Chp 174. Blaming the victim: Strange Logic.

We live in a World where everybody's a PhD at passing the buck. We either turn a blind eye to the most obvious of reasoning, or blame somebody else who we know are completely innocent. But then, majority rules, right? Let's be democratic and continue oppressing the weak.

Flashback four years ago. Mapuia, a system analyst for a reputed IT Firm in Bangalore, was not allowed to move in to his new apartment by his Landlord when he met him, even though the Landlord had already given his broker the green signal before. The Landlord returned the deposit, refused to sign the affidavit and even offered to pay the broker the one month’s rental fee which Mapuia had to pay to the broker.

Sure, as Indians we are all aware of the “unspoken” discrimination people face when it comes apartment leasing, especially if you are from the North-east, a Muslim, a non-vegetarian Hindu, or even a bachelor/bachelorette. But what was unique about this case was, the Landlord told Mapuia that the reason he couldn’t lease the apartment to him was because he did not want any trouble if somebody from the building called him a “chinky”! An incident like that supposedly took place with his neighbor’s tenants some time ago, and there was a lot of swearing, slugfest and police intervention.

Likewise, 10 years ago it was a known fact that discotheques in Bangalore like "The Club" and a few Pubs didn’t allow "chinkies" to enter their establishments because they usually get into a fight with the unruly drunken crowd after being racially abused. So the management prohibited "chinkies" from entering to avoid violence and also to "protect" us from such racism. Hmmm…

That was 10 years ago. Things are a little bit different now. Nobody stopped me the last time I went to "The Club".

But that is how it has always been for us. If people call us chinkies, it apparently is our fault. Hence we are denied accommodation, denied entry to public and private establishments, denied to enjoy the same basic rights that other Indians have, all in the name of "protecting" us from being racially abused. Yes, I guess I see the logic behind all these. Do you too?

I mean, take a look at how we use that same logic at other incidents. If a woman is raped here in India, people blame the woman. Forget the rapist. Who cares about him. The victim shouldn't have worn tee-shirt and jeans that was screaming out "RAPE ME, RAPE ME PLEASE" right? She was asking for it. If you leave meat out in the open, cats will come to eat it right? She should have worn a full sleeved salwar kameeze. Wait a minute, did somebody say most of the rapes in India take place on women wearing the most traditional attire? Nah, they must have been lying. This is a conspiracy by the ISI or CIA, trying to taint our conservative tradition and heritage (...of the kamasutra).

And if somebody secretly filmed a couple inside their bedroom during their most intimate moment using a spy-cam and then leaked that out in public, the mob ire is directed at the couple (doesn't matter if they are married to each other or not). Meanwhile, most people don't even bother about the pervert who filmed them and distributed the clip.

Or take for example, the recent ongoing IPL cheerleaders controversy. One of the reasons why the moral-police wants them banned is because they supposedly incite sexual aggressiveness among the spectators. Yeah, so if the crowd makes lewd remarks at them and asks them how much they charge for a quickie, it is the cheerleaders' fault! Down with the cheerleaders. All hail the leerleaders.

If I am in a busy public place and a group of guys shout at me: "Chinky", then people around me stare at me! Are they waiting for me to react? To explode? To cry? To laugh? To act as if nothing's happened? To do a crouching tiger hidden dragon war cry? Hiiiaaaaaaooooooo! ??? Why stare at me? Once a shopkeeper even ushered me away after sensing trouble. The one that was asked to leave was ME! Ah yes, the logic. I am the perpetrator for being the victim

Nice.

Now I guess you're also beginning to see the logic.

Remember what happened in Mumbai on NY’s night when two NRI women were molested in public? Yes, I know. How dare they let themselves be molested, right? Shameless women.

Remember Jessica Lall who was shot in a Bar for refusing to serve a customer beyond permit time? Yes, I swear! What was she doing working in a Bar? Women don't belong there. She was asking for it, right?

Remember all those honor-killings? Yes, why did they marry somebody against their family’s wish? tsk tsk tsk…

Remember what happened in Gurgaon when two Mizo girls travelling in a Santro met with an accident? One of them died. While a large majority of Mizo onliners conveyed their condolences, a few people blamed the girls! "What were they doing in a car at 2 in the morning, that too with non-Mizos?" they asked suspiciously.

Ah. Now you see the logic I am trying to make? This logic cuts across all races, all religions, all communities.

Stupid logic.

Maybe sometimes, this logic actually makes a bit of sense. Take for example, red-light areas. At most metros, there are those "officially designated" red-light areas where sex-workers can practice their trade. Keeping in mind the PITA and SITA, you will not find such red-light areas at a respectable residential locality. The locals there will object to it because of the obvious reason that it attracts "unwanted elements".

Now if you really think about it, the same logic is applied here too. Prostitutes are blamed for the trouble makers that they attract, instead of nipping the trouble-makers directly in the bud.

So the question is, where do we draw the line on the use of such logic? And more importantly, WHO draws the line?

And when it comes to such logics, what determines a person’s ability to think alike with others or disagree on various issues? His cultural background? His demographic upbringing? Socioeconomic factors? Amount of experience and exposure to different societies? External influences like friends and family? Level of education? IQ? EQ? PQ?

Whatever be the reason, we still continue to argue and debate over such logics since the dawn of… Online discussion forums. Maybe that’s what life is all about in the end - Eternal opinionated disagreements.

Meanwhile, the victim continues to get blamed...

Chp 173. Memory: A short story.

Another attempt at creative writing... Hope you enjoy.

Update May 20: A few grammatical errors edited by J [Calliopia's Canticles]

Living in a city of skyscrapers and steep rental rates really has its ups and downs. Downs most of the time. Especially when you live on the 10th floor of a newly constructed building in one of the under-developed suburbs of Mumbai with no servants or maids at your disposal. So, travelling up and down 10 stories of flats for simple requirements like eggs and soaps is extremely painful and exhausting, especially with the elevator still out of service!

And today was worse. We had guests. Lots of guests.

First of all, there was my brother-in-law and his new girlfriend, who of course didn't get along immediately with my wife. "What a slut," she whispered to me. "Ummm... yeah I know, it is so slutty to read the entertainment section of the newspaper first before reading the main news section," I whispered back in disgust.

I felt the sharp piercing pinch on my elbow. I ignored it. Two years of marriage and I still can't fathom how she always manage to pinch me at the exact same spot over and over again with laser-guided precision. Two more years of marriage and I'm sure this spot on my arm will be permanently numb.

Then there were my wife's two colleagues at the Call centre - Priyanka and Sagarika. The former is kinda rotund and large, while the latter looks more like Nicole Richie's twin. Asking if one of them has been eating up the other's food is now a clichéd joke. And calling them "Laurella and Hardyna" only invites another pinch from my wife.

The gang was also there. Subs, Nick, Sonam, Jaiswal and my cousin Mapuia. Subs, real name Subramanium, works at Indian Airlines. Nick, real name Nikhil, is a lesser known DJ here in Mumbai, struggling for recognition. Sonam is currently an intern at P&G while Jaiswal works as an event manager for "Exploxion". My cousin Mapuia is a final year student at Don Bosco Arts College and he stays with me and my wife. We all met at our local Gym a year ago and became good friends from then on.

It being a weekend, everybody came over to our new apartment. As soon as Jaiswal entered our apartment, he huffed, "Bastard... Lift." I grinned. After that Priyanka arrived. "My God, you've lost 10 pounds on your way up!" I exclaimed. Then she pinched me exactly on my wife's favorite spot! Is my wife revealing family secrets now, I wondered.

The guys were here to catch the Arsenal-Liverpool match on TV later in the evening. Priyanka and Sagarika were here because they wanted to watch a movie I'd just downloaded. Who knew "Love Story" would be a chick flick? And last but not the least, my wife's brother and his girlfriend were here to drink up all my beer from the fridge, I think.

Having guests today really sucks. First of all, the elevator is still out of service and my young cousin sprained his ankle while playing basketball last week, so that means I have to do all the running up-and-down errands for my guests. And asking my brother-in-law to do all that is hopeless, especially now that he's already locked himself up with his girlfriend inside my cousin's room.

I hate running up and down 10 flats. Not only is it tiring, today is a terribly hot and humid day. And I am also extremely forgetful.

