Friday, February 26, 2010

My Brothers.

Actually meant cousins… Had a brief chat with one, and he made me nostalgic for the good ol’ days. I have four sisters, and somehow I was designated to be the ‘guy’ among the bunch. So when we were young my bros treated me like the runt of the litter- using me as a punching bag, tying me up, ambushing me in tandem when playing “intheng kah”… Things haven’t changed that much. When they come over to our place, they crowd into my tiny room, smoke up a storm, sneak in a lil’ booze, and generally leave a mess there. And the worst part is, I get none of the perks of being a guy. They forbid me to even have a tiny sip, they rat on me when I smoke, they never take me on their night outs, and they constantly send me to brew endless cups of tea. But … I still love them. My bros are typical characters. They fit neatly into slots like…:

The Sweetheart:

This describes my bro whom I will call…Kawla, hihihi… During those Mirc days, he was chatting with my very bored sister. Sis decided to be screwball and she fabricated this story about how she had gone home with one Tibetan guy one drunken night. Now she’s preggers, and the guy refuses to know, and she can’t keep the baby, so she’s going to abort it, but it costs 5000 bucks, and she’s broke. Rtpa just said, “Hold on”, then went offline. Sis thought he got pissed with her lies, but then he returned an hour later.

“Okay, I’ve just couriered 3000 to your hostel. I’ll borrow the 2000 tonight, and send it to you tomorrow. Make sure you go to a good hospital”.

Sweetie!! My sis confessed that she had lied, and he started to get angry. So, sis switched tactics, and she reamed into him for even believing she could do something like that. “How could you think that of your own sister, blah, blah”… So in the end, he apologized for being fooled, heheh. And she made him wait a long time till she sent him back his money. Love the guy. On his wedding day, when the Pastor asked him to repeat the vows after him, he said “Huh? Mo?”

The Inebriated:

L had a new girl, and he went, for the first time, to her place. He was so nervous that he drank more than he should. He decided to have a quick shower there to sober up. So he went into his girl’s bathroom, took off his clothes… and passed out!! When he didn’t emerge even after an hour, his girl called him over and over. Of course, he was way past hearing. So, his frantic girl, thinking that something bad must have happened, called her landlord, who came with his two sons, and they broke down the bathroom door. And there was my bro L, snoozing blissfully in the buff…

Then there is Tai… went with some girls to a pub, fancied one of them badly too. Maybe he was nervous, but he too had a little too much. He puked all over the girl, and to top it off, he immediately crooned Rod Stewart’s “D’you think I’m sexy?” The girl obviously didn’t. He is now permanently stuck in the “friend” category.

The Bad Boy:

How we dreaded meeting S on the streets, when he would beg, “Please, please, just a 100 bucks, ok, 50, …just 20, please, please…” Tried every intoxicant he could lay his hands on. Lost his virginity at the age of 12!! Been in more bike accidents than I can count. Accidents where his helmet was shattered, where the docs couldn’t find his pulse… One day he decided to be worried about his life.

“You know… if I keep on going like this, I think I will die soon.”

And I told him in best big sis mode, “Ahh, don’t worry. Only the good die young.”

This cheered him up immensely.

And he is sweet too. One night he was high on alcohol, weed and some other stuffs. He watched with a sloppy grin as I waxed every inch of his legs. He couldn’t wear shorts for a whole month that hot summer. And he never once got mad at me J

The Good Guy:

H is currently studying Theology. He is the good one. That time the rest of us decided to bunk the graveside ceremony of a relative’s funeral and go for a ride on Tlawng road, he was the one who vetoed the idea and dragged us all to the cemetery. But… he is kinda a rebel. He has mixed feelings about the church’s ban on pastors with tattoos, so he went and got a tattoo. And his tattoo is a beautifully lettered ISUA. And he waits eagerly to see what the church makes of that!! Hehehah!!

