Mizo Prodigals

This post is not going to go into much details and is written in the same manner as how it played out in my heart as i wrote it. Therefore, i must state that there was much more thought and experience that went into the writing of this post than is apparent in the actual writing of it. If anyone has any question or would like to query further please feel free to ask.

Hi,

    Michael's the name, Michael Lalrinkima Pachuau to be exact. How do you do? I'm a seemingly well balanced young male who somehow made it to the age of 24 (running as of now) through a series of twists and turns, ups and downs. I was born and have been brought up in the state of Tamil Nadu. I am a Mizo tlangval, with my father hailing from Lunglei and my mother from Aizawl.

And I am a Mizo Prodigal.

What is that you ask? Well its a term i coined during the nascent years of Orkut when i was busy getting acquainted with the nuances and intricacies of Social Networking. Back then, i was still not comfortable hanging out or making friends with people in my local community, not to mention the Mizo community. I was socially awkward, clumsy and very withdrawn. Since then, i have socially 'blossomed', become adept with the art of looking confident and making acquaintances. I have made bonds of true friendship and have become much more articulate and outgoing.

And I am still a Mizo Prodigal.

I still haven't defined it yet, you say? Oh i'm sorry, i seem to be straying from the point. But then you see, the term mizo prodigal is a condensation of the earlier two paragraphs.
A Mizo Prodigal is a Mizo person who was born and brought up, or spent the majority of his/her life, outside of our native state of Mizoram and feels a sense of disconnectivity with the Native Mizo people and society. From Personal experience, this is apparently not a phase in life. It is more like a stamp that is certified and felt in the inside of our hearts even if it isn't visible from the outside.

I don't regret a thing in the way i have lived my life. Besides it being against my personal code to do so, everything that i am, all the pieces and blocks that make up who i am are made up from all the unique experiences i have had as an outsider in both worlds. In many ways, my vai upbringing helps me to gel with much more types of people than a normal mizo upbringing may have afforded me. I would go so far as to say that settling down seems more natural outside of mizoram than in it.

Don't get me wrong, i know and accept that i will always be a Mizo, no matter where i was born, who i grew up with or what i plan to do later on. And i am proud of us as a people and as a culture. I WISH i was able to write and express myself in Mizo with the same ease as i do so in English. I WISH i was able to have the bonding experiences that growing up in such a close-knit society as ours provides. I even WISH i was able to have gone through the whole Sunday School-Thalai Pawl-YMA socialisation process, just so that i could understand what the fuss is all about. I WISH i knew how to dance the mizo dances, hit the bamboos during the cheraw and play the traditional games.

But at the same time, i have to confess, AGAIN from personal experience. This feeling of disconnectivity goes way beyond mere cultural awkwardness. It is a result of a social and psychological gap and pressure. And it is VERY mutually applied, not a one way snob train like many 'mizoram seilian' people assume it to be.

If anything, my second-last stay in Mizoram gave me an experience that reassured me that there is a sense of disparity in our worlds even among the 'enlightened' social strata. I was attending the North East Writer's Meet which happened at Aijal Club where noted writers and poets from the North East had been invited to read out excerpts from their works and could discuss and chat about them too. As i reached a bit late, i caught only the last few lines of a poem that were being read out by a Mizo poet who goes by the nom de guerre of Sanga Says. I didn't listen to it long enough to know what exactly it was about, but what will stay etched in my memory is that of the Question and Answer session right after the reading, where one of the attendees, a local writer whose name i have forgotten, basically asked him two questions. Weren't you born and brought up in Shillong? What makes you think you understand the problems of Mizo people and Mizoram in general? The fact that this person was also another writer who was reading out his material on the day, and that he was apparently the editor of a popular local zine made the condescending tone of his questions bite even harder. Sanga Says wasn't even based out of the North East for crying out loud.

Its a bubble. And it sometimes feels like a non permeable one.

The Fade to Black

Today marks the passing of a month since the death of our flatmate and friend, Nadia. For reasons that will probably be forever unknown, she decided to take her life just 2 days before what would have been her 21st birthday, in the most traditional of ways - A rope around her neck.

And for the past month, i have been quietly disgusted. Not at the fact that she 'chose the shortcut' or that 'she was too weak to face her problems'. But at the way people whisper and prod at her memory after her untimely demise. And yes, it includes close family members. Both mine and hers.

