A Ready Revolution

After all those months of self-imposed exile I thought I couldn't relate to anything. All that I needed was some good tobacco and steaming strong coffee and to slouch in a couch thinking nothing. I didn't even want to look back, for I had dwelled in that for long, picking every detail, going through each one of them. I had been at war with my own self, and the bad part was ,after all those ituitive months, I still couldn't say who actually won the war.

Some came up and asked if I really had gone back to the detached domain. They hadn't seen me those months gulping and muttering cynical things, which they most of the times thought was bitter. See the trouble is people always like to hear nice things, but I am someone who is still drenched in engulfing circumstances. It doesn't mean that unemployment, FDI, etc are irrelevant, there is something more crucial than all of these. Life and death.

In many quick verdicts people said: Meitei yours are very grim and they talk about things we think we know in a manner suggesting they are despicable. I had to ask them something. When was the last time you all witnessed people coming out in hordes feeling truly themselves to celebrate and then waking up the following morning feeling that better things were ahead? Some argued for the sake of arguing and suggested I be more optimistic. I didn't holler: Had I given up in the first place, then I would have been an alcoholic floundering somewhere wasted, and you know am up before the roosters crow to reflect and then to formulate. If the words jar them and eventually make them think then I am happy that people are thinking. And those words are as effective as any strong firm hands holding a head and directing in what direction it should be facing. They are not reveries, you only have to think through or look through the words to see what the pictures are. 

Despite all the lamentations and the wrath of pity I chanced upon a small collective effort. It must have been born out of some nook in one of the exile places. They were not the old and renowned names, whose names people knew but their ideas never conveyed. They were those who knew it was wrong to remain silent, young blood who had their words ready to hurl at, words to spread around. And they were not the messiahs we all thought who would descend to tread among the terrified us without uttering anything relevant. 

It was so reassuring, so much that I began to feel a revolution was born and soon it would grip the diseased us. At least while enjoying my fine tobacco and sipping my strong coffee I can at least smile at the prospect of we not going down as naive and coward lots. If we perished we would be remembered as a people who had spoken their minds, people who came out to protest, people who not only knew and felt, but people who knew, felt and hollered what was wrong and what should be done.