And F… though younger than me, he treats me like an annoying little sister. Very very fun guy. Everybody, and I mean everybody loves him. He manages to be BFFs with my friends on the first day that he meets them. And he is seriously over protective too. He glares at any guy who even glances my way. He punched his friend for kissing my sister. They are married now. My guy is one of his best friends too, and the unwritten rule is that we must not act lovey dovey when he is there. My best memory of him is the time when a group of drunk guys eve-teased me, and he stood up for me. I could see that he was shit scared, but he confronted those louts. For me. Awwwww…

Ka lung a leng. They are all scattered here and there, and half of them are married. So I rarely get to meet them. I miss the times when they would clutter up my room and talk about how many times they scored with the ladies, and how ‘cool’ they are with them. Of course, when we talk one-on-one, they tell me the truth, so I know they are not the Casanovas they pretend to be, but are actually wusses.. But I always back up their little lies because I am a good sister too!! J

Thursday, February 25, 2010

the husband store

Finally got around to dejunking my Yahoo inbox, and I found this forwarded mail from my cousin, sent about a couple of months back. It's called "the husband store", and, here goes:

A store that sells husbands has just opened in NYC, where any woman may go to choose a husband. The only snag: you can visit only once. You may purchase any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go down except to exit the building.

So this woman goes there to purchase a husband. On the first floor, the sign reads:
These men have jobs and love the Lord.

The sign on the second floor reads:
These men have jobs, love the Lord, and love kids.

The sign on the third floor reads:
These men have jobs, love the Lord, Loves kids, and are extremely good-looking.

"Wow", she thinks, but feels compelled to go up more floors.

The sign on the fourth floor reads:
These men have jobs, love the Lord and kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, and help with the housework.

"Oh my, I can hardly stand it!" she thinks, but she decides to move further up.

Floor 5: These men have jobs, love the Lord and kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak.

She is tempted to purchase one right away, but she eventually moves up another floor.

And the sign on the sixth floor reads:

You are visitor 4,363,014 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely to prove that women are impossible to please.
Thank you for visiting the husband store. Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day!

Send this only to women who can handle the truth!

Yeah, yeah, big laugh... Seriously, it is funny because there's a little bit of truth in it too!

Wednesday, February 24, 2010


I hate that they think they are the great white hope. They save the world in movies but in reality, they muck up the planet and conjure up mythical nuclear weapons just to control oil countries. I hate that they think they are the smartest race when really, most of their technology comes from imported brains. Many of the Americans are actually people who buy electronic products and are unable to figure out why it doesn’t work until an Indian dude from a BPO asks him in his fake American accent, “Sir, have you switched it on?” And American guy says, “Oh, I have to switch it on? By myself!!??”

Face it, a lot of them are NOT smarter than a fifth grader. Which is why they invented simplified spellings like color, humor, program etc for colour, humour, programme. Okay, I sometimes use these simplified spellings too. But I absolutely refuse to acknowledge SOCCER, EYE-raq and EYE-ran.

My aunt, who’s lived there for 30 or so years, is insistent that I MUST not get married until I have visited her. She has my best interests at heart and I know she hopes that I would go there and marry a sensitive, broad-minded, new age-y all-American boy. It sounds good in theory but… suppose I’m ranting and raving over a bad case of PMS, and a guy says, “There, there, darling, let it all out, oh, I truly feel you. I’ll order another batch of ice cream for you. Let it out, darling, here, let me hold you… OUCH! Darling, please don’t bite… Honey, why are you aiming that fork at my face..?” I don’t think I can respect that dude. I prefer the one who can make me regain control over myself with just the words, “Mmm, a tawk”. *swoon*.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against inter-racial marriages. I’m a die-hard romantic who believes that love surpasses and conquers all. But personally, I still prefer a vawksa rep-loving, bekang-eating, hmeichhe-care-thiamlo-ing Mizo guy who calls me “bawih” and maybe, later, “nu-i”. Bye bye, American boy :D

Anyway, here’s hoping that some Americano does not come across this and decides to Blackwater me to kingdom come. AAARRGH! Blackwater!!!!