Our fathers were both in the same line of work and thats how we knew each other. You see, kids like us, especially those whose family doesn't have a family home in the state their fathers are assigned, spend our childhoods following our father's postings. These start at the rural areas and move towards the larger cities as seniority is attained. So we basically do not have a stable childhood, or people to grow up with, that may be considered childhood friends. The only kids we ever have a somewhat solid chance of befriending semi-long term are other officers kids. And even then, since no two officers follow the same pattern of transfer and posting continuously, its a very broken connection. Still, seeing a familiar face from time to time was of great comfort at times especially in the more barren regions. Nadia's family and ours have had the chance to stay in close quarters 5 times throughout. If i remember correctly, this is the most times we have kept contact with any other family. We were never the closest of friends, though there was a long period of time (almost a year) where due to the lack of any other distractions we spent some really interesting moments together, as pairs of siblings. Our youngest siblings, both being boys of a similar age, were the ones who were really able to strike a proper friendship. But this too wore off as time went on, as Nadia's younger brother went into less physical avenues of recreation while my brother was the opposite.

Nadia was a really nice person. Though she was never the sporty type, she was always lively. We had our own interests and relative hobbies, but she was the type that could jump into any group outing or activity. She was apparently above average in her studies and was good at making friends with people. She was quite on the thin side when it came to her looks, she even used to joke about having an Olive Oyl figure. By the time we were neighbours again though, she had withdrawn a bit and was a little more reserved, though this was pretty natural for any teen growing up and going through her latter stage of teen development. The last time we actually met was about a week and a half before the fateful day. It was a chance meeting at the Mall, she was with her college mates, she looked perfectly happy.

Its always the ones who look perfectly happy. They're the ones which hit the hardest. Because its that much more difficult to explain why and how it happened. Its like what Heath Ledger's Joker said in the seminal Superhero movie The Dark Knight Rises - "When things go according to plan, no one cares. When things don't go to plan, everyone loses their minds". The truth is, most people who are on the verge of the edge of hope in life tend to cover up their darkness with as much light as possible. Both for the sake of keeping it hidden, and for the sake of not hurting unnecessary bystanders and passers-by. Its the ones who everyone think look the happiest, sunniest and most cheerful, that walk the tightrope of tension, standing on the edge of the terrace or roof, looking down day after day at the inconsequential pitter patter of life oblivious to their existence, when no one else is looking or around.

People question the motives of the suicidee, contemplating what catastrophic event could have lead to such a hasty, drastic decision. But the truth is, when you're already on the edge of the cliff, it doesn't take much more than a rough breeze to push you down the vortex of death. By the time you're up there gasping for air, looking at the emptiness surrounding you, the wide chasm of darkness that lies in front of you looks very inviting. The promise of a new, unsure darkness can be a very viable alternative to the familiar blinding light. Some of us are able to find a thread of hope, an anchor to hold onto life and build up from then on, and some of us choose to dive headfirst into the swelling unknown. This may be blasphemous to say/write/think, but we'll never truly know who made the right choice until the end result for both is finally revealed in its entirety, when the curtain of death covers both in its call.

The most disturbing/disgusting comments are those that talk about how much of a "disgrace" for the family it is. When they question how she could kill herself when she had 'everything that a child could want'. Maybe they're nervous as fellow parents trying to cover up the holes in their own families and parenting styles, but it was so fricking obvious that she did NOT have 'everything a child could want'. At least not THIS particular "child".
What right do we have to judge the life trials of the dead? What justification do we have for criticising the choices of a person dead and gone? So what if he or she killed him/herself. I know, especially from a Christian viewpoint, that it kind of limits the choice of afterlife destinations. But why do we wonder so negatively about the person ESPECIALLY when we didn't give a damn about him/her when they were alive. Well, atleast not enough of a damn to notice that the person was on the verge of taking their life.

The living have no control over the dead. And so they try to cope with the memory of the person left behind.

Tarnish not, the faint memoir,
Blacken not, the fair portrait,
For in the end, all is the same,
Life is lived, and Dead is Death.

