KEEP IT SHORT BUT WITTY

When

          She had a crush on him- He was dating a popular girl.

When

           She started liking him- He was in love with someone.

When

          She was in love with him- He got married but not to her.

When

          She wanted to marry him- He was the father of three.

When

      

         She finally got the courage to say what she really felt about him– He was already buried.

When

           She was buried too- Not enough research done...

          

         

           

MAKING OF THE (not) SIMPLE NAGA CHUTNEY

Lulu and the coriander leaves  

Well, Godavari girls are fun and fearless and it might have been one of the reasons why there was no resentment in trying the Naga chutney. This ‘easy to make’ looking chutney was not easy at all, the incident happened along the way. Let me narrate,

Lulu (Longkoi) called me during lunch hours to lend her a helping hand, at 5 pm we decided to meet in the kitchen. But, when the clock struck 5, the scene was not very attractive; one of the helper uncles in his utter smartness had used the electric mixer to grind the garlic, chilies and tomatoes- it was but a horrible paste, the paste of tomatoes was thicker than that of chilies giving a very tomato sauce look. Wow, wow that is so not the way to make the Naga chutney. The authentic way of making the chutney is by roasting the tomatoes and the chilies on the warm ashes (a champion of the fire), take them out; put in a little salt (according to preference), and pound them with a pestle till it’s almost a paste, add garlic and pound them together. Anyway, there is a saying that sometimes great confusion brings about great solution, so, like a eureka moment an idea struck us, we took some tomatoes and chilies and heated them, pounded them and with graceful prudence mixed it with the existing paste, added freshly chopped garlic and cooked (like a curry) the whole ingredients so to balance all the medium, finally when it was done we added coriander leaves and salt. Served it hot. Lulu says the chutney was well appreciated by the ladies of the house :)

                                                                                         

LINES OF GRATITUDE FOR MY (IMAGINARY) FRIEND

I have seen you, I have touched you;

You possessed a fine skin and curly locks,

Your dress was always like the clear sky;

You had blood lips, full and quiet.

I liked the black butterfly clip you wore;

And I liked the way you cared about my dolls,

You had a broad forehead like mine,

Never did you open your mouth but always nodded to what I said.

Dear you were the solace in my distress,

And you were my companion in my toothache;

You were the jar where I poured complaints of this adult world.

*The edited version of this poem can be found in Ayangti Longkumer's Magic Quill.

THE LAST LETTER TO THE KING OF ROMANCE: REVIEW OF JAB TAK HAI JAAN

                                 

Dearest Uncle Yash,                              

Happy Diwali! I hope you are happy wherever you are. As a Diwali treat for myself; and a way of paying tribute to you, I bought a movie ticket for Jab Tak Hai Jaan. I went alone, with a big muffler tied around my neck, I am down with cold, but how could I missed it. I had other reasons that made me go for the movie’s first-day’ second show (12:30 pm). Well, I wanted to know whether SRK died at the end, as per the popular rumour it was supposed to be so and I did want to know of the two heroines which one gets Samar Anand (SRK’s name in the movie). Thanks for making the popular rumour a pure exaggeration, and thanks for making me understand that the second heroine is second heroine indeed, and at the end of the picture the lady which occupies the larger portion of the promotional poster gets the hero. I liked the witty lines in the movie, and I like Anushka Sharma’s name Akira. In fact, Akira is the liveliest of all the characters, and I could not stop but admire her long legs. I am sure that Katrina as Meera gave you a hard time to make her act. She wore awesome designer clothes, matching accessories, hot boots, non-animal tested make-ups, she was beautiful, your archetypical heroine, but other than that she was frozen by the London’s winter.

The ‘Get Real Please’ part of the movie is that SRK as a bomb defusing expert does not use any protection jacket (and he is the suppose to have the record of being the highest bomb defuser in the WORLD), he has his reasons for not using the jacket and it is well cited in the movie, but come on he is not Captain Planet no?  Please don’t mind but don’t you think there was too much of accident in the movie, but I am happy that you handled the memory lost part very well; I mean you did not allow SRK to dirty the room or his body like Amir did in Ghajini. The songs were fine not all, though, I really liked the ‘Challa’ song; the background score was excellent, after all, A.R.Rahman. Uncle, don’t you worry, your movie will be a super-duper hit, after all, the movie’s contender is Son of Sardar and not Talaash, so stay cool. Come the Award functions and I bet that your Jab Tak Hai Jaan will take away most or all the awards, and there are many reasons attached to it, let me not get political, but I could like you to get the Best Director Award posthumously.