I work for Symancos, dealing with medical transcripts. The beauty of this job is that I can work right from home through the internet, except that right now, there is no internet connection yet in our new apartment. So I have to rely on the internet cafe on the ground floor to complete my work. And whenever I go there with my detachable hard-drive and office documents, dear wife always gives me a list of things to get from the shops below - groceries, toiletries, medicines, cosmetics, etc etc. And the problem is, I always end up forgetting a couple of things!

"Here are the potatoes, onions and cabbages", I'd say. "Where's the ginger?" she'd retort. And down I go again. "Here's the ginger!" I'd exclaim. "And the washing powder?" she'd tilt her head disappointedly, like a proud father watching his son finish last at a 100 metre race on his school's Sports-day.

Once, the three of us (Me, my wife and cousin) didn't brush our teeth for two days because I forgot to buy toothpaste two consecutive times. But hey, don't tell others about that!

The worst incident though, was when I had just finished completing my daily quota of medical transcriptions from the internet cafe and was on my way up, when I suddenly remembered I had to buy a few oranges and two watermelons. I bought those and felt pretty proud about myself for remembering them.

Nobody was home that day, so I walked up slowly, like a soldier returning home from war victoriously, picturing in my mind how I'd display those fruits on the kitchen table for everybody to see. It was only when I reached my apartment that I remembered I had left my keys at the counter of the fruit stall!

And since I could not leave the fruits lying outside my door, I ran down the flight of steps again, four steps at a time, fearing that somebody might take my keys, one hand carrying the oranges with a watermelon tucked between my elbows while the other hand clutched the other watermelon with my detachable hard-drive wrapped around my other arm. It was indeed a funny sight, the neighbourhood kids later said.

Today I told myself I was not going to screw up things any more. There was a 3pm video conference appointment on the net with my immediate superior from New York. Picking up the important documents and my detachable hard-drive, I went up to our guests sitting cozily in our entertainment room.

"If you guys want anything from downstairs, tell me right now and I will go get them. I have a meeting with my boss on the net which won't take long."

"Vim. We are out of dish cleaner. Get a half litre Vim," my wife ordered.

"Mutton sandwich for me," shouted Priyanka, not daring to make any eye contact with me. "And make that with extra cheese," she meekly added.

"Beer for me, boss," Jaiswal said. "Me too," joined Sonam.

"Rum, Old Monk," Subs cried. "Sorry dude," I replied while making sure my brother-in-law was still inside Mapuia's room, "No hard drinks when Paul is in the house, you know the ground rules here."

"Bugger... ok get me beer. But make sure it is strong. Either KF Strong or Haywards 5000."

"Can you please get me a new crepe bandage from the pharmacy? This one is starting to get pretty dirty..."

"Sure thing, Mapui. Anything else, anyone?" I asked.

"Yeah, get some chips and pepsi." Nick said.

"No!" screamed my wife from the Kitchen immediately. "Dinner will be served soon. I am cooking my favorite Mizo dish for you guys and I really want all of you to enjoy it. So, no junk food for anyone now."

Everyone then looked at Priyanka, who had just ordered a sandwich. She returned our jocular stare with the One-finger salute.

"What about those two love birds inside Mapuia's room?" I asked my wife.

"A pack of condoms," Nick whispered.

"I heard that!" screamed my wife again from the Kitchen. "Maybe I'll send those condoms to Anjana’s dad, Jaiswal."

"HEY! Nick said that, not ME!" complained Jaiswal immediately.

I could hear all their laughter as I closed the door behind me. Wish I could stay behind... stupid meeting with stupid boss.

It was truly a humid day. I was already sticky and slimey by the time I reached the fifth floor. Things became much better once I reached the Cyber cafe, with the cold AC air swallowing me up like a man happily drowning in an Oasis right in the middle of a desert.

I plugged in my hard-drive and immediately opened a text document where I typed in all the things I was supposed to get. After that I logged into my Company’s website and waited for my superordinate to come online. He was on time as usual, and 20 minutes later, my work was done.

I took a look at my list again. This time, I was not going to forget anything.

Mutton sandwich with extra cheese. Check.
Ten bottles of light premium beer. Check.
Four pints of strong beer. Check.
Crepe bandages. Check.
Chips and pepsi despite my wife's prohibition. Check.
And oh, I nearly forgot the dish cleaner for the wife. Check.

Boy it felt great! This was probably the first time I ever got everything at one go. Before ascending the 10-storey flight of steps, I checked my pocket again and shook it. It jingled. Ah, my keys were there too. Good good.

So I walked up slowly. The load that I was carrying was heavy, but if it meant seeing an impressed smile upon my wife's face, it was definitely worth it.

"Yo, I'm backkk!"

I gave everybody what they ordered. Even though my wife frowned at the chips and pepsi, when she realized that I had actually remembered everything, she gave me a quick kiss on the cheeks. Yup, it was worth it.

The football match started soon, so we had to eat dinner in front of the TV. I couldn't help making a dig at Subs, who was the only person in the room with children. "See, this is the beauty of not having any children. No need to set any kind of example to the kids, like not eating in front of the TV. See the freedom we have dude..."

"Hah. We'll see." Subs scorned back.

Arsenal won the match, and we all rejoiced as usual. Subs went an extra mile by breakdacing, and Nick suggested we vote him out of our Arsenal Fan Club so as to maintain our honour and dignity.

We watched another football match again after that, but spent most of our time pulling each others' legs. By 10pm, the gang decided it was time to go home. They thanked my wife for the lovely dinner, especially the cultural delicacies, and then left our apartment.

Just as they left, Mapuia who had gone to the loo earlier, stepped into the TV room and asked, "When did Paul and his girlfriend leave???"

"They're gone?" exclaimed my wife. Nobody knew. I could already picture my wife on the phone the next day, complaining to her parents about her brother's incorrigible lifestyle. I guess we all have little black sheeps to deal with in our respective families.

With everybody gone, Priyanka asked in a dramatic tone, "NOW can we watch Love story?"

"Are you sure you really wanna watch it?" I protested. "Comon, let's watch something else, like Die Hard or ... The Ring."

"Love Story!" Priyanka and Sagarika retorted in great unison. I wondered if they had practiced that line before coming over to our place.

The missus then spoke, "Just put on the movie. You guys made us all sit through a boring..."

I stared at my wife, putting on my best theatrical performance... "Gasp!"

"Fine fine. You made us sit through an exciting football match. It was so exciting that we nearly slept. Now it's our turn, Mister-I-remembered-everything-for-once."

"Alright alright. There's no need for sarcasm." I smiled back. "But you'll all have to watch it in our bedroom on the computer."

"That's fine by us," Sagarika said. Priyanka added, "Just tell me which side of the bed do you sleep so that I can sit there and..."

"Bleh bleh bleh," I stuck out my tongue at Pri.

"Move on to the computer then," I told them. "I'll have to copy the movie to the computer because it is still in my detachable hard-dri..."

Oh oh.

My hard-drive!

...

Oh crap...

Chp 172. The Dark side

A queasy look.
A whiff of cologne.
Scent of betrayal,
bedlam in my soul.

One glance says it all,
One breath,
utters more lies.
One smile, an imposter.

I have died,
two Winters ago.

Lies fueled by other lies,
they conquer.
Insanity,
eating me alive.

Love, annihilated.

Trapped in Incubus,
no escape.
Forever maimed.
Forever scarred.

Life,
a psychedelic Hell.

Darkness,
so strong, so virile!
sweetly beckoning,
with such mellifluous tone,
so... seductive
so... irresistible.

Chaos, my new serenity.
Turmoil, my concubine.
Malevolence, my prayer.
Compassion, my nemesis.

I crave, that grave.
That sweet dark melody,
of such magnificent gloom.
Ah.. release me.
Hades, fly me home.

A single sigh,
betrays all that we had.
A single moan,
strangles me from within.
Dying, yet again,
every minute, every second.

Falling,
from grace, me.
Squirming,
with ecstasy, you.

Treachery,
tastes so sweet. Like honey.
Vengeance, so bewitching.

Bitter sweet Poison, this vial.
No desire,
ever felt so strong.
Like the scarlet temptress,
it draws me nearer,
closer to an eternal Bliss
of agony, of pain.

But no Sins of mine, I'll atone,
for I hope, to see you again,
my Darling.

In Hell.

Chp 171. Limericks of Mizo Onliners

Limericks! Love them. Traditional rule of Limericks states that in a 5-line Stanza, line number 1, 2 and 5 should rhyme, and likewise line 3 and 4 should rhyme, hence following the format A-A-B-B-A.

