Never
mind, we 're gonna leave behind what we can't take. Take what you can
and lock the old house. Its walls and thick roof will keep them intact.
We could collect when we return once the future is built elsewhere. You
shouldn't look at everything. The umbilical cord in the earthen pot must
have turned earth. From now on we must learn new things, new practices,
think like what some say they think. A
bigger world is there, why do you cling to that shallow or empty world
in this place? It's one life, and you must live it. The bus leaves soon,
oh we should be thinking train and the bustles of people who have made a
better place. Don't you let me drag you, now. I already feel so rotten
here among these rats! You must overcome , shake it off and start
moving. For chrissake! The house is locked!
Delhi was once Chinglen’s ‘cradle of love’. With his student years over and the love that once comforted his stay has come to a tragic end, he is seized by a strong urge to flee the city. Run as far as he can from the memories of love. As a costly escape is beyond means, he returns to Manipur, a place long marred by protracted violence, a failed revolution, an engineered incessant political chaos, and already neck-deep in corruption. Perhaps to lick his wounds and hide with the beguiled sense. That the distance and the rich bizarre should shield him from the very memories sloshing thick inside him. His attempt to keep himself engaged as well as to make a meagre living lands him a shoddy journalist job and the opportunity to pursue a PhD at the state's only university. In the absence of his laidback editor and opportunistic professor, he teaches himself some degree of creative writing and dabbles in academia. As he moves further into the labyrinth, he learns the hard way that trying...
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