Let me say that it was not your best movie but it is indeed a remarkable movie and will always be in my mind jab tak hai jaan. Tired of reading such a long letter? Okay, I will stop here.

                                                                                                   

Love

Ayangti Longkumer

              

                                 

            

THE TOILET RULE

                                              

When life hates you, what will you do?

When your lover cheats on you, what will you do?

When your best friend is envious of you, what will you do?

When your friends conspire against you, what will you do?

When your parents love you not, what will you do?

When the society does not understand you, what will you do?

When the State is happy to butcher you, what will you do?

When the religion you grew up believing in deceives you, what will you do?

When you begin to doubt your very own existence, what will you do?

Remember what Toilet Rule teaches us, “Dude! Just don’t sit, do something.”

HE SHOWED HIS PYTHON TO CHASE HER AWAY

So there was a bee, the daughter of the Queen. All day she could fly from flower to flower but none could say how graceful she was, for she was not. Her mother chased her out from her palace and commanded her to work in a field where she could learn the art of living and not of dreaming. As the days went by the field routine became boring, so boring that she thought of constructing a window. Then one day a drake entered the field, well the bee was late that day, as she reached the field the drake flashed a smile at her. She turned around to make sure that the smile was for her (till date she has not figured out what was that smile for). She liked the drake instantly; after all, she had the ability to like anyone. The drake has a poor collection of pants, he wore rather too tight pants which were pulled up to the chest, and which clearly made his ugly legs more bowed. As she was someone who liked to help people in distress, she befriended the drake and helped him pick the suitable pants. The drake never carried change with him; the bee lent him thirty bucks to buy worms for his stomach. The bee often dreamed of riding a wild stallion like Genghis Khan in the mountain ranges of Mongolia; she too dreamed of the drake swimming majestically on her mother’s Royal pond while on the surface he looked calm and cool but inside the water he was paddling hard. The drake was not a lonely man, he had his duck, but how did it matter to her for she could fly. One day, she met her old friend the country mouse who knew all the smells of the world; the mouse told her that the drake was indeed a rich hawk. She wanted her token of appreciation for all the good deeds she did for him, after all, she was more like a nanny than a friend. He too treated her more like a nanny, and if so then she wanted her help to materialize into something tangible. But, when she pinged him for some monetary assistance, he shooed her off with his python, I mean the real python (let’s not get dirty here).

AGONY- MALADY-FALLACY

She was a butterfly, seemed like the colour of her wings gave God the inspiration to paint the rainbow, and she had light feet, so the light was it that it found its home in the bosom of Queen Esther. She could last a spring, she was happy yet she was lonely. She often dreamed of marrying the eagle, to fly high above the sky and to share the pride of being called ‘Majestic’, but all were her secret desires. One day, she met an ugly faded mosquito, who knew he was of inferior quality even among his own species. She was attracted to him, he felt the same and the reason for such a strong attraction was simple, one was positively charged and other was negatively charged. For the mosquito romance was in the air, love was in his veins, the mosquito visited the farthest of library to be inspired, to write love songs for his beloved, the butterfly, on the other hand, did not have time to think as the water in the Royal pool was clean, so clean that her image was the most beautiful thing in the valley. The mosquito made the greatest blunder of his life by declaring that he could do anything for the butterfly. The butterfly found it very amusing, so like a challenge she told him to get the blood of the Perfumer, it was an easy yet risky deal, but how could he disappoint his butterfly. So, when the evening showed its predictable face, the mosquito was already in his best of inner wear to show his heroic talent. He hovered around the Perfumer; he wanted to bite his neck, but his buzz attracted the attention of the Perfumer, one stroke and he was dead. Yes, the mosquito died. And as for the butterfly, she fell in love with the Philosopher’s rooster, she fell for him because he woke up the Philosopher every morning, she fell for the rooster because she thought if not the eagle then, at least, a rooster will do. Poor mosquito, what could he do, love and wanting to prove his love for the butterfly took his life, he was born to suck blood from a human body, but his bad luck took the best from him. No one could be blamed, and this story is but a joke.

