M V Guite
I have never even in my wildest dreams imagined that I would someday be haunted day in and day out by a two-word phrase I used to dismiss as mere hearsay. I feel as if I have been dreaming time and again the very dream I dreamt of the other night so much so that it turns out to be more than a dream – a reality.
I hate to admit but can’t help doubting the truth or falsity of the phrase Paite Khonungpil (hereinafter the phrase). Nothing can be more despicable than such a word linked to an ethnic group; it’s a rather humiliating utterance to percolate one's ears. I wonder who attached it to the Paites in the first place. Or is it that our forefathers were well aware of their ignorance that they called themselves thus out of desperation? I reckon not. I’d be more than happy if somebody could enlighten me as to the etymology of the phrase and, perhaps, the reason(s) behind it.
Strange and insulting as it may seem, the phrase’s worth pondering inasmuch as it is hard to shrug off as mere annoyance. Khonungpility, or whatever you may call it, may be defined as a belated realization of the worth or utility of a thing or chance when it no longer serves the purpose for which it is being created, intended or given. It means to come to one's sense later, rather than sooner. One who is khonungpil would allow a once-in-a-lifetime chance to slip by and, therefore, would never have another to grab it back. Once lost, it’s gone for good; it can neither be retaken nor retrieved, not even at the eleventh hour.
In terms of awareness, or lack thereof, khonungpility may be of three types, the third being our main focus. First, there is total absence of awareness on the part of the doer in that that this or that can be the bait of a tempter never enters his head. He’s as innocent as a lamb. His action, therefore, is more or less justified; but fate is too blind to perceive this innocence. Second, the doer is standing at the crossroads between good and evil – entangled in a rather insoluble dilemma. He just couldn’t figure out which one of the paths leads to his destination. His action, therefore, is partly condemned and partly justified; but fate is too dumb to fathom the dilemma. In either case, he’ll not get away scot-free. Sadly enough, fate seldom takes into account the innocence or dilemma of the doer when meting out punishments. Lastly, and most importantly, there is not a scrap of evidence to prove that the actor is unaware of the possible ramifications of his actions – thievery, deception, adultery, murder, drunkenness, drug abuse, procrastination, and so on. Nor is the simple reality that these could be the tricks of a seducer unknown to him. He does it on purpose as if he were shielded from disaster. What sort of forgiveness could he plead for? Even the devils would be taken aback.
It must be borne in mind here that a misdeed and its outcome alone is not enough to constitute the proper application of the term. There has to be a more or less negative impact or influence either on the actor or others or both so much so that the action or lack thereof is regretted. To show any sign of penitence, fear, distress and guilt for having done something that could have been avoided is more than enough to prove that one is khonungpil. On the other hand, if a person doesn’t, in any way, show any sign of repentance or guilt for the misdeed he has committed but rather takes pride in it, he cannot be dubbed a khonungpil. Hence, it’s a relative term.
One seems to be caught between hope and suspicion as to the applicability of khonungpility: hopeful in the sense that it is better to be khonungpil than never; suspicious in that it can mean the other way round. It is, in fact, much better to be late than never, but not always. If the state of being late could still be viewed as BETTER, it goes without saying that it’s NOT LATE AT ALL. ‘Khonung’ means ‘khonung’, not ‘zekai’; it’s something that takes place beyond what is generally considered as late. Apart from being a waste of time, energy and money, it is more than likely that you get the worst of a kind left behind by the non-khonungpils. For not doing what you can do today in spite of being aware of the morrow being a dry day, you are forced to resort to a black, an overpriced one. You wish you had burned the midnight oils and cleared the most arduous yet coveted examination....but at the age of 30s. Turning a deaf ear to the call of a rubber can make you pluck an unripe fruit and/or contract a deadly STD. These are some of the many curses of khonungpility in their simplest forms. The fact that I am a sorrier victim of the same does not deter me from voicing my concerns. Let fate take its own course.
That you have been saved solely because you have just had a 777 scrawled on your forehead on the Day of Judgment is one thing. You’re just in time, not late – saved by the mercy of a sink-or-swim option – a sheer stroke of luck. But, that you beg for mercy with utmost remorse in hell is a totally different one – the ultimate wrath of khonungpility beyond the eleventh hour – eternal grief. Worse, everyday is a Judgment Day, for nobody can foresee even a second into the future. The famous ‘better late than never’ excuse seems to hold no value in this instance. You ought to pay the piper for being khonungpil, sooner or later. It’s just a matter of when. How the hell are we going to endure by means of fortitude and solace so powerful a belated phenomenon as the curse of khonungpility beyond the eleventh hour!