Well, here is my humble attempt at composing a few limericks of some of the regular Mizo onliners that I know (mostly from misual.com, lawrkhawm.com and the unforgettable zoram.com and izawl.com days. *sigh*).

I found a lot of amazing people at all these websites, who became more than just online buddies to me. They became my best friends, my mentors, my siblings, and my soulmates, friends who made me smile and laugh and appreciate life. This is a tribute to all of you, in my own special way of light humor, and hoping to continue such a wonderful relationship for a long long time. Cheers.

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There once was a guy called Jimmy,
whose face you'll find extremely funny.
He came to Aizawl looking for a bride,
but his true impulses he could not hide.
Now poor Ateii will soon be a mummy.

There once was a guy called Amos,
working in Bangalore like a horse.
Everytime he has a new girlfriend,
she dumps him over the weekend.
Ooops, there goes another he just lost.

There once was a girl called Cherrie,
always smiling and making merry.
She wore a spaghetti to class one day,
urging her students to have their say.
Too bad she didn't know, her armpits were hairy.

There once was a guy called Ben,
who really fancied a lot of women.
So he created misual.com,
hoping he will score at home.
3 years later he's still waiting for "it" to happen.

There once was a guy called Spikey,
break-dancing away in New Jersey.
He's really good at Bboying,
his back-flip spins are amazing.
Seems he's now going around with Britney.

There once was a guy called Aryan,
fighting with everyone, like the ancient Mayan.
Oh he praises Australia sooooo much,
criticizing every Mizo custom as such.
Now he's happily married, to an aussie called Ryan.

There once was a girl called Ammi,
a fashion designer with a slim tummy.
I always used go to her apartment just to chill,
b'coz there are many models there on the pill.
Now she no longer invites me to play rummy.

There once was a guy called Simjazz,
king of mizo IRC, loved by all the lass.
He was getting cosy with a sweet young girl,
in a cyber cafe and was just about to hurl,
but unfortunately due to his age, he passed gas.

There once was a guy called Alexxfender,
why the "double X" we always used to wonder.
And then Virgo told us the story,
about his short Hollywood history.
He once acted in a "movie" wearing only a suspender.

There once was a girl called Molotov,
a great photographer, she was no oaf.
Young men from afar came to her room,
hoping that she might select a groom.
But alas, when they saw her, away they drove.

There once was a guy called moimoi,
trust me, he's old, like a SantaClaus toy.
When we asked him his age,
he looked at us with full rage.
Then he took his walking cane and cried "Oi".

There once was a guy called Vana,
some might say his head's like a banana.
He works at Pachhunga College,
chasing girls who are half his age.
When we asked him why, he said b'coz he wanna.

There once was a guy called father_sphinx,
Young and a virgin, he approached a minx.
He may be the leader of the Sphinx Clan,
but whenever he speaks, all the girls ran.
So he cried, "Being only 16 is such a jinx."

There once was a girl called Shahnaz,
who went to Vienna to spend Christmas.
She usually gets her french wrong,
especially the words that are long.
She once asked what's a trois-à-ménage.

There once was a guy called The Chhamanator,
trying his best to look like the Terminator.
His girlfriend he tried to impress,
with shiny teeth and smart tress.
Too bad, she told him he looks like an alligator,

There once was a girl called Poison_ivy,
whose hair was all curled up and wavy.
One day she told her friend Jason,
that for him she has deep affection.
The next day, Jason went and joined the Navy.

There once was a girl called Jigry,
while she's at work, she's always hungry.
Working in AOL seems such a drab,
At the cafeteria, everything she grab.
When it comes to food, she got a Master's degree.

There once was a guy called Isaac,
who claims he's good in the sack.
You might know him as "Jupiter",
who loves to play his spanish guitar.
Too bad the guitar's a "part" of Jack.

There once was a girl called Cute_lady,
who detested anything that was shady.
She goes to Church regularly,
helping out all the Mizo elderly.
Until one day she got a proposal, from the priest's daddy.

There once was a guy called DaGGyLo,
partying like a dawg, flirting with the ho.
Believe me, he raps really well,
but only the GUYS find him swell.
Because from behind, he looks like J Lo.

There once was a guy called Bekang^roll,
oh man, he looks exactly like a Troll.
His drinks capacity you will doubt,
b'coz he always end up passing out.
That's his excuse, for putting it in the wrong hole.

There once was a girl called Jes,
A kind and loving mother no less.
She finally decided, "no more children",
because she can't handle all the burden.
Hence tonight, Rob's hand will be a mess.

There once was a guy called Rob,
an IAS he may be, but still a slob.
He said, "Don't steal other's girlfriend,"
"Because you will regret it in the end."
It's been 10 years, and Jes still screams out "Oh.. Bob".

There once was a guy called Zorun,
for many readers, he's a real boon.
He writes a levelheaded comment,
that is liked by everybody present.
But in his photos, damn he looks like a goon.

There once was a guy called Philo,
A great writer always on the go.
He has an immense vocabulary,
and sounds like a walking dictionary.
That's why he's still single, like The Simpson's Moe.

There once was a guy called Lal,
who is crazy about bekang and dal.
One night he was out with Miss Hmar,
who suddenly unbuttoned inside the car.
Within seconds, he crashed into a wall.

There once was a girl called superstar,
who lives at a locality very very far.
Whenever she says, "come over here"
we always ask if there will be beer.
Because you see, her fridge is a mini-bar.

There once was a guy called mnowluck,
when it comes to romance, he kinda suck.
He had an immense crush on superstar,
and sent her a heart made from tar.
Now everyone wonders, did he and she ....

There once was a guy called Sekibuhchhuak,
Its gonna be hard, to find what rhymes with "huak".
Anyway, he's from a place called Saikhamakawn,
where he tried to woo a girl just around dawn.
Too bad, when the girl saw him, she went "uaaakk".

There once was a girl called Virgochhas,
when it comes to love, she's really fast.
Everybody's scared to quarrel with her,
because when she talks, it's like thunder.
Now that she's married, some arguments she pass.

There once was a girl called Jinx,
working in China with all the Mings.
She had a crush on John for about a year,
so she showed him her nunchuks and spear.
Too bad John wasn't into those type of kinks.

There once was a girl called Jerusha,
who chanced to meet the Iranian Shah.
They dated each other in Hyderabad,
where she discovered something hard.
Now she's in Iran, working as a Geisha.

There once was a guy called Sandman,
Handsome and well-built like a He-Man.
All the women wants to marry him,
All the mothers want him as a son.
Ah, you really think I was going to make fun of myself? :-P

Cheers, and hope you like them. Peace out, everyone. Love you all.

Chp 170. Ouch, Jimmy bites the dust.

aka Chp 170. Jimmy Balls & Chain.

During my recent stay in Aizawl, I learnt that one of my closest friends Jimmy (aka "BlackWhite" in the online World) is going to tie the knot next month. And the future "Mrs. Lawrkhawm.com" turned out to be none other than my second-cousin!

Bummer. Hence when I met the "soon-to-be-happily-arguing" couple at "David's Kitchen" the other day, I couldn't quip most of the sleazy jokes that I had planned before, because somehow the fact that she's my cousin definitely took the fun (and comfort) out of such jokes.

wainch!

How long do you think they will smile like this? Ladbrokes placed the odds at 1:9

I still can't believe my "bradaaar" Jimmy is getting married. Even Jimmy himself can't believe he's getting married. To me, Jimmy has always been the Epitome of bachelorhood, the Champion of individualism, the swashbuckling Knight in shining armour who prefers spending the night at the local Tavern alone rather than saving Damsels in distress.

If he saw a ferocious fire-breathing Dragon chasing a fair maiden, he'd probably exclaim in his trademark expression, "Eh, screw it" and get back to his mug of Ale. Or take out his medieval mobile-phone and start calling up all his friends mumbling incoherently about how the Dragon reminds him of his mid-life crisis and how there is no longer any fire burning...

He's like those comical balding middle-aged characters you find in a typical American TV sitcom whose attempt at dating other women always goes down the drain because he's too accustomed to being single, or being himself.

It's true, most of the friends I have today are people I came across on the Net. That includes Jimmy too. But however, Jimmy claims that he never met her online, and she too claims she hardly comes online. So the mystery question is, how did these two meet? I know for a fact that Jimmy has four active profiles at shaadi.com and two other matrimonial websites, but my cousin Ateii isn't the type of person who'd do that, so the question remains.

