Kangleimaichou

The site where they had built the house had never been trodden by any soul, it was the site where a widow hanged herself from a guava tree and there the dangling corpse was abandoned to eagles and vultures. After the flesh was eaten, only the skeleton remained hanging from the jute rope and then slowly the bones fell off one by one each day and finally they disappeared in the thick grass. And then for some reason the guava tree grew taller and bigger and then the branch from which the widow had hanged herself snapped, leaving the tree tall and erect without any branches, slowly the tree lost leaves and its colour transformed to many ,and then it became dry and overnight it fizzled out as though it were make of dust and got carried away by a strong wind to some unknown place. This had not been forgotten by the villagers but those who had witnessed had died and most people had heard of the tale as a folktale, only a few knew very well. They hadn’t given a thought till some governme...

Dust and dust is everywhere. But no one looks covered in it. Modern looking men in western outfit hollering "bheiya" in stead of "Tamo", and women with their noses recently made aquiline yelled "bhabi, where is jeeju?" To them "enamah and eteih "are too foreign. Their tones are loud enough for anyone to ignore. I am puffing a mild cigarette in front of a kiosk roofed with rusted corrugated sheets. The old lady shopkeeper is on the phone. She grumbled,"Ebemah, I can't understand a word your Saini man is saying. You have to teach me his language." I know the old lady well, I know the street. But I couldn't say I am familiar with the condition and changed characters. But each time I walk the streets here I see them, but I want to picture my grandparents instead; my grandfather sweeping the areas around, while my grandmother teasing him with all her witty Meiteilon phrases. And that teasing would go on till he had washed his hands ...