".
The clutches clogged us in every way. Not the religion. But the sub-culture that has borne out of it. And out here, the foods that we so much love have become an instrument to corner us to that exotic group. I must tell you this again.
When I joined JNU in the year 2000 for my masters programme, I was told of this beautiful and painful true story that took place in one of the hostels in JNU.The monotonous menu of the hostel was designed to suit the taste buds of the democratic population whose culture and every other thing is closely interrelated to it.
For a relief, as well as to eat what he likes, Ibungo was burning his treasured Ngari, which he managed to export with great difficulty from Sanaleibak Manipur. To his surprise, his neighbor and floor mate knocked on his door to complain about the "foul smell." I was told they had a heated argument.
But the dry fish was never save from further burning. So this man went to the warden to complaint about the fortunate smell. The warden and a good gang knock on Ibungo's door again. After another argument, Ibungo told them that he is already tired with the imposed "food imperialism".
His final question to the warden will always remain beautiful. He asked, " Sir, now tell me, what smell is allowed in the hostel and what smell is not allowed?" If I were in the authority, I would have nominated him for receiving the bravery award in the coming Republic day.
If popular culture is supposed to be hatched by the larger population who are always up to defining what not to do for the others, there should be enough space where the others could also draw their own line. The knock is a burst of the pride that apes superman and his belief that "might is right".
I make no apology for such obsession with a pride in the multiplying boom. A million or billion boom it could be. That's not blooming .If this is democracy, I am not to pretend that democracy represents the collectivity. Our presences are drawn on blank blur lines.
We actually did not deserve this. As I am writing this piece, I was told of the appalling news that was aired on the All India Radio, Aizawl. The sad news is that thousands of innocent Hmar villagers from Tipaimukh area of Churachandpur district have been displaced by the valley-based militants who are occupying their villages.
They are fleeing towards Mizoram leaving their hearths and homes. They are called refugees in another state. No Home for us anymore.
Another big chapter of the clogged space.
I only have to hope for the dawn where we may wake with no fear for any clogged space. Otherwise, it is clogged here now.
Clogged there too.
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David Buhril,a research scholar in JNU, contributes regularly to e-pao.net.
The writer can be contacted at davidbuhril@yahoo.com
This article was webcasted on January 11th, 2006
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