I still remember Jimmy telling me on the phone a long time back that he's never going to get married because marriage is such a rocky road and he has to sacrifice so many things, but he won't remember telling me that, if you know what I mean. (He also told me that his all-time favorite movie is "Brokeback Mountain" but he won't remember telling me that either.)

It's as if Jimmy suddenly woke up one fine morning, stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, and then threw his blanket down and jumped out of bed while uttering, "Eh, screw it. I'm getting married."

And after that, he roamed the streets of Aizawl, still in his flowery pyjamas and white VIP inner banian, armed with a club and a sack, hunting for a wife. You gotta cut Jimmy some slack because he hasn't dated anyone in a looooong time and he still thinks that's the method people use to look for a wife. I didn't have the heart to tell him that people today use AK-47s and grenades. Man, he's so prehistoric.

Anyway, he chanced upon the unfortunate Ateii during his hunt and whacked her real hard on the head and threw her inside his sack and carried her home; After that incident, one cannot really blame Ateii for falling for Jimmy. I am not talking about the Stockholm syndrome. Its the head injury I am talking about; I've heard of instances when people think they are Napoleon Bonaparte or Elvis Presley after a knock on the head...

Moving on to that day at "David's Kitchen", Ateii and I mentally connected immediately. Its a cousin-cousin thingie. I looked at her, raised my eyebrows and asked her through telepathy, "Why oh why, why Jimmy of all the people? Which part of him do you find attractive?" and she replied using the same telepathic channel, "Have you ever seen the movie King Kong?"

So here is me, raising my glass to the betrothed couple. Their marriage is on the 14th of May, at Delhi. Jimmy doesn't want to get married in Mizoram because he doesn't know how to say "I do" in Mizo, or something like that. *BIG GRIN* I wish them all the best in their endeavor.

Right now Jimmy is in Chennai, looking for a house to rent so that they can move there after the marriage. I tried calling him many times, but most of the time he is busy washing the dishes, scrubbing the floor, rinsing the clothes, sweeping the ceiling etc etc, which Ateii claims is "practice". Just a thought though: If Jimmy is already like this BEFORE the marriage, then may God have mercy on him after the marriage. :-)

All in all, I just hope lawrkhawm.com doesn't become another zoram.com. We all know what happened to zoram.com after the Admin got married (to LDP) - The website became defunct. Hopefully, lawrkhawm.com won't go down that same path, and mercifully, maybe Ateii will allow Jimmy to come online everyday for at least 2 minutes. Keeping my fingers crossed here.

Hoping to make it to Delhi on the 14th. Might be a bit difficult, with so many other schedules and appointments to keep, but then, Eh, screw it.

Chp 169. Hurt is Love

Dedicated to all the broken-hearted, the sore break-ups, the single malt of coffee, the ineffective sleeping pills, the long harsh nights, the placebo substitutes, the numerous unanswered calls, the poetic whisky lullaby, and all the painful memories impossible to forget. Remember, you are not Alone.

---------------------------------------------

A moment of doubt,
A moment of truth,
Trouble in Paradise,
T’is but the end of a sweet Journey.

Two candles no longer burn,
Two seasons no longer merge,
Two souls no longer entwine,
One and one, on separate Paths.

Fire feels so cold,
Passion feels so numb,
Laughter feels so distant,
Love is hurt, Hurt is love.

Redemption of a charmless appeal,
Compunction of myriad time wasted,
Salvation of a spirit lost in oblivion,
Execution of a human soul, over and over again.

Starvation.
Hunger.
Pain.
All fused into One.

Affection.
Warmth.
Hope.
Forever lost in Eternity.

The road ahead, is murky and dark.
My strength is gone, my Will debilitated.
Yet a single falter, only means my own Knell.
Move on... move on... move on.

Time flies by so slowly, so dizzily,
Worsened even further, by images in my head.
Ugly images, distorted images,
Hurling me into a phantasmagorical reality.

Love is free, and yet it has a price.
The price of one’s sanity, grinded to bits.
The price of one’s optimism, mashed to pieces.
The price of one’s vivacity, blown to smithereens.

Now the nightingale sings so coarse,
The sunrise looks so gray,
The red rose smells so fetid,
The honey tastes so bland.

Forsaken by love, abandoned by trust,
Oh hands of fate, humour me.
Disclose to me, thy satirical deviltry,
So that I may endure, this eternal Purgatory.

In the end, love screweth us all.
Commitments and Promises, all uttered in vain.
The Oracle doth deceive,
The happily-forever doth delude.

Show me a couple, madly in Love,
And I’ll show you five, wallowing in misery.
Show me chaste, I’ll show you debauchery.
Show me trust, I’ll show you betrayal.

Thimna ni.
Chatuan lunglen.
Pialrâl chakawm.
Biahthu thamral.

Red turns to sepia, Sepia turns to brown,
Brown turns to gray, Gray turns to black.
T’is a tragicomedy, how Black turns to Red again,
But oh, such a different shade of Red!

The wheels of time, churn with cruelty.
Déjà vu of the Past, with the same old Pain.
It’s a wicked cycle, these affairs of the Heart.
It shows no mercy, nor compassion, nor remorse.

Love seems so obscure now, like a forgotten Myth,
Tucked away firmly, beneath the Fountain of youth,
Next to the Elixir of life, on that crystal-clear Brook,
Flowing without haste, at a surreal Kingdom yonder.

There amidst the valley so lush and green,
Guarded fiercely by dark-angels and dark-seraphs,
The nefarious Magi inflicts his Curse on Love,
And sends it out again, to ensnare innocent victims.

Love has hurt us all, in unspeakable ways,
Torturing our minds, in unimaginable manner,
Yet that is the greatest irony of Love,
For there can be no Love, if there is no Pain.

Move on, if you stumble and fall,
For the World is full of people like You.
And when the Saints do come out marching,
The Fallen shall inherit the Earth.

** This is especially for you, cousin. Dry your tears.

** Commenting is disabled for this post. Sorry.

Chp 168. Birthday High

I’ve just celebrated my birthday a couple of days ago. Man, I was high. Extremely high.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent any of my birthdays that high before. It felt kinda great, though a little bit tiring the next day from all that high effect. Seriously, it was such a different experience, being so high... at least 8000 metres above sea level high.

They say people should go the distance on their birthdays. I went for a distance of more than 2500 kms on my birthday. In the end, I clearly did not see what the big deal was about going such a distance. All I felt was tired.

Heh. So that was how I spent my birthday - On a direct flight from Aizawl to Mumbai. I reached Lengpui Airport so early that there were hardly any security personnel around. You gotta love being the most peaceful state in the North-east. There is so much more freedom and liberty as compared to the rest of North-east or even the rest of India for that matter.

I reached Kolkata Airport and there was the 12-hours bandh declared by the Trinamool Congress. Hence I couldn’t meet a couple of my friends in Kolkata. I reached Mumbai Airport and there was the 72-hours strike declared by the auto-wallas the next day. Blimey, these curfews and strikes seem to be following me everywhere.

I had to come to Mumbai again suddenly because my sister met with an accident last week - Her auto rammed into a bus and her head dented the bumper of the bus while smashing the headlights totally. Fortunately, the bus is not in such a bad shape; the mechanic said it will take a week to repair it.

My sister is not in a critical condition either. After staying with her in the hospital for a couple of days, she was discharged yesterday. She still cannot walk yet, but she can now open her eyes (which she couldn’t before due to the concussion and stitches on her forehead).

The day I reached Mumbai, I went straight to the hospital. My sister, deeply hurt and injured as she was, still managed to plan a birthday cake for me along with her friends and a couple of nurses. I find that really sweet of her but extremely unnecessary too. Anyway, it was an amazing chocolate fudge cake and I blew out the candles amidst my meek protests.

I must say a deep and meaningful thank-you to all my sister’s well-wishers and people who wished me a happy birthday here on my blog, my mail, and my orkut profile. Even though I’ve stopped appreciating my birthdays a long time ago (because nobody likes to grow older after 18) I guess deep inside we all still love being remembered by family and close friends.