We are living in a world where tears and laughter go side by side; and life’s like a mimosa (pudica) whose smile fades with a whiff of tragedy and braces up with a glint of sunlight. A fundamental part of the whole matter of the vicissitudes of life is designed by human beings. Putting aside the natural aspects of fate such as earthquakes, cyclones, floods, famines, accidental blunder and so on, fate and khonungpility are like the two sides of a double-edged sword. We make our own destiny through our actions and call it fate. We ignore the impending catastrophe of our deeds and consider ourselves unlucky, desolated and cursed when it is we ourselves who are allowing all this to happen. Pain does come, but it doesn’t stay put save for a numb scar; but the scars of khonungpility seldom fade – some would last even beyond the end of the world.
“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.” - Anonymous
Every dawn brings with it a new chance, every chance is accompanied by a choice, and every choice has an inevitable consequence. The course of human life is so designed in such a way that nobody is freed from temptations and tribulations, immune from punishments and penalties; nor is anyone devoid of a chance to lead a joyous life. It’s how we pick our choice that counts rather than what comes in our way and seduces us; and what matters most is the beyond-control reality of its outcome. There is none so unfortunate as one who chooses to suffer the pangs of khonungpility. Once you get into it, there’s an undeniable force that not only sucks but traps you like a fly in a well-contrived spider’s web, ready to be devoured.
I knew I shouldn't have done that or gone there. I knew I should've left no stone unturned to reach my dreams with flying colours. But I couldn't make myself do right despite repeated motherly calls from within me begging – ‘No, please, that's a trap’. I started out with the small stuff until I was finally hooked on the most disastrous one out there. No matter which way I turned my head, I often slipped back into my old ways striving to quench a never-ever-satiable thirst, and turned to the Almighty only in the days of distress and despair. It was as though I was compelled to go to it like a moth is to a flame. I would at times blame curiosity, friends and circumstances when it is I myself who made the first move. I would put off things for a tomorrow that never comes, a tomorrow that's a yesterday now, and a tomorrow that's still a tomorrow – there's hardly any today! No today means no task fulfilled, no mission accomplished. I would often let myself sink into deep contemplation in the middle of the night and resolve to start life anew the following day, but to no avail as if all my nerves were snatched away by daybreak like dewdrops exsiccated by the morning sun. While days were like rays of hope to others, mine seemed to be darker than the darkest of dark nights. No wonder I now eke out a living turning mangled voices into words while the entire city lies in sweet slumber. If I were to liken myself to a living creature other than human beings, it would be none other than a 'khuangbai' rather than a 'miksi', except that I haven't completely gulped down myself. What I'm doomed to suffer is fine with me; at least that’s what I ought to pay for being stubborn. But what would become of my kith and kin and folks due to my wickedness is rather hard to swallow. It’s better to not expect and receive than to expect but denied.
I take delight in watching children playing in the parks but would only end up wondering if they would ever be as unhappy as I am. Do I find the world so fascinating to the extent that I am anxious to invite someone to share the pleasure with? I wish I have the guts to divulge my ‘wish’ to remain a bachelor the rest of my life than father a like-father-like-son son. What's left in me to want to procreate and love when I couldn't even take care of myself? Would I not be hurt even if he were half as bad or twice as good as I am? To expect anything good from him would be like putting a heavy load on his shoulders which I myself couldn't inch even a single pace – I’d take that as yet another sin. Would it be wrong to say that he who begets an offspring does so with the vow that he would fight tooth and nail to make sure he be there when the roll is called up yonder? Would it not be prudent of me to undertake a journey to lifelong celibacy than risk a soul in the jaws of death while I can still prevent it? Are the pleasures of marriage, joy and hope of bringing up a child to be a support in old age worth the risk for me? What’s the probability that he would be among the ‘Many are called, but few are chosen’ group? Would I not be moved a bit if I were given a chance to behold my own worst enemy on earth howling in tormented agony in the Lake of Fire? It isn’t surprising some parents back home lament the malaise that it’s better (or more profitable) to rear a piglet than raise an obstinate son. It seems our land is plagued by what we may as well call it a ‘pig-or-son’ syndrome. How confident am I then that I wouldn’t be caught in the grip of this syndrome when my parents have fallen prey to it? By the way, I don’t necessarily put into action what I preach (believe). That’s it exactly! Had I, I wouldn’t have been what I am today, for I do know what’s right or wrong: the honest yet ugly truth is – the lure is too tempting to resist for a feeble heart like me. Chi lailai le, would he be able to tame the temptations that I myself couldn’t? Thank God, I still draw my breath, and the gate of hope is not yet closed although not as wide-open as it used to be!