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

A true love story

he came with excess baggage and a past
she accepted and embraced all.
he laid his heart beneath her feet
and she laid it to rest beside hers.

he took her to his family
they loved her as their own.
and then he brought her to his friends
and she captivated them all.

and their love yielded three seeds
to form one happy family.
and as they watched their future grow
it seemed that they had it all.

he published a weekly magazine
and she was with him every step.
and when all thru the night he worked
she stayed up with him and was his muse.

and on weekends the whole family
would all troop to the presses,
where they all pitched in for daddy's magazine,
right from the eldest to the youngest.

and then one day the clouds gathered-
her kidneys started to fail,
and leaving the children with his family,
they both went to Vellore.

and there they learnt the awful truth
she needed a transplant.
he took an auto to the nearest PCO
and called his sister's home.

there he finally released the tears
that he did'nt want her to see.
and his sister wept with him,
and they both prayed for her.

it was late and the owner wanted to close,
but he stayed open 'cos of his obvious anguish.
but the auto driver could not wait
and he left him stranded there.

it was late and raining too heavily
for him to find another auto,
so he walked back in the pouring rain
to the woman who waited for him.

and they sent for their young children
and she resolved to be strong for them.
they were too young to face sickness,
and she wanted to spare them the pain.

so tho' the doctor forbade her to leave her room
she defied him and stood up straight.
she was smiling when her children arrived,
and she greeted them at the hospital gates.

she wanted a family holiday
and forced her body to make it so.
she played and strolled on the beaches with them
and not a single cry escaped her lips.

his family promised them funds,
her family promised a donor.
and so they all rallied round
trying to save the woman they loved so well.

he tried somehow to contribute,
by secretly mortgaging the land that his father left him,
and tried his best to bear the pain
of seeing her laid so low.

and tho' the transplant was a success
misfortune dogged their paths.
the doctors made another diagnosis,
she had the dreaded cancer cells.

they forced themselves to stay strong
and never let their babies see,
the tears they shed together
when the doctors gave up on her.

they finally flew home defeated.
he pushed her wheelchair slowly out.
but there they saw their first miracle-
a congregation of those whose lives their love had touched.

they came in two busloads and more
with banners saying, "welcome home".
and she turned defeat into victory
by rising unaided from her wheelchair.

and then the second miracle-
a prayer that gave her respite.
she regained some of her strength
and it seemed the clouds had passed.

once more they were a family,
and on Christmas they rejoiced.
celebrating their love and Jesus' birth-
the greatest gifts of all.

and she made their favourite Christmas dishes
and they opened their home to all their friends.
she took pictures of everyone
and the photos never betrayed her hand's tremor.

for death still refused to give her up,
and this Christmas was their family's last.
her lovely tresses slowly fell out
as cancer wormed its way back in.

they both watched with bittersweet pride
when their daughter had her first Sacrament.
this was to be the final time
they all went to Church as a family.

back to the hospital she went
and once again he was awed.
for still she refused to let her babies see
the pain that held her down.

she told her babies to go home,
she soon would join them there.
and he struggled to hold back his tears
for he knew she won't be coming home.

that night he finally learnt the truth
that love meant letting go,
and he watched her as she fought her last battle,
and death came to claim her for his own.

she took his strength with her when she left,
his sun had set, his footsteps faltered.
his flesh still roamed the earth, its true,
but his soul, she took with her.

he tried his best for his babies,
but his muse had left and his work suffered.
he tried to be both mother and father,
but all he felt was 'alone'.

he'd take his trusty lantern with him,
and to her grave he'd go.
and there he'd sit and talk with her,
till dawn forced him to go home.

his friends urged him to move on,
and introduced him to other women,
but his heart kept yearning for its twin
and he could not make the break.

till finally he found new friends
who helped him drown his sorrows,
he'd drink himself into oblivion
trying to run from a life without her.

the final blow that broke his back-
his landlord came to him.
they had to leave their beloved house
because renovations were due .

the pain of leaving their beloved home-
where they had laughed and cried and dreamt,
the home that she had loved so much-
it shattered the little dreams and hopes he had left.