I don’t know how long I will be in Mumbai, but I plan to make the best use of it. My main priority now is to take care of my sister – cater to her demands, exercise her legs, carry her to the loo, read her a novel, adjust her leg-pillow, and feed her. Oh, did I not mention that I am a great cook? Hehehe. Thanks to my short stay in Delhi, I now know how to make rice, dal, fry potatoes and boil smoked-pork. Now people who eat what I cook hardly complain of stomach-aches or diarrhoea anymore. And my sister, who still cannot walk, now has no other option but to put her trust in God and hope somebody did a good job in teaching me how to cook. Lolz.

It’s also good to be back in Mumbai where I can finally watch “AXN India” again instead of the “AXN Hong Kong” that we get in Mizoram, which is blacked-out half the time and which I’m probably sure is an illegal broadcast.

Watching TV in Mumbai also means skipping past gazillion number of regional channels, but I still feel that is better than skipping past local channels in Mizoram that are broadcasting yet another mushy Korean movie.

It’s not that I have anything against the Koreans. I just hate those romantic movies of theirs, that’s all. I love Korean action flicks. So I guess I love three Korean movies.

Apart from taking care of my sister, I plan to continue my workout whenever I can. One year in Delhi gave me a protruding pot-belly, and one month of intense basketball training in Mizoram took all that away. I am definitely not looking forward to going back to that Delhi physique.

Looking for a morning jogging partner here in Mumbai. If you happen to live near my place in Jogeshwari East (very slim chance) and happen to read this blog post of mine (extremely slim chance, tending to negative infinity), then please do let me know. I would love to jog with somebody in the morning.

So long for now.

- 9930961576 (My new Mumbai number).

Chp 167. Look Ma, no stamina!

Today was my litmus test, and I failed miserably. Ever since I got back to Mizoram, I’ve been extremely busy preparing my aging bones and muscles for the prestigious “All Mizoram YMA (Young Mizo Association) Basketball Tournament”. I didn’t even have time to blog because of that.

I started running again for the past 3 weeks, training myself for this tournament. I felt I had to prove myself at the court again, even though I haven’t played basketball for more than 5 years now.

And today we played our first match. We lost embarrassingly. And what is even more embarrassing for me was that I scored just 3 points during the entire game.

I met a lot of people I used to play basketball with during my hey days at the court today. Most of them are now married, fat, or both. They saw me at the court today and they exclaimed in surprise “You still play!!??” I grinned back at them uncomfortably.

1997 was a magical year for me. It was the year I led my team (JL Vision) to victory at the Mizoram BB Tournament (there was no YMA tournament back then) putting an end to the reigning champion Zarkawt Falcons’ domination over the game. I was adjudged the best player of Mizoram that same year. Ah, what wonderful memories back then. Sniff sniff.

But then, 1997 is 11 years ago. I am no longer the player I once used to be. Forget dunking, I can’t even jump and touch the freaking board now. My two USPs were that I could play the position of “guard” at defence but play “post-up” at offence too (the position that tall “centres” play), and nobody could block my fade-away shots. Now I cannot even do either.

Aging is truly a sinking feeling. What hurts the most is that, in our mind we picture ourselves doing a particular action because we’ve done it a million times before, but in reality we just simply cannot do it. After the match, I just felt like jumping off a cliff. That’s how depressed I was. But then I thought again, I won’t even be able to do that.

To err is human. Sometimes we do have an off-day during any match. At least we know where we went wrong, learn from our mistakes, and try not to repeat that in the next match. But what happens when you know your mistake is that you’ve been pushed to the limit of your capabilities? All hope seem so lost right then.

My childhood friends keep telling me that I am in self-denial about my age, refusing to accept the fact that I am now… old. But isn’t that what most people do too? We try to keep up with all the music and lingo of today’s young generation, while fiercely protecting our own “youth culture” of our era.

Funny thing today was, not just my teammates but the opponents all called me “u Kima” (“watch u Kima carefully” or “don’t let u Kima shoot”). The prefix “u” pronounced “ooh”, is used before a person’s name as a mark of respect in our Mizo culture to call somebody much older than the one who is calling. Jeez, I am an “u Kima” to all these people now. I don’t even know whether to cry or scream.

Anyway I decided today that I am retiring from professional basketball. It hurts to bid adieu to my greatest passion but my body is just no longer able to take all the stress and endurance. Damn you, Age.

I felt so bad disappointing my teammates who had so much expectation from me today. Sadly I couldn’t even deliver a single itsy-bitsy component of those expectations. Our YMA General Secretary told me before the match that I would not be substituted because I had to lead the youngsters in our team to play their best. Alas, I had to be substituted 6 times because I could no longer run. Damn you, stamina.

I just want know whether you, my respected reader, have ever given up on something you cherish deeply because you are now too old to do that. How did it feel like when you had to let go of it? Does it hurt as much as the feeling you get when all your hope is crushed into smithereens? Is there any support group for such people who are so down in the dumps that life becomes a tad meaningless?

I look at some of the guys I used to play with 15 years ago. Most of them are pot bellied and bald now. Is it finally time to join their ranks? I look at the guys I am playing with today. Some of them were not even born 15 years ago. They are still in school while I’ve at least graduated as an engineer and had a lot of other experiences in life. Poetic justice?

Getting old sometimes really sucks. Sometimes the cruel hands of time play mean tricks on our physical agility. And I found out about that today. The hard way.

Chp 166. Shakedown at Lengpui Airport

Landed in Aizawl yesterday, weary and dazed,
After 11 months in Delhi, filled with magic.
Flew past myriad lumbering gigantic clouds
A view guaranteed, to take your breath away;
And into the valley of mist and gorges
where Lengpui airport suddenly appears in sight

Took two steps outside the rickety ‘ol plane
And smelled the cool air so clear and crispy -
A mixture of summer and winter aroma
Both battling for domination, the latter succumbing.
And also a whiff of flimsy smoke and haze,
produced by the farms which were burnt for yield.

Was stopped by the cops, near the terminal exit.
“What’s in your bag?” they inquired menacingly.
“Books, clothes and computer,” I meekly replied.
One officer poked my bag with his stick,
while the other studied my face and height (!)
“Open it!” they commanded eventually.

As I fumbled for my keys and dignity,
I felt relieved in many ways.
Sure glad I’ve quit drinking my life away,
for there ain’t no booze in my bag.
Sure glad yesterday was a “dry day” in Delhi
for I couldn’t bring home booze for my friends.

After a futile search, they apologized,
and explained why they had to search me.
My bags were large, unusually very large,
as I took with me, all I had from Delhi.
They weren’t searching for alcohol or drugs,
they just thought that I was a “sumdawng”!

As I left the cops, all smiley and friendly,
I realized how ridiculous this seemed to me.
Mizoram, a state where alcohol is illegal,
Yet with a porous source of supply at the airport.
And when the cops do check your bags there,
They check for shoes and clothes, not booze!
----



Footnotes for my non-Mizo readers:

Sumdawng = An entrepreneur who usually buys the goods (clothes, shoes, accessories etc) himself/herself from other markets at a low rate and then carries the goods with him/her back to Mizoram so that he/she can sell it there with a large profit margin. They cut out the middlemen in the supply chain for profit maximization, à la “American Gangster” movie.

This however, is not allowed because they have to pay taxes for such goods entering Mizoram, which they shrewdly avoid by claiming the goods to be of personal belonging or asking other passengers with lesser luggage to carry the goods for them, until they get past the custom and tax officers.

Dry day - 2nd March, Sunday, 2008 – The day before I left Delhi was a “dry-day” (all wine-shops in Delhi NCR closed) due to some Punjabi festival.

Chp 165. Chinky: Confused Nationality.

I think one of the most confused unsung communities here in India these days are the Arunachalis.

At one side, there is that situation of the big bad bully China flexing its muscles and claiming many parts of Arunachal Pradesh to be a part of its territory, while India tries its diplomatic best to convince the rest of India (and the World) that Arunachal Pradesh is indeed a part of India. And thus follows a volley of hard hitting tirades by experts, politicians, diplomats, patriots, journalists and bloggers, condemning China and promising never to let go of Arunachal Pradesh.

Feb 8, 2008: Arunachal is ours, PM can go there: India to China

And then at the other side, the average Arunachali comes to this part of the Country, Delhi, the Nation’s proud Capital, maybe to meet all those people who have warmly supported him and vowed to protect him from the Chinese aggression. And what does he find here? People openly mocking him because of his “strange foreign looks”, racially abusing him as “chinky” and rudely telling him to “go back to China”.