Eyes on the back of my head

The title of this post is normally used to describe a sixth sense that some people have which gives the eerie feeling that they can see everything thats going on, even things that are done behind their back. But in the context of this post, i'm using it to describe the feeling of having eyes looking AT the back of my head.

I hate the part of me that bothers about how people look at me. Not all the time. Just when i want to write something from the bottom of my heart.
Like now, when i blog.
It never used to bother me when i blogged before, but recently my posts have been getting some unprecedented attention. Its not like i've become an e-celebrity or anything, more like my previously obscure blogs have been brought a bit more into the public light.

This is NOT a post against the people who have been reading, sharing or recommending my blog. And i fully accept that i was the one who opened up my blog to a more public viewing. I appreciate all the views, all the comments and feedback. My day is made just that much brighter when i notice that more people have read my blog, or *gasp*commented on it (Er, not that i keep a track of it....everyday...":-D)

This IS a post against that part of me which i believe everyone has their own version of. My own little prima donna. The diva that lives in everyone's hearts. That little voice in our heads that makes you re-think what you're doing or saying with the audience in mind. Again, i do not hate this part of me all the time. In fact, i admit that it is a very useful part of me/us, especially in this socially networked world where a little comment can go a long way to making/breaking a person's reputation.

But i don't need it yapping away when i want to pour out my heart on a subject. Its like having a dam built on the river of my soul, draining the reckless abandon with which my creativity is fueled. I need to overcome it. I need to yank off the yoke of sobriety which i automatically put on when i feel someone is watching me.
This isn't Facebook. This isn't a social networking site, where our pictures and posts and likes are all posted to be put under public scrutiny. This is my Blog. Over the past 2 weeks, i have drafted around 4 posts that i just can't seem to properly finish or continue, because i'm afraid that i might write/post them with my censorship mode still on. I DONT want to post some accessible popular culture shit. I WANT TO POST MY LIFE, ME, MY THOUGHTS, MY SOUL.

This ends NOW. Begone, you Balrog that haunts the Moria of my blog. Begone you shadow of fire and flame. In the words of Gandalf the Grey,

YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!!

Musical Euphoric Reverie - A Headbanger's Post

I Love This Pic!!

                                 Allow me to indulge myself with a bit of vanity for a moment.

This pic brings back so many good memories.
First off, it was probably the best overall performance we had ever given as a house band.
Secondly, I took a few risks that i had never taken before. The guitar wasn't mine (Scarlett wonked out on me), and the strings were pre-attached right before the show which means they would be prone to falling out of tune and tuning. The "top button exposed shirt" look was one my mom forced on me at the last moment before we went up on stage. I played an impromptu unrehearsed guitar solo and extended the normal one of my own accord.
Thankfully the guitar worked fine, the shirt didn't look as embarrassing as i thought it would and the guitar solo was apparently not bad at all.

But what i love most about this pic is that it is a 100% Money Back guarantee spontaneous pic. Yup, i'm not posing in the pic.
I wasn't even aware the pic was being taken while i was playing the guitar and i did not position myself perfectly in front of the mic, my head bent back at an almost perfect angle while playing the guitar in an off hand manner. Yes, this is probably the best pose i will ever strike, knowingly or unknowingly, for a camera ever and it was me, not me trying to be some cool looking badass with a guitar. It was just me.

But this post isn't about this pic per se, it isn't about how good my ego is shined up in describing how i look in this pic of full on RockSt*r awesomeness (Which it is >_<) {Vanity : Off}

This post is about WHAT i was feeling as i unconsciously posed for this pic. Because what i was feeling then was not just an emotion. It was a statement of Life.

People talk about how they love music and how music affects their lives. I believe this is true for all human beings who have a sense of hearing. No matter who you are or what type of person you are, there is going to be some piece of musical work that will move you in a way no other media or drug can. True music is one that moves the listener in some way. It doesn't have to be an earth shattering effect, it can be a slight tap on your shoulder making you smile or think in a small measure. It can uplift you, bring out a moment of happiness and bliss or it can focus your rage, stand for every cut, scar and bruise you've ever had and help you overcome sorrow. (Which is why i believe music should be divided according to moods, as well as genres. But thats a topic for another post :D)

It isn't a feeling exclusive to musically inclined people, or people who would consider themselves music literate. You don't need to understand how the music is made to enjoy it, or to be an avid, rabid fanboy to understand that the music can make you groove.
BUT i will admit that being a musician gives us an insight that most people would not understand. Especially in the genres of Rock and Metal. I'm not saying that we feel MORE for the music, we just feel it differently at times. Something metaphorical and primal.