I used to blame our Creator for placing us in that corner of the earth. I used to blame our Nature for its scarcity of resources, rugged topography and geographical isolation. I used to blame our forefathers for their apparent ignorance, backwardness and superstition. I used to blame our leaders for not leading us the way I thought they should. I used to blame destiny for any misfortune that has befallen us. But, alas! Have I ever shed a single drop of tear for my Motherland? Have I ever sacrificed a single drop of blood for her freedom? Have I ever broken out a single droplet of sweat for her prosperity? Have I ever uttered a single word of prayer to the Almighty for her safety? If it were not for the stupidity of some folks like me, our Motherland would have towered over other nations like a shadow exaggerated by the setting sun.
Way back in the hills and woods
In the midst of verdant nature
Wrapped in an aura of innocence
Enraptured by its blissful ambience
As a lonesome boy I would wander
With a catapult and pellets and angles
Along the meandering Paldai Brook
I could still behold my boyish self
Wading through the ankle-to-knee-deep Brook
That babbled along its narrow course
With no cares and concerns or worries
Onto a warmer, calmer and pacific body
Little did I smell a rat then that
In just a few years’ time or so
I would be ushered in a new world
That’s rather quick at finding faults
And glutted with trials and troubles and
Ups and downs and twists and turns
Gone are the days and nights
Of joyous hours and euphoric moments
Of ceaseless canorous songs of cicadas
When slip-ups could be mended
Mistakes solved with warnings
And cries never went unheard
Dreams were as real as real gets
What a friend to have in nature
That never ever envies nor turns foe
If I could make one last wish
I would relive my boyhood life
Along the edges of the Paldai Brook
Where the trials of fate back then
Were as fragile and tender as saplings
And the depths of my misdeeds
As shallow as the Brook itself
Oh! The waters of those days would have
By now danced on the laps of Mother Sea
To err is human, and so is to long for the past; but to give up all hopes because of the past is utter inhumanness. One who does not leave room in his heart for the past is no better off than an Alzheimer. Happiest is a man who remembers the good, forgets the bad and hopes for the best. For such person can stay calm even in the midst of what appears to be a cataclysm for the common man. A brook may run dry in winter, but it reinvigorates itself and regains its shape with the onset of spring; it does face obstacles when the going gets rough, but never ceases till it finds a way out. They say fate drags along the unwilling and leads the willing. If that’s so, who would prefer to be trailed along a rugged surface by a bullock cart when he could walk behind it with little or no effort at all? Let fate take the lead, and let’s seize whatever opportunity that comes along the way. It's no use crying over spilled milk. No amount of penitence and repentance would make Penglam's ‘bitter butter better.’ Let bygones be bygones. A chance lost is a chance lost, yet it is not as bad as it seems if at any point in time we are able to make the better use of the loss through experience. It’s the future that counts. “Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia.” – Charles M. Schulz. The world’s stuffed with opportunities of various sorts. So, no matter how great the consequences of our mistakes might be, let’s not lose heart but face facts, and march (as our identity implies) with redefined outlooks, ideologies, visions and approach towards a greener pasture, a higher ground.
“In order to keep anything cultural, logical, or ideological, you have to reinvent the reality of it.” – Ani DiFranco
The reality of the phrase lies not in which follows or precedes which – whether it’s apt or not – but in the cause-and-effect chain of influence khonungpility exerts upon an individual, society or the world as a whole. We are what we are because of our past deeds, desires and decisions. The role of khonungpility in shaping the future of a society can never be overlooked. It’s as certain as two is the sum of one plus one, and as sure as birds soar and fishes swim. ‘For want of a nail…the kingdom was lost.’ The end justifies the means. One might be of the opinion that, by volunteering my time to such a word, I am making a mountain out of a mole hill, or inviting trouble out of nothing, or uncovering the awkward birthmark of a pretty damsel. Call me a pessimist, self-critical, if you dare. Who cares? Life itself is sometimes ironic in that we may move around the same place the entire year yet stumble along the well-trodden path. The world’s a land of baffling paradoxes, yet hope lies within the enigma for the tireless seekers. The word, of course, sounds loathsome and disgusting insofar as it belittles or affronts the dignity of a person or class of persons. Be that as it may, it’s not without merit. Can there be a master when there’s none to serve him? The have-nots don't have, so that the haves may have. Life’s precious for the simple reason that it’s short and bound to perish. If a single misdeed ruins a whole life, can failure be a pillar of success? Khonungpility, in essence, is a mistake – intentional or unintentional blunder. But the only mistakes are those from which we learn nothing. It can be reformatory as well as corrective. One who has never committed a mistake is at constant risk of falling into a bottomless pit.