Feb 17, 2008: Arunachal students beaten up and told to go back to China

Just how do you think that person would feel? When he goes back to Arunachal Pradesh, what do you think he will be telling his family, his friends, his neighbors, his village panchayat raj, who are all eager to listen to the tales of his journey to Delhi that they cannot afford? What will be their general mindset about the rest of India then?

You can’t blame him for creating a generalization based on that unfortunate incident alone, because to him, that’s what affects him the most and that’s what lingers in his memory the deepest. He already felt alienated enough to be so “different” in Delhi, now he’s being discriminated because of that difference, with nobody else from the “other side” stepping up to assure him that that’s not the attitude of every other Indians. Can you picture the image of Delhi he’ll be painting to the others back home? What will their reaction be?

Frankly, I won’t be surprised if they turn against India. And when they do, they will be branded as terrorists, hunted out like dogs and silenced forever with nobody ever questioning why he took that path in the first place. I mean, who cares, right? After all, we’re talking about the North-East and he was attacking the Indian Constitution and the integrity of our proud Indian Nation, right? To the rest of India, this incident will just be another brick on the troubled NE wall.

Feb 16, 2008. MID-DAY reports:
5 N-E students assaulted after racial abuse

"We were preparing for the celebrations on February 20. Our friends went to the market to get their cell phone recharged when the shopkeepers racially abused them by calling them 'chinkies'. After an altercation, the local shopkeepers stabbed one of the students. They also used knife, iron rods and bamboo sticks to beat up the students. Chanakyapuri is considered to be a high security zone and even then, an incident like this has happened," Tabataka said.

The Hindu, on the other hand, downplayed the entire incident.

Eleven shopkeepers have been arrested by the Chanakyapuri police here on charges of assaulting some students from Arunachal Pradesh on Friday night. The police said the students had gathered at Aruchanal Bhawan for the State Day celebrations on February 20. They had gone to the local market for shopping around 9 p.m. As some shopkeepers passed objectionable comments on them, a brawl ensued in which the students were assaulted. Some of them were taken to RML Hospital.

On certain occasions, toning down sensitive incidents is a wise thing to do, especially when the incident is communal in nature. That’s where you draw the thin red line between serious journalism and sensational journalism. But in this case, do you think it is really necessary to muffle down the incident? Anyone reading “The Hindu” would wonder, what could be the “objectionable comment” that was uttered. Probably “maa ki”, à la Harbhajan Singh, without ever knowing how much the word “chinky” hurts us, that to be jeered a “chinky” when we are silently minding our own business is nothing but racism.

Racism begets racism.

Take it from experience and observation. In Mizoram, most of the older folks, around the age group of 50+ are still skeptical of every non-Mizo because the memories of the Indian Army “aggression” during the early 60’s are still fresh in their minds. Bombs raining down continuously on innocent towns and villages, day in and day out, gory tales of rape and murder, inhumane treatment at the makeshift prisons, all of which started because of the hungry little bamboo rat.

Refer previous post: Chp 148. Mizoram: The Truth.

And then comes the next generation. And the next. Such generations are supposed to heal the scars inflicted through the passage of time. After all, the past is the past. There is no point in hating somebody for what one’s ancestors did to another’s ancestors a long time ago.

And so these new generations of Mizos travel around to other parts of the Country. Their Country, according to their history and geography books. The Central Government seems to welcome such an initiative, encouraging more exoduses of people, mainly in the name of education. The 7 and a half percent reservation for ST in the educational and central services makes it even smoother for Mizos and other people from the North-east to assimilate with the Mainstream population.

But once they get here, things aren’t always peaches and pie. Most people just expect them to let go of their respective cultures, traditions and heritages and practice only the traditions followed by the majority. And when the North-east students find it difficult to let go of their traditions (would you let go of yours if someone asks you to?), then they are labeled as “trying to be different” and branded as outcasts.

So, almost everywhere, northeast students find it easier to bond with other northeast students, regardless of whether they are from Mizoram, Arunachal or Nagaland (which many people STILL think is one entity) rather than bond with Mainstream Indians because of the way they are treated.

I love being in a multi-ethnic group. We once got into a pub-brawl a long time ago, when one drunken jerk came over to our table and insulted two of our south-Indian friends as “bloody pandis”. Just like that, with no reason of any provocation from our side. So we simply retaliated. Ah we were young, hot-blooded and united, those juvenile years.

But then, one outgrows that fist-fight stage as one matures. What I have observed now whenever I am in a single-ethnic group and some asshole shouts at us in public “chinky” or “ching chong, go back to China” or sometimes “go back to Chinkistan” (what the heck does “Chinkistan” mean? Chinky + Hindustan???), I have never had any support from the others around me. Most of them just stare at me (ME! Not the freaking guy who said that and is laughing his ass out), while some of them giggle and walk on.

The only time somebody ever helped me (and I remember this so well because it was the ONLY time) was in Mumbai when a nice middle-aged aunty with a curly bob-cut (the kind of stereotype Catholic Goan aunty that we see in our Hindi movies with names like Mrs. D’Costa, Mrs. D’Cruz or Mrs. D’Souza, who is full of compassion and grace) shouted at those four guys making fun of me in a very rebuking tone: “EXCUZE ME!!!” and they ran away before she could say anything else. Then she looked at me and I looked at her and nodded a thank you and both of us walked on. Life goes on.

The MNS has been heavily criticized by the Nation for beating up non-Maharashtrians and forcing them to go back to their respective “homes”. And so those “immigrants” flee back to UP, Bihar, Orissa and other Indian States. But when other Indians beat up people from North-east India and tell us to go back to China, oh please, do tell me, how can we do that? We are NOT from China, we don’t speak the same language, most of us don’t even follow the same religion (Mizoram, Nagaland and Meghalaya are Christian majority states).

Just like how people tell Muslims to go back to Pakistan, taunting a person from the North-east to go back to China is equally absurd. If the Government is really interested in creating a better relationship between people from the North-east and Mainland India, it first needs to revise its educational system at the root. And it needs to inform its crooked Delhi cops to stop victimizing people from the North-east, especially women from the North-east (please, don’t get me started on this one).

Until then, I will continue fighting for the rights of the North-eastern people. Maybe something similar to the Blank Noise Project can be initiated, which deals with the plight of the North-east student in your city. You have the power to make the difference, my friend. The next time you see a North-east girl/guy being racially abused in public, step up. And when that victim sees somebody from the “other side” coming to his/her aid, the preconceived notion borne by most north-east students is bound to change.

Whether you’re from Tamilnadu or Haryana or Maharashtra or Karnataka or Jammu & Kashmir, I beseech you not to be a mute spectator the next time you see somebody from the North-east being treated appallingly. I always get involve when I see injustice of any form or just to help an old lady cross the street regardless whether they belong to this community or that community, not just because of mere good intentions alone, but also because I believe in karma, so that somewhere out there, someone is returning the favor to somebody from the North-east.

I have to go to Court now, for I’ve just received news of yet another rape attempt by a group of students from Haryana, this time on a Manipuri girl, after her brother was beaten up and locked up in his room. Just another normal day for me. Sigh.

Ps. I’m not a lawyer. I’m just going to Court to meet my lawyer friends for more information regarding this incident.

Pps. North-East Support Centre website has not yet updated these two incidents about the Arunachal guys and Manipuri girl yet, because they are grossly understaffed as of the moment. You might not be able to get through to most of the numbers listed on the Support helpline, as most of them are volunteers (students) who have other important things to do too, like exams and assignments. Your understanding will be much appreciated. Thank you.

Chp 164. Happy Valentine’s Porn

Ah. The proverbial question that has been asked a zillion times to the ladies: “Why oh why for the love of God did you ever allow him to take a picture?”

But hardly do those same people ask the guys: “Why did you take the picture?” for it is a known fact that most guys like to keep “trophies”. As if it is a given that every guy is bound to take such a snap or video of their sexcapade. Hence everything comes down to the girl – the blame, the fault, the sin.

What am I talking about? Oh yes. I am talking about the latest sex scandal to hit the cyber village. Edison Chen.