he grew old in a matter of weeks,
and he made his way out of town.
to the place where they ate too little
and drank way too, too much.

this time he knew things were different,
he had pushed himself too far.
his blood sugar plummetted,
and he knew he had made a mistake.

he told the taxi driver to be quick,
to take him to his best friend.
but too late, when he reached his friend,
he had already spoken his last.

his spirit broke free of its earthly prison,
and his body was laid in her grave.
but his soul rejoiced because the song was true:
'"there are no more tears in Heaven".

their bewildered babies felt adrift,
but love still works its miracles.
his family took them in, one by one,
and loved them as their own.

and the eldest son was loved by one,
who says, "i'm sorry that i hurt you,
and this is my way of apologising,
by re-telling the story you told me".

Monday, February 15, 2010

that friggin' Susan Boyle moment!

it happens to me everytime. that advert for Susan Boyle's new album, when they showed THAT moment. her audition. dumpy old maid walkin on the stage. u can almost hear Simon thinking, "booo-ring..a bloody waste of my fine British ass, uh, time". and then dumpy lady opens her mouth, and a voice that could accompany angels somehow rings out. the look of amazement on Simon's face, and then a slow smile of appreciation. the look of utter enjoyment on Susan's face... gotcha! bet yer dont expect dat, d'ye, myte..

that always chokes me up!

and its worse when i'm pms-ing. bloody tears actually come in my eyes, and i have to find a quick excuse in case someone notices. some of the more worthy bloggers out dere wud prolly wax poetical about talent shining thru, blah3. i dont have the depth for that. so back to my favorite,me!

i'm a closet crybaby. anything can set me off, but only when i'm alone. i hate crying in front of people. and its not becos i'm dignified or whatever. its because im absolutely UGLY when i cry. dont know how Bollywood babes manage to look all soft and vulnerable.

a fren of mine is like that. she makes me forget that i'm a girl when she cries. i stand there helpless, getting really over-protective, and i want to beat the hell out of whoever made her cry. everytime she broke up with her boyfriend (which was at least twice a month), i'd take the 30-minute bus ride to her house and bring her chocolates and song suggestions. ugh, i feel so gay! anyway, i've grown accustomed to her break-ups, and besides, i've found out she's way braver than i am, so the over-protectiveness has abated a bit.

still, i wish i could look like that when i cry, would be an useful tool to gain a lil' unfair advantage...

and there's Boyle again, and here comes the weepies again...

Saturday, February 13, 2010

love, love, love

according to an old Greek (?) myth, the first human beings were two-headed, and had four arms, legs n both male n female sex organs. the gods were jealous of this creature bcos-
-its two heads, placed back-to-back ensured that no one would be able to sneak up on it.
- its four arms enabled it to carry out different tasks at the same time, and be extremely productive.
-its four legs enabled it to walk fast, and without tiring.
- since it had both sexual organs, it was able to procreate by itself.

the world became filled with these humans, and this aroused the envy and fear of the gods. so they divided the humans' bodies into two, thus weakening them effectively. and since then, we have all been searching for our 'missing half', the one who would make us stronger and more productive.

or so the story goes...

of course, the story does'nt mention if it was hard for two different people to become one entity. the pros and cons when 'two become one', are:

-having to give up certain parts of one's self
-needing to think about whats good for 'us' and not just for 'me'.

-having each others backs; having someone who's always in your corner.
-when life sucks n u want to just give up, there will be someone to drag you along.
-procreation!! woo-hooo!!

well, whatever the case may be, being part of a couple is not always easy...but the pros outweigh the cons.. sooo, time to swallow my pride, and grasp the hand he's holding out. who am i kidding...i've always known it was just a matter of time before i gave in... and though i may fight every inch of the way, in my heart i know he's right... sigh...

happy valentine's day, all

Thursday, February 11, 2010


are we scary?

thats me n my research mates.

a comment we come across occasionally when we mention that we're lit. students is:
"ohh, so u're one of those man-hating feminists, huh?"