I still believe more than ever that the benefit of the term far outweighs its awkwardness. I consider myself unearthing a hidden treasure long forgotten, or amnestying a misjudged and ostracized innocent fellow of bygone ages. Khonungpility, to me, is like a red-flag bearer who alerts the driver of a broken railway track, thereby preventing a dreadful disaster. We ignore the air we breathe in until it turns foul or is thin. Mother Earth would have been a better place to live in had the potential hazards of global warming been as impending in the past as it is today. The icecaps are melting, sea levels are rising, diseases are spreading, the earth is blazing, and the world is losing her charms and appeals – all but for want of a harbinger, a messenger from another world that had borne the brunt of khonungpility. Must we turn a blind eye to the imminent nemesis posed by the not-so-unusual twice-a-century flowering phenomenon? Have we! Must we allow those young generations of ours to meet the same fate for no fault of theirs? In other words, must we pave the way for the ghosts of the phrase to reign supreme over us?
“The mind is slow to unlearn what it learnt early.” - Seneca the Elder
Had it not been for the sake of ‘nostalgia’, the very thought of the phrase would have been like a stab through the heart no physician can cure. Be it tragedy or blessing, victory or failure, fact or hearsay, anything that is handed down – either orally or in black and white, or both – from one generation to another, becomes part and parcel of one's life, one's cultural trait . It flows along with the blood and would never deviate from it even if sunflowers turn away from the sun. Lore has it that by mistaking it for a lake, the G~tes dove into a thick fog/mist and drowned (maybe half a dozen times faster than they would have had it been a lake!). The story is far-fetched, inane and completely insubstantial. You don’t have to think twice or be a genius to prove its inauthenticity – even a dullard would dismiss it as a white lie. But it will linger in the minds of those who are glued to it until the entire tribe is swept away from the surface of the earth. The same goes for Z~ Naptolh. No matter how hard you try to ignore your belief in the possibility that sneezing is the outcome of criticism, the very action or sound of it would serve as a loyal reminder of same once in a while. A colleague of mine let loose a couple of sneezes the other day and jestingly put the blame on me to which I shot back with jocose sarcasm, “Had that been the case, you’d have sneezed a dozen times or more, not just twice.” Same is the case with the phrase.
Albeit replete with famines, battles, forced or voluntary migrations, cultural assimilations, juvenile delinquencies, etc., the Paites’ past is not barren of deeds worthy of praising. (I should delimit myself to the Paites for I’ve never come across Zomi khonungpil). From handicrafts through welfare to literature, they don’t lag behind their tribal counterparts. In spite of their minority status, they have grabbed hold of the opportunities the world could offer; ascended in the social ladder as high a speed as their wisdom could lead to; and spread as far away as the globe could allow. The best is yet to come.
Howsoever disdainful the phrase might seem, it has been and will always be my prized possession so long as the sun shines in the Zogam Sky. If a khonungpil society can rise to such a social status, why should I be ashamed of my identity, of my thatch-roof hut under whose shelter I have the fortune of being born and nurtured? What do the Paites lack which their counterparts have? Every society is, in some way or the other, khonungpil, for nobody is perfect – no man’s born an angler, no culture’s born civilized. Attributing such a derogatory term as this to a specific social group is as partial as the reason a mother has for choosing a rather odd birthday gift for one of her twins. If the Paites were the only khonungpil society in the world, they would have become extinct and vanished like the dodos whose simplicity had cost them their lives.
Lastly, but not the least, if I were the only fish in a brook, or if all the fishes in it were like me, the phrase would have been rightly apt. Add to this, and to quote Wiki, “The Paites are mainly shy, introvert people …” What better example could there be than myself! Nevertheless, we know perfectly well that a brook, however pure and fresh and cold and sweet it might be, is by far too meagre to dilute the salinity of a sea.
Thus, one can come to a conclusion and prove beyond doubt that the phrase is a myth. There is no greater a myth than this; nor is there any myth that teaches greater a lesson than this. I hope we are not too late in realizing this, lest….