The feeling you can get as you're up on the stage and you GET IT RIGHT is unparalleled. You feel this surge of feeling and electricity and you just want to channel it out any way you can. Its like being in an ecstasy filled cloud and everything around you just dies down and its between you and your instrument. And its like this mist is around you, this mist which starts to engulf you and reaches out to the crowd, and when it envelops the audience, and they start reacting to your music, its like you've made a connection. Like you're channeling all the emotion from your soul to their ears. It may last just a few seconds, but in those few moments, it is Nirvana. Every stretch of the muscle feels powerful, every signal through your nerves is like a bolt of lightning and every right note is like a shot of adrenaline. There is no logical explanation for why it affects us the way it does. It just does. And those moves you've seen on those 80's and 90's MTV/Vh1 vids?? The way those guys seem to be 'pouring the sugar on' or 'riding the lightning'?? Those happen naturally. Obviously, we would love to look as cool as Slash when he rips through the November Rain solo, but without TRYing to look like a rockstar, those movements just naturally happen, as if its what the universe deemed the right way to rock out.

And balls to anyone who exclusively associate narcotics and intoxicators with it. I was stone cold sober, but i still felt drunk as hell. And i loved it. Love it. Will always Love it.

Blogging - We are Human here.

I love the concept of blogging. There are certain additions to the technology at hand that i can imagine would improve the overall experience (like sifting through and recording the thoughts from our heads directly onto the blog :3), but i love the fact that i can have my own little Digital Space in the Internet which houses my opinions, thoughts, ramblings, poems or whatever random thing i want to put on here. It lets me put off steam  on burning issues that probably matter little or nothing to anyone but me. Everyday occurences or Once in a lifetime experiences that seem noteworthy at the time for us to make the effort to keep a record of it in cyberspace.

And the truth is, somewhere in my heart, i hope that it would matter to some random other. That my experiences and views put on digital paper would be able to serve as a guide or as an inspiration to anyone who might happen to stumble on to my corner of the World Wide Web. Yes, all bloggers are philosophers at heart. Its not so much that we are self-assured or self-confident, rather that we give ourselves assurance and confidence that if we could actually pull out stuff from the pandora's box inside our heads and write something even vaguely coherent, we have accomplished a great achievement in our personal lives.

Certain People i know, are of the assumption that one of the main appeals of keeping a blog is the holier-than-thou persona we can assume under the guise of our digital nicknames. And in some sense, that is true. Especially to the outside eye, when a blogger truly unleashes his/her viewpoint on an issue, it gives off the aura that we are playing God in our blog. That a blog, especially a private or obscure one, lets us leave our inhibitions behind to show our true colours. And in that sense, all bloggers are egotists, atleast just a teensy little bit. And we all have the right to be. As humans, that is one of the seminal personality traits that is not approved of by the vast majority of societal human beings, that we can express completely and inconsequentially in our blogs.

BUT does that make us God? Having our piece of the universe that revolves and spins around our control, surely it can seem we have a divine control over the matter that permeates it. But the truth is, its not. Under our control. I believe, belief being the key word here, that we let our hearts, souls and minds bare here. That no matter how ordered or calculated our posts seem to be, we are all driven by the formless base sense of being a Human being. Psychologists will forever debate on what exactly it is that makes humans, well, humans. What is the exact thing that seemingly divides our psyches from other social organisms around us. Whether it is Unification Thought or Empathy or whatever other psychological construct it may be though, what i can say without a shadow of a doubt is that Blogging is one of the defining behaviours of a Human being.

We bare our minds, souls and hearts here. In whatever little way it may seem to be. In whatever overly dramatic, blown up reverie we seem to be in. If ever i question myself on the nature of my humanity, i will look upon my blog, that which i have written for NO reason, for NO logic, for NO gain or accolades and see myself, naked and pure (Shame, the same can't be said of questioning my sanity though >_<)

Ironic isn't it. That one of the things that so surely, positively affirms the warmth and organic existence of my human soul exists in cold, emotionless Computer Code.