• shanghaiist.com: Edison Chen, Bobo Chan, Gillian Chung and Cecilia Cheung embroiled in Hong Kong's biggest sex photo scandal ever
• shanghaiist.com: The Edison Chen sex scandal rages on with more pictures released by mystery man
• shanghaiist.com: Jolin Tsai, Maggie Q, Vincey Yeung sucked into Edison Chen scandal; Gillian Chung admits involvement

Ah. Edison Chen. I remember him so well from Infernal Affairs, part 1, 2 and 3, and also as the reporter Eason who helps out Aubrey in one of my all-time favorite horror flicks “The Grudge 2”. I haven’t seen much of his movies other than that, except for a brief cameo role as a waiter in “The Medallion” (featuring my Idol Jackie Chan) and “Vampire Effect” (also known as “The Twins Effect”) again with good ‘ol Jackie.

Some time ago, our Hong Kong based actor/pop-icon went to a computer repair shop and that is how the pictures in his hard-drive supposedly leaked. And oh my, what pictures! The Paris Hilton – Pamela Anderson scandals are nothing compared to the magnitude of this current scandal.

Some of the women said to be involved in this scandal are Gillian Chung, Cecilia Cheung, Mandy Chen, Bobo Chan, Vincy Yeung, Maggie Q, Rachel Ngan, Candice Shan etc including many women whose identity are still not known.

I have copied this table with the code (minus the links) directly from Wikipedia:

Person Involved	Names per source		Photo count as of
	Traditional	Simplified	10 Feb 2008
Gillian Chung Yan-tung	鍾欣桐	钟欣桐	104
Bobo Chan Man-woon	陳文媛	陈文媛	116
Cecilia Cheung Pak-chi	張栢芝	张柏芝	143
Rachel Ngan Wing-sze	顏穎思	颜颖思	11
Mandy Chen Yu-ju	陳育嬬	陈育嬬	40
Candice Chan Si-wai	陳思慧	陈思慧	48
Vincy Yeung Wing-ching	楊永晴	杨永晴	3
Total			465

That is the sheer magnitude of this scandal. Even though HK police so far have nabbed 9 people said to be responsible for this leak, the main person behind all this, known only by his code name: KIRA, is still running loose and challenging the cops to catch him and promising the netizens that more pictures will be uploaded later. He boasts of having more than 1500 pictures of Edison’s past sexcapades and that many other celebrities are involved.

2 years ago, I blogged about how I got the latest Chinese blockbuster “The Promise” from a friend, which turned out to be in Chinese with Chinese subtitles, and how I still watched the movie, making up my own story as the movie proceeded [Read my post here]. Well, the absolutely charming princess in that movie is Cecilia Cheung, one of the many girls involved in this scandal. And the one lesson we can learn from this scandal is, if you are going to get involved in such a scandal anyway, make sure you don’t have any unique or distinguished tattoos

For most of the girls, they can still claim that the photos have been photoshopped or paintshop-proed (for those like father_sphinx who prefer PaintShop Pro over Photoshop!). But for those with outstanding tattoos or other clearly visible body marks, I pity you all. Poor Cecilia Cheung got no excuse.

Gillian Chung is more famous as a singer than an actress. She is a member of the popular Cantopop girl group “Twins” with Charlene Choi. The two of them even acted in the HK blockbuster (mentioned above) “The Twins Effect” alongside Edison Chen, Jackie Chan and Jaycee Chan (Jackie’s son). Other than that, I haven’t seen any of her other movies.

The photo scandals are easily available everywhere on the net. You won’t find the links here as I am not going to download them, because of three very good reasons:

First of all, other than Edison Chen, Cecilia Cheung and Gillian Chung, I haven’t heard of any of the other people involved. They may be really big names in Asia Pacific, but for me, watching their porn would be just like watching any other random porn – It makes no difference to me. No offence intended to all their fans down there.

Secondly, the involvement of the person I know the most and whom I am absolutely crazy about, Maggie Q, is doubtful, after confirmation that Maggie Q’s naked pictures are either fake or they are from an Advertising agency and rumors are now flying around that she is not even a part of this scandal. Phew! (When I first heard the news about her "involvement", I screamed out... No! Not Maggie! Nooooooooooo!!!)

Third and the most important reason of all, my Blog guru My Digital Life issued out a warning to all his ardent followers (people like me) to be careful when visiting sites that offer pictures of this scandal as there is a virus called Trojan.Win32.Obfuscated.gx attached to such websites. And just when I am recovering from a serious Win32.Brontok.q attack for almost a week, taking such a chance as opening a window for Obfuscated.gx to attack my system is out of the question! Hell no, I don’t want my “Folder Options” and “Task Manager” to disappear again!

Eventually it is a sad situation that people time and again make the mistake of capturing their intimate moments on camera. No matter how foolish it is, it still happens. Hence one extremely wise advice would be to never leave a camera/camcorder lying around in the bedroom. Or the kitchen table.

My scandalous pictures leaked once too! It was taken many years ago when I was still foolish. One night I was with a couple of female friends and I got so wasted from alcohol that I passed out. The next morning, I woke up with make-up and lipstick all over my face. I shrugged it off and went home. Later that day, my good friend and fellow blogger Sundancer released those pictures on the net! It was worse than I feared. My face was not only heavily padded with make-up, those malevolent girls dressed me up and placed their sexy lacy lingerie at “strategic locations” on my body. Grrrrrr.

But then, we all laughed it off. It was all in good fun and no damage was done.

But for those with a more serious scandal, it takes years for the scar to heal. Especially in a small community like our Mizo community. God knows how many such scandals are being transferred from one computer to the other computer in Mizoram right now. Till now, people still talk about the LDP scandal even though she has moved on and married another guy. Or the SDO “nupa” scandal which was of a gargantuan embarrassment to the couple involved even though they are married. The recent Ruati Tonsing scandal too created quite a stir in our Mizo online community. Miss Tonsing explained that her videos were recorded by her German ex-husband who posted it just to take revenge. Sad. The last I heard from Miss Tonsing, she said she still has nightmares and wished me a happy new year. Take care of yourself, Miss Tonsing.

The after-effect of any such scandal is tragic… Suicides, suicide attempts, break-ups, divorces, sackings, etc. Edison is kicked out of his latest movie project “Jump” which is produced by Columbia Pictures and Stephen Chow. I don’t even want to mention or imagine what all those women involved in this scandal are going through, especially with their boyfriends or husbands. Sheesh.

My girlfriend joked: “What would you do if I was one of the girls included in that scandal?” I didn’t laugh So I looked at her and replied, “what would you do if I was the guy taking all those pictures with them?” She didn’t answer me either

Chp 163. Sex, drugs and North-east girls.

Prologue: The Village far far away.

Tetei came from a village, far far away,

Where the spring river flows
       and the nightingale sings.
Where the autumn brook glisters
       like the face of an immaculate.
Where innocence still exists,
       there amidst the hills so green.

She left that village, filled with dreams,

Dreams that she always dreamt of
       back in her village so bare.
Dreams of neon lights and skyscrapers,
       and of opportunity in abundance.
Dreams filled with dreams and dreams,
       of changing her life and her destiny.

Oh how that dream shattered, with all the abuses,

Abused for being a woman,
       as if it is a sin to be one.
Abused for being from the North-east,
       as if she is a cheap whore from Sodom.
Abused by the media for being both,
       as if they haven’t done enough harm already.

Tetei cried every night, and finally made her way,
Back to her barren village, far far away.

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Sometimes emotions just gush out when you can contain it no longer. Nobody can stop the colossal tide of pure, raw, unrestrained emotions vehemently pounding their way towards an infinitesimal orifice. For no matter how small the voices of the North-east people are, it is loud enough to echo through all the halls of Valhalla, awakening the ghastly monster which has been constrained deep within our souls.

Nobody can stop hatred. It has always been around, and will always be for the rest of our lives. We have learnt how to turn a blind eye to all the daily racial abuses, and a deaf ear to all the perpetual discriminations we face every passing moment. We have learnt how to cope with the insecurity we feel everyday because of our “differences” from the moment we wake up till the time we sleep. We have learnt how to suppress our emotions at times of gross injustice and humiliation because of our “chinky eyes”. Some of us too have unknowingly become racists ourselves because of the incessant racial abuses encountered by us. Yet, most of us never stop trying to correct the vox populi about the gross misconception of people from the North-east. Many of us have broken away from the stereotype moulds. But still, it will require a lot more effort and time to change the general mindset of the people.