PS: The definitions, opinions, and examples given above are pure person l feelings and expressions – not intended to/ for anyone specific.
www.zogam.com
I have never even in my wildest dreams imagined that I would someday be haunted day in and day out by a two-word phrase I used to dismiss as mere hearsay. I feel as if I have been dreaming time and again the very dream I dreamt of the other night so much so that it turns out to be more than a dream – a reality.
I hate to admit but can’t help doubting the truth or falsity of the phrase Paite Khonungpil (hereinafter the phrase). Nothing can be more despicable than such a word linked to an ethnic group; it’s a rather humiliating utterance to percolate one's ears. I wonder who attached it to the Paites in the first place. Or is it that our forefathers were well aware of their ignorance that they called themselves thus out of desperation? I reckon not. I’d be more than happy if somebody could enlighten me as to the etymology of the phrase and, perhaps, the reason(s) behind it.
Strange and insulting as it may seem, the phrase’s worth pondering inasmuch as it is hard to shrug off as mere annoyance. Khonungpility, or whatever you may call it, may be defined as a belated realization of the worth or utility of a thing or chance when it no longer serves the purpose for which it is being created, intended or given. It means to come to one's sense later, rather than sooner. One who is khonungpil would allow a once-in-a-lifetime chance to slip by and, therefore, would never have another to grab it back. Once lost, it’s gone for good; it can neither be retaken nor retrieved, not even at the eleventh hour.
In terms of awareness, or lack thereof, khonungpility may be of three types, the third being our main focus. First, there is total absence of awareness on the part of the doer in that that this or that can be the bait of a tempter never enters his head. He’s as innocent as a lamb. His action, therefore, is more or less justified; but fate is too blind to perceive this innocence. Second, the doer is standing at the crossroads between good and evil – entangled in a rather insoluble dilemma. He just couldn’t figure out which one of the paths leads to his destination. His action, therefore, is partly condemned and partly justified; but fate is too dumb to fathom the dilemma. In either case, he’ll not get away scot-free. Sadly enough, fate seldom takes into account the innocence or dilemma of the doer when meting out punishments. Lastly, and most importantly, there is not a scrap of evidence to prove that the actor is unaware of the possible ramifications of his actions – thievery, deception, adultery, murder, drunkenness, drug abuse, procrastination, and so on. Nor is the simple reality that these could be the tricks of a seducer unknown to him. He does it on purpose as if he were shielded from disaster. What sort of forgiveness could he plead for? Even the devils would be taken aback.
It must be borne in mind here that a misdeed and its outcome alone is not enough to constitute the proper application of the term. There has to be a more or less negative impact or influence either on the actor or others or both so much so that the action or lack thereof is regretted. To show any sign of penitence, fear, distress and guilt for having done something that could have been avoided is more than enough to prove that one is khonungpil. On the other hand, if a person doesn’t, in any way, show any sign of repentance or guilt for the misdeed he has committed but rather takes pride in it, he cannot be dubbed a khonungpil. Hence, it’s a relative term.
One seems to be caught between hope and suspicion as to the applicability of khonungpility: hopeful in the sense that it is better to be khonungpil than never; suspicious in that it can mean the other way round. It is, in fact, much better to be late than never, but not always. If the state of being late could still be viewed as BETTER, it goes without saying that it’s NOT LATE AT ALL. ‘Khonung’ means ‘khonung’, not ‘zekai’; it’s something that takes place beyond what is generally considered as late. Apart from being a waste of time, energy and money, it is more than likely that you get the worst of a kind left behind by the non-khonungpils. For not doing what you can do today in spite of being aware of the morrow being a dry day, you are forced to resort to a black, an overpriced one. You wish you had burned the midnight oils and cleared the most arduous yet coveted examination....but at the age of 30s. Turning a deaf ear to the call of a rubber can make you pluck an unripe fruit and/or contract a deadly STD. These are some of the many curses of khonungpility in their simplest forms. The fact that I am a sorrier victim of the same does not deter me from voicing my concerns. Let fate take its own course.
That you have been saved solely because you have just had a 777 scrawled on your forehead on the Day of Judgment is one thing. You’re just in time, not late – saved by the mercy of a sink-or-swim option – a sheer stroke of luck. But, that you beg for mercy with utmost remorse in hell is a totally different one – the ultimate wrath of khonungpility beyond the eleventh hour – eternal grief. Worse, everyday is a Judgment Day, for nobody can foresee even a second into the future. The famous ‘better late than never’ excuse seems to hold no value in this instance. You ought to pay the piper for being khonungpil, sooner or later. It’s just a matter of when. How the hell are we going to endure by means of fortitude and solace so powerful a belated phenomenon as the curse of khonungpility beyond the eleventh hour!