one time, i and one of my frens boarded the crowded univ bus, n this guy we dont even know starts saying, "you lit. girls believe in equality of the sexes, so we wont give up our seats for you". scary 'us' were too scared to comment and resigned ourselves to standing for the whole 30 minutes or so bumpy ride. and when we kept quiet, jerk guy called us 'stuck-up' ('inla mai2). fortunately, guys like these are the exception, and two sweet guys gave us their seats. and of course, we reciprocated nicely with big smiles n thank yous and carried their bags n books for them. and it didnt hurt either when we learnt later that jerk guy had gotten two back papers in his last exam :))

when my sister reveals that she's a psychology major, she's given this wary look and is either asked "what am i thinking now?' or "what does my dream mean?". then they call her scary because she can 'read minds' and 'no one would be able to lie to her'.

something i've noticed is, for a majority of the guys out there, a woman's desirability is inversely proportional to the amount of education that she gets. many guys actually admit to being SCARED of a well-educated woman. and its worse when you're an English lit student. we get tagged with radical feminism, and on top of that, they tell me that more than half of the women who teach English end up as 'strict' spinsters or 'bitter' divorcees. well, i want to teach English lit, so according to this theory, i have a good chance of ending up 'strict' or 'bitter'...and alone!

a 'wise woman', according to most people, is one who manages to manipulate a man into following her orders while managing to appear coy and submissive. i dont know, this reminds me of that poem about the spider and the fly....i dont think i can respect a man i can manipulate. i'd rather ask politely for what i want, and if that makes me a feminist, then so be it.

ok, ive now vented alll my spleen and hopefully, can now concentrate on my paper. and if it gets accepted and i get my degree... well, here's to scaring a few more guys :)

oh please don't

oh please don't call me stubborn,
when i refuse to follow blindly.

oh please dont call me selfish,
when i disagree with you.

oh please dont call me a raving feminist,
when i display a mind of my own.

oh please dont hang up the phone,
when i say something you dont like.

oh please dont protect me too much,
cant i make my own mistakes?

oh please dont call me heartless,
cant you see how scared i am?

oh please dont break my spirit,
cant you accept me for me?

oh please dont give up on me,
cant you see that i need you still?

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I HOPE YOU DANCE- for my unborn children

love, angel, music, baby..

i know you think your mom is a little crazy sometimes, especially tagging you those monikers... but i cant think of anything that defines me and the way i feel for you more...
baby, i know life sometimes is hard, and there are things you dont understand about the adult world, and about life in general.. i hate to tell that i can offer you no quick solutions on how to cope with growing up, and having to deal with your first love, your first heartbreak, your first failure and many firsts that will come later..
i dont have the words to tell you what i dream for you, so i'll have to make do with a song...

" i hope you never lose your sense of wonder
you get your fill to eat, but always keep that hunger
may you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid that love ever leave you empty-handed
i hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
whenever one door closes, i hope one more opens
promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance."

baby, try to hold on to that sense of wonder... life may throw so many things at you that you may forget to slow down and take a good look at the life teeming around you. dont be satisfied with mediocrity, but dont strive for perfection either. i hope all your dreams are fulfilled but i would never want you to be too self-satisfied.. never forget that there are things bigger than you, and that sometimes you will have to face failure.. but dont ever lose faith in yourself, and in God, who delights in making dreams come true, as long as we keep on believing in them.

"i hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
never settle for the path of least resistance
living might mean taking chances, but its worth taking
loving might be a mistake, but its worth making
dont let some hell-bent heart leave you bitter
when you come close to selling out, reconsider
give the heavens above more than a passing glance"

dont be scared of the unknown. God never gives us more than we can handle. dont follow the crowd if it means sacrificing your ideals. think deeply before you go down that road..dont take the easy way out, even though it IS easier. you might get hurt, but unless you have explored all that you really are, you will never have lived life to its fullest. you may experience heartbreak, but when that happens, dont say love has failed you.. human beings fail love, and not the other way round. fall in love completely- its the best experience in life.