But what really hurts, is when some tactless wannabe reporter comes up with an article at a daily newspaper (of a circulation of more than a million) [Link: MailToday] affirming the preconceived notion people fallaciously have about women from the North-east, that they are all nothing but the scums of society ready to sleep with anybody for money or a mug of draught beer at happy-hours TGIF.

With the aforementioned tabloid readership targeted at the middle class of emerging India [source: tksajeev], it is no wonder that women from the North-east are left stupefied and shocked beyond words when a nice well dressed gentleman approaches them and asks “how much?” They do expect such a cheap and tawdry solicitation from a roadside romeo or somebody from an uneducated background, but how could somebody so well refined behave this way? One glance at the kind of trash these so called middle class people read today, and you will know the reason why.

Could Mr. Kumar Vikram have written the article in a much more subtle tone? Of course he could. But he preferred to sensationalize the whole issue like a plot straight out from a James Hadley Chase novel. Sleazy night clubs. Drugs. Sex. Oriental babes. Money. Sex. Detectives. Drugs. Drug peddlers. Sex. The perfect formula to attract the attention of any normal hormone-raging male. And to what cost? The loss of dignity of every North-eastern woman trying to make an honest living in a “foreign” land that we call our country.

What bigotry! What shoddy journalism! North East Support Group released a statement yesterday demanding an apology from MailToday on behalf of the entire North-east and African community here in India. But I wonder, would that help? Or would we be just labeled as an inconspicuous community vying for our 15 minutes of fame? Maybe you can ask that question to the next North-eastern woman you see here in Delhi, defined as a “combo pack of sex and drugs” according to the writer.

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Related Links:

MailToday: Mr. Kumar Vikram’s article
MailToday: Journalist Hoihnu Hauzel’s reply [click on Page 36]
A Generalized ethnic perception: poor ethics - Journalist Gaurav Shrivastava.
Joy Tonsing’s reply to Kumar Vikram
Ninem Misao’s reply to Kumar Vikram as reported by VK Sashikumar.
Report by E-Pao.net via The Sangai Express.
Zogam.com discussion

Chp 162. Peer Pressure

Dark was the sky and cold was the night,
        the bustle of Aizawl, now reduced to null.
There in the darkness at its deepest height,
        screams out a man, breaking the silent lull.

Sanga was just 18, a bright lad from yore,
        Smart and educated, an aspiring gold-mine.
His pa was an officer, his ma a pedagogue,
        Together they nurtured him, nice and fine.

Today he’s a destitute, high on dope,
        Struggling for a fix, on anything that he finds.
Ma and pa were anguished, they lost all hope,
        They blamed themselves, guilt filled their minds.

How could this happen? What did they miss?
        He felt so normal, just like any other kid.
And then they saw it, the pattern and gist.
        One friend was in jail, the other had OD’d.

They never imagined, he could be influenced,
        Oh how wrong you are, the parents of Mizoram.
Things are different now, things have changed,
        There’s no more zawlbuk, there’s no more farm.

The youth of today, wallow in empty hunger,
        He’ll do anything his friends do, be it fag or beer.
Moving from there, to other substances stronger,
        A hunger for acceptance – such is peer pressure.

Tluangi was only 17 - fair, attractive and tender,
        She was a popular girl, in her esteemed school.
Her folks are divorced; she lives with her mother,
        All the girls envied her, and all the guys drooled.

But everything changed, the day her picture appeared,
        On the local newspaper, for everyone to see.
She was caught one sultry night, all oiled up and geared,
        Ready to sell her body, at the back of a taxi.

The mob called her whore, all her respect were gone,
        They wanted to burn her, their hatred enhanced.
Who would have thought, she only did it for a phone?
        For she didn’t want to be, a girl with no balance.

Such is the peer pressure, our youth of today face,
        Being an outcast from a group, is not an option.
They will do anything, to remain in this twisted race,
        Be it drugs or theft, even murder or prostitution.

Chp 161. Auto Expo - 2008

Chilling out at the much hyped Auto Expo for a couple of hours seemed like a great idea, which didn’t turn out to be so once you get there.

All you could see was disappointment after disappointment, making you wish at the end of the day that you could have spent that 100 bucks entrance fee for a more useful purpose like buying blank papers to design origami or enrolling in a “How to wash your clothes using a washing machine” coaching class.

That’s what happens when the media builds up so much to the event that you go there expecting to see at least 50% of what they write about, only to see a bitter -20% of what you read in the papers.

For starters, they kept on mentioning about those ravishing models posing by the cars. My girlfriend and I couldn’t find a single girl that made us go “wow”. And I am not just saying this because of my girlfriend’s sake. We are in a very matured relationship where we candidly point one strangers that we find hot --- guy or girl.

And the few models that could have looked really beautiful, didn’t because they all had this big frown on their faces, making everything feel so… cold and frigid. Their unfriendliness was probably because of all the gazillion requests for their phone numbers demanded by the cheap Delhi crowd, making them hate their job. Unprofessional, but in my honest opinion, completely natural. My girl has been in the entertainment industry for more than 5 years now here in Delhi, and even though she can now let most of the cheap comments pass by, there are times when she still feels like smashing their heads into smithereens.

TOI mentioned about 23 Australian models specially flown in from Down-under for the Czech car giant Skoda, but when we finally reached the Skoda section that day, all we could see was one Australian model sitting on a table drinking some beverage with no signs of the others. Bad timing probably, but it only added more bricks to our big basket of Disappointments.

The only place where I really enjoyed was the Vintage section, where I couldn’t stop drooling over some of the astounding vintage cars and bikes. And also partly because my friend Mapuii and my girlfriend’s friend Anton and his rock band “Black Slade” were performing LIVE at the Vintage section. They completely rocked the section with "vintage" rock songs such as "smoke on the water" and other popular numbers of that era. You can find them performing at "Crowne Plaza" on other days.

I love the Vintage section. Funny thing was, even though I had absolutely no reason to feel nostalgic about, I still felt nostalgic It’s not like my father in black & white used to drive me around in one of those exotic and rare 1947 Chrysler Windsor or 1932 Austin 10. But still, a feeling of nostalgia definitely overcame my senses and I suddenly started snapping my fingers and combing my hair backwards and sporting imaginary sideburns for the short duration that we were in the Vintage section.

The thing I hated the most about the Expo was the over abundance of people. We couldn’t even enjoy the sights of the cars properly because half the time we were jostling through the crowd and the other half I was continuously protecting my girl from all those cheap bastards waiting to feel women up.

And during that entire time at the Expo, we actually counted and it turned out people called us “chinkies” only 16 times (I mean the ones where they intentionally said it out loud so that we could hear them) which was a really good improvement according to my Mizo friends that day, because the racial abuses were much worse the previous year. Wow, Delhi, you are improving! I’m impressed.

Maybe one day the good people of Delhi will actually realize the racial abuses they inflict upon their own fellow Indians (read: north-eastern people) everyday instead of just whining about the racial abuses by the Australian cricket team or other foreigners in a tone that seem to absolve them from any such crime here in our own Country. That would be a great Delhi dream.

Outside the Expo, the Traffic Jams were sheer torture, but we kinda expected that after reading about it in the papers. Good, at least one truth the papers wrote about the Expo. Over all, I didn’t enjoy the Expo at all because I made the mistake of going there with such high expectations.

Special mention must be made about the “gem of the Expo”: The Nano. I was dying to check it out, but when I finally got there, we were barricaded so far away from the display that the Nano actually looked nano-sized. I got a better view at it after raising my hand above the gargantuan crowd and clicking pictures of it with my digicam at maximum zoom.

Likert scale 5 at the two wheelers section though, because there wasn’t much of a crowd when we got there and all the bike displays were absolutely mind-blowing. Plus I met a couple of real time Bikers with large tummies and beard and leather jackets (the complete attire) at the Royal Enfield stall who were extremely friendly, and immediately got into a loooong conversation with one of my friends who was a part of the “Aizawl Thunders” gang in Mizoram.

All in all, I honestly felt the 9th Auto Expo wasn’t as great as I expected but it was a different experience and I can at least tell my children years from now that I was there when the Nano was unveiled, and remind them again that the Nano car was the precursor to the Nano-planes and Nano-rockets they are flying…

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Photos:

[The Nano with me stretching to take the snap]


[More of the El-Nano Effect]


[My Friend Ngura from “Aizawl Thunders” finding his Shangri-La]


[Mapuii, Anton and “The Black Slades”]


[Vintage Bikes]


And the Vintage Cars :