We are living in a world where tears and laughter go side by side; and life’s like a mimosa (pudica) whose smile fades with a whiff of tragedy and braces up with a glint of sunlight. A fundamental part of the whole matter of the vicissitudes of life is designed by human beings. Putting aside the natural aspects of fate such as earthquakes, cyclones, floods, famines, accidental blunder and so on, fate and khonungpility are like the two sides of a double-edged sword. We make our own destiny through our actions and call it fate. We ignore the impending catastrophe of our deeds and consider ourselves unlucky, desolated and cursed when it is we ourselves who are allowing all this to happen. Pain does come, but it doesn’t stay put save for a numb scar; but the scars of khonungpility seldom fade – some would last even beyond the end of the world.
“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.” - Anonymous
Every dawn brings with it a new chance, every chance is accompanied by a choice, and every choice has an inevitable consequence. The course of human life is so designed in such a way that nobody is freed from temptations and tribulations, immune from punishments and penalties; nor is anyone devoid of a chance to lead a joyous life. It’s how we pick our choice that counts rather than what comes in our way and seduces us; and what matters most is the beyond-control reality of its outcome. There is none so unfortunate as one who chooses to suffer the pangs of khonungpility. Once you get into it, there’s an undeniable force that not only sucks but traps you like a fly in a well-contrived spider’s web, ready to be devoured.
I knew I shouldn't have done that or gone there. I knew I should've left no stone unturned to reach my dreams with flying colours. But I couldn't make myself do right despite repeated motherly calls from within me begging – ‘No, please, that's a trap’. I started out with the small stuff until I was finally hooked on the most disastrous one out there. No matter which way I turned my head, I often slipped back into my old ways striving to quench a never-ever-satiable thirst, and turned to the Almighty only in the days of distress and despair. It was as though I was compelled to go to it like a moth is to a flame. I would at times blame curiosity, friends and circumstances when it is I myself who made the first move. I would put off things for a tomorrow that never comes, a tomorrow that's a yesterday now, and a tomorrow that's still a tomorrow – there's hardly any today! No today means no task fulfilled, no mission accomplished. I would often let myself sink into deep contemplation in the middle of the night and resolve to start life anew the following day, but to no avail as if all my nerves were snatched away by daybreak like dewdrops exsiccated by the morning sun. While days were like rays of hope to others, mine seemed to be darker than the darkest of dark nights. No wonder I now eke out a living turning mangled voices into words while the entire city lies in sweet slumber. If I were to liken myself to a living creature other than human beings, it would be none other than a 'khuangbai' rather than a 'miksi', except that I haven't completely gulped down myself. What I'm doomed to suffer is fine with me; at least that’s what I ought to pay for being stubborn. But what would become of my kith and kin and folks due to my wickedness is rather hard to swallow. It’s better to not expect and receive than to expect but denied.
I take delight in watching children playing in the parks but would only end up wondering if they would ever be as unhappy as I am. Do I find the world so fascinating to the extent that I am anxious to invite someone to share the pleasure with? I wish I have the guts to divulge my ‘wish’ to remain a bachelor the rest of my life than father a like-father-like-son son. What's left in me to want to procreate and love when I couldn't even take care of myself? Would I not be hurt even if he were half as bad or twice as good as I am? To expect anything good from him would be like putting a heavy load on his shoulders which I myself couldn't inch even a single pace – I’d take that as yet another sin. Would it be wrong to say that he who begets an offspring does so with the vow that he would fight tooth and nail to make sure he be there when the roll is called up yonder? Would it not be prudent of me to undertake a journey to lifelong celibacy than risk a soul in the jaws of death while I can still prevent it? Are the pleasures of marriage, joy and hope of bringing up a child to be a support in old age worth the risk for me? What’s the probability that he would be among the ‘Many are called, but few are chosen’ group? Would I not be moved a bit if I were given a chance to behold my own worst enemy on earth howling in tormented agony in the Lake of Fire? It isn’t surprising some parents back home lament the malaise that it’s better (or more profitable) to rear a piglet than raise an obstinate son. It seems our land is plagued by what we may as well call it a ‘pig-or-son’ syndrome. How confident am I then that I wouldn’t be caught in the grip of this syndrome when my parents have fallen prey to it? By the way, I don’t necessarily put into action what I preach (believe). That’s it exactly! Had I, I wouldn’t have been what I am today, for I do know what’s right or wrong: the honest yet ugly truth is – the lure is too tempting to resist for a feeble heart like me. Chi lailai le, would he be able to tame the temptations that I myself couldn’t? Thank God, I still draw my breath, and the gate of hope is not yet closed although not as wide-open as it used to be!