"time is a wheel in constant motion
who wants to look back on their youth and wonder
where those years have gone"

babe, i cant guarantee you that it will be easy. it takes courage to follow your dreams when everyone tells you that dreaming is useless. dont take that job just because its secure and pays well. do you really want to do that job for the rest of your life? and dont let your career be more important than your friends and family. dont make the mistake of thinking being serious and responsible means slogging away at the office and looking stern. walk in the rain, but dry off thoroughly afterwards. play hooky occasionally, but finish your projects in time. dont wait for retirement to have a family vacation. by then it will be too late to explore caves, fly kites, learn to swim, and scream on roller-coaster rides.

fall in love. be with someone with whom you dont have to censor yourself with, but who makes you want to be your best. be with someone who knows the importance of dreams, and who has the courage to implement them. someone who gives up his dreams for a secure lifestyle may seem more responsible, but love is not just about being responsible. its about daring to take chances, to risk rejection, heartache and pain all on the throw of a dice. be with someone who dares to chase that elusive dream called love. again, it wont be all easy sailing, and for that, you need to find someone you can respect, someone strong enough to not throw in the towel when the going gets tough. dont set too much store on 'romantic' gestures. the guy who showers you with roses could leave you with the thorns; and the guy who gives you a rice cooker may be the one who yearns to share every meal with you..

live life to its fullest darling. i know its going to be a long time before you read and understand this. but music lives on, and i know this song will find you someday. and thats my last request to you- love music. love it. for it will be there to mark every facet of your life. LIVE forever, darling.

"and when you get the chance to sit it out or dance...
i hope you dance".

all my lovin,

Monday, February 8, 2010

if you're looking for 'meaningful'...skip this

friends think i've got my act together...for the uninitiated thats me in the middle of my pic flexing my muscles... im reasonably intelligent, am sometimes happy with the image in the mirror, have a great family, circle of friends and a steady boyfriend who has learnt to handle my PMS..
but i yearn, God, how i yearn...
when i was young, ok, younger, i believed that the world was my oyster and that i would become someone great.. my to-do-before-i'm 30 list includes:

1. write a bestseller.
2. be an accomplished flirt.
3. learn to drive and swim
4. learn salsa or tango
5. bungee jump n para sail.
6. backpack across India.
7. fall madly in love
8. learn to play at least one musical instrument.
9. charity, charity, charity.

aside from the obvious (get a job, give to the church, blah2) these were things i really wanted to do n which i thought defined 'living' as it were..
now i'm stuck in a rut..and these are my accomplishments:

1. bestseller...cant even write my dissertation..had to satisfy my secret Paulo Coelho urges by writing crappy comments in friend's FB posts.
2.dont know how to flirt or charm-period.
3.learnt to float n gave up on the scooty.
5.double hah!! climbed a few trees..thats it.
6.i manage to get lost inside Aizawl, and i'm scared of crossing the road, so no hope there..
7. managed to do this fully, completely... :)
8.knew how to play 'd' key once... not doing my bit for charity..guilt, guilt..often tried to donate blood but always rejected cos either my weight, HB or BP was found lacking :(

i know none of these are noble or earth-shattering aims, n i'm not going to offer excuses for them.. the issue here is rather that i've accomplished very little in the way of dreams, n for a time i've given up on them.. not because i'm disillusioned or i've had some bad knocks.. my life has been, thank God, relatively free of stress n hardships.. but i've let myself fall into complacency, laziness n routines... i've lost sight of that girl who wanted to live n exult in life...

so this is a tentative foray into rediscovering that intrepid, slightly eccentric and frivolous girl who i've lost some where along the way... where I may have to be serious and conventional, she will ridicule n be politically incorrect; where i may act grown up she will play n laugh; where i have to face reality, she will keep on dreaming stubbornly; where i deal with facts, she will juggle make-believe; where i try to be stoic, she will weep n wail n laugh out loud....and finally, where i want to keep this hidden n resolve to never write again, she will try to force me to let her voice be heard, even if its among the few who know me well n would laugh n say " Lal Kuku!!"
hence, the name DOPPELGANGER - my mirror image, my darker half, my irreverent self..