I used to blame our Creator for placing us in that corner of the earth. I used to blame our Nature for its scarcity of resources, rugged topography and geographical isolation. I used to blame our forefathers for their apparent ignorance, backwardness and superstition. I used to blame our leaders for not leading us the way I thought they should. I used to blame destiny for any misfortune that has befallen us. But, alas! Have I ever shed a single drop of tear for my Motherland? Have I ever sacrificed a single drop of blood for her freedom? Have I ever broken out a single droplet of sweat for her prosperity? Have I ever uttered a single word of prayer to the Almighty for her safety? If it were not for the stupidity of some folks like me, our Motherland would have towered over other nations like a shadow exaggerated by the setting sun.
Way back in the hills and woods
In the midst of verdant nature
Wrapped in an aura of innocence
Enraptured by its blissful ambience
As a lonesome boy I would wander
With a catapult and pellets and angles
Along the meandering Paldai Brook
I could still behold my boyish self
Wading through the ankle-to-knee-deep Brook
That babbled along its narrow course
With no cares and concerns or worries
Onto a warmer, calmer and pacific body
Little did I smell a rat then that
In just a few years’ time or so
I would be ushered in a new world
That’s rather quick at finding faults
And glutted with trials and troubles and
Ups and downs and twists and turns
Gone are the days and nights
Of joyous hours and euphoric moments
Of ceaseless canorous songs of cicadas
When slip-ups could be mended
Mistakes solved with warnings
And cries never went unheard
Dreams were as real as real gets
What a friend to have in nature
That never ever envies nor turns foe
If I could make one last wish
I would relive my boyhood life
Along the edges of the Paldai Brook
Where the trials of fate back then
Were as fragile and tender as saplings
And the depths of my misdeeds
As shallow as the Brook itself
Oh! The waters of those days would have
By now danced on the laps of Mother Sea
To err is human, and so is to long for the past; but to give up all hopes because of the past is utter inhumanness. One who does not leave room in his heart for the past is no better off than an Alzheimer. Happiest is a man who remembers the good, forgets the bad and hopes for the best. For such person can stay calm even in the midst of what appears to be a cataclysm for the common man. A brook may run dry in winter, but it reinvigorates itself and regains its shape with the onset of spring; it does face obstacles when the going gets rough, but never ceases till it finds a way out. They say fate drags along the unwilling and leads the willing. If that’s so, who would prefer to be trailed along a rugged surface by a bullock cart when he could walk behind it with little or no effort at all? Let fate take the lead, and let’s seize whatever opportunity that comes along the way. It's no use crying over spilled milk. No amount of penitence and repentance would make Penglam's ‘bitter butter better.’ Let bygones be bygones. A chance lost is a chance lost, yet it is not as bad as it seems if at any point in time we are able to make the better use of the loss through experience. It’s the future that counts. “Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia.” – Charles M. Schulz. The world’s stuffed with opportunities of various sorts. So, no matter how great the consequences of our mistakes might be, let’s not lose heart but face facts, and march (as our identity implies) with redefined outlooks, ideologies, visions and approach towards a greener pasture, a higher ground.
“In order to keep anything cultural, logical, or ideological, you have to reinvent the reality of it.” – Ani DiFranco
The reality of the phrase lies not in which follows or precedes which – whether it’s apt or not – but in the cause-and-effect chain of influence khonungpility exerts upon an individual, society or the world as a whole. We are what we are because of our past deeds, desires and decisions. The role of khonungpility in shaping the future of a society can never be overlooked. It’s as certain as two is the sum of one plus one, and as sure as birds soar and fishes swim. ‘For want of a nail…the kingdom was lost.’ The end justifies the means. One might be of the opinion that, by volunteering my time to such a word, I am making a mountain out of a mole hill, or inviting trouble out of nothing, or uncovering the awkward birthmark of a pretty damsel. Call me a pessimist, self-critical, if you dare. Who cares? Life itself is sometimes ironic in that we may move around the same place the entire year yet stumble along the well-trodden path. The world’s a land of baffling paradoxes, yet hope lies within the enigma for the tireless seekers. The word, of course, sounds loathsome and disgusting insofar as it belittles or affronts the dignity of a person or class of persons. Be that as it may, it’s not without merit. Can there be a master when there’s none to serve him? The have-nots don't have, so that the haves may have. Life’s precious for the simple reason that it’s short and bound to perish. If a single misdeed ruins a whole life, can failure be a pillar of success? Khonungpility, in essence, is a mistake – intentional or unintentional blunder. But the only mistakes are those from which we learn nothing. It can be reformatory as well as corrective. One who has never committed a mistake is at constant risk of falling into a bottomless pit.
I still believe more than ever that the benefit of the term far outweighs its awkwardness. I consider myself unearthing a hidden treasure long forgotten, or amnestying a misjudged and ostracized innocent fellow of bygone ages. Khonungpility, to me, is like a red-flag bearer who alerts the driver of a broken railway track, thereby preventing a dreadful disaster. We ignore the air we breathe in until it turns foul or is thin. Mother Earth would have been a better place to live in had the potential hazards of global warming been as impending in the past as it is today. The icecaps are melting, sea levels are rising, diseases are spreading, the earth is blazing, and the world is losing her charms and appeals – all but for want of a harbinger, a messenger from another world that had borne the brunt of khonungpility. Must we turn a blind eye to the imminent nemesis posed by the not-so-unusual twice-a-century flowering phenomenon? Have we! Must we allow those young generations of ours to meet the same fate for no fault of theirs? In other words, must we pave the way for the ghosts of the phrase to reign supreme over us?
“The mind is slow to unlearn what it learnt early.” - Seneca the Elder
Had it not been for the sake of ‘nostalgia’, the very thought of the phrase would have been like a stab through the heart no physician can cure. Be it tragedy or blessing, victory or failure, fact or hearsay, anything that is handed down – either orally or in black and white, or both – from one generation to another, becomes part and parcel of one's life, one's cultural trait . It flows along with the blood and would never deviate from it even if sunflowers turn away from the sun. Lore has it that by mistaking it for a lake, the G~tes dove into a thick fog/mist and drowned (maybe half a dozen times faster than they would have had it been a lake!). The story is far-fetched, inane and completely insubstantial. You don’t have to think twice or be a genius to prove its inauthenticity – even a dullard would dismiss it as a white lie. But it will linger in the minds of those who are glued to it until the entire tribe is swept away from the surface of the earth. The same goes for Z~ Naptolh. No matter how hard you try to ignore your belief in the possibility that sneezing is the outcome of criticism, the very action or sound of it would serve as a loyal reminder of same once in a while. A colleague of mine let loose a couple of sneezes the other day and jestingly put the blame on me to which I shot back with jocose sarcasm, “Had that been the case, you’d have sneezed a dozen times or more, not just twice.” Same is the case with the phrase.
Albeit replete with famines, battles, forced or voluntary migrations, cultural assimilations, juvenile delinquencies, etc., the Paites’ past is not barren of deeds worthy of praising. (I should delimit myself to the Paites for I’ve never come across Zomi khonungpil). From handicrafts through welfare to literature, they don’t lag behind their tribal counterparts. In spite of their minority status, they have grabbed hold of the opportunities the world could offer; ascended in the social ladder as high a speed as their wisdom could lead to; and spread as far away as the globe could allow. The best is yet to come.
Howsoever disdainful the phrase might seem, it has been and will always be my prized possession so long as the sun shines in the Zogam Sky. If a khonungpil society can rise to such a social status, why should I be ashamed of my identity, of my thatch-roof hut under whose shelter I have the fortune of being born and nurtured? What do the Paites lack which their counterparts have? Every society is, in some way or the other, khonungpil, for nobody is perfect – no man’s born an angler, no culture’s born civilized. Attributing such a derogatory term as this to a specific social group is as partial as the reason a mother has for choosing a rather odd birthday gift for one of her twins. If the Paites were the only khonungpil society in the world, they would have become extinct and vanished like the dodos whose simplicity had cost them their lives.
Lastly, but not the least, if I were the only fish in a brook, or if all the fishes in it were like me, the phrase would have been rightly apt. Add to this, and to quote Wiki, “The Paites are mainly shy, introvert people …” What better example could there be than myself! Nevertheless, we know perfectly well that a brook, however pure and fresh and cold and sweet it might be, is by far too meagre to dilute the salinity of a sea.
Thus, one can come to a conclusion and prove beyond doubt that the phrase is a myth. There is no greater a myth than this; nor is there any myth that teaches greater a lesson than this. I hope we are not too late in realizing this, lest….
PS: The definitions, opinions, and examples given above are pure person l feelings and expressions – not intended to/ for anyone specific.
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