ON THE TABLE

A prostitute to her lover, “I might be a dirty cup on a rosewood table, but my intention is not to disgrace you.”

The lover replies, “I don’t see the cup, I don’t see the table, and I love you more than yesterday.”

WHY DON’T YOU LEAVE HER AND COME TO ME

                                       

Why don’t you leave her and come to me,

Don’t you see she is so not meant for you?

She can’t keep you high; she can’t make you smile,

What fun is to solve her, when she is always sober?

Why don’t you leave her and come to me,

I know she is your lady, but you two look like twins and you can’t commit incest;

She might handle your temper, but I always give you a reason to laugh;

You might be everything she ever needed, but what matters is who explores you more.

Can’t you see I am perfect for you, why don’t you leave her and come to me.

*The edited version of this poem can be found in Ayangti Longkumer's Magic Quill.

IT HAPPENED ONE FUNNY NIGHT

Is there anything more splendid than winning something without working hard, by just being yourself, by speaking your heart out and making everyone laugh. That is what happened in one of the beautiful September nights of 2007, the year I came to Delhi. I got into North East Student’s House for Women under Delhi University. It was not a hostel for me, it can be rightly called as 5 ***** Hotel. A single room of my own, a cute balcony, gym, study room, internet-surfing room, standard videshi bathroom, awesome mess hall, a television room which was more like a theatre.

As a fresher in the House, I was eager to make friends, but things did not go beyond ‘Hello’. Then came the Fresher’s Night of the House, and as an Ice breaker, there was this ‘Miss. Fresher Contest’, followed by a special dinner. I was under the impression that no participation in the contest meant no dinner, and for a foodie person like me, special dinners are something I could die for. The theme of the Night was ‘Super Model’, Heaven is the witness, I did not have anything that could make me looked like a super model. The night before the event, I borrowed fashionable earrings from a friend (who was my former college-mate), the shoes belonged to my mom which she insisted me to packed while coming from Nagaland, the black shirt and the pink top was stolen from my sister’s closet (till date she does not know it), and that pink fur like thing was given to me by my Punjabi Madam. In short, apart from my inners everything was borrowed or given or stolen. As the room became wide with beautiful girls, I wondered how much fun the interactive session would be. The laughter and the music roared, there was so much to be expected. I had no clue how many rounds the contest could have, in the first round I was asked who my favourite model was, and to it, I replied, “Naomi Campbell.” After all, she was the only model whose name I knew. Had they asked me why? Then I could have been in ‘I don’t know what to say’ situation. So, before they could ask me, I questioned, “Can I show you how she walks?” When they were fine with it, I showed the perfect caricature of how a model walks. They were more than pleased, they were amused. I was sure that I had entertained them enough, and that was why they selected me for the second round. The question of the second round was very cliché, “How do you define a woman of substance?” But I have decided that the answer should be something which was out of the box, I replied, “A woman of substance should be unpredictable like the weather of India(laughter  followed),  a woman of substance should pray, work, and play hard. A woman of substance should know how to tame her man ( in a sweet and ethical way though), a woman of substance should kiss herself in the mirror when she feels ugly. A woman of substance (I took a pause, SRK’S Chak De was a huge hit that year, so I added) should know  how to play the hockey of her life.” There was claps and laughter (I do not know which succeeded the other). The other contestants were equally good so there was a need for last round, I found myself standing in front of two very beautiful ladies, the final question was, “How do you identify yourself in a city like Delhi?” That was easy; I knew the answer before it was laid down, “Like every individual I am unique, this uniqueness gets more manifested when I am in a city like Delhi. This is my identity, this is my strength.” I heard the claps; I saw the appreciation in the eyes of everyone present in the hall. I won the title; I made friends and filled myself with so much of chicken that I had a tolerable loose motion the following day.

The succeeding year, it was Merenla Imsong, she is now extremely popular, who won this title and the crown. 

AGAINST THE BOASTFUL CHILD

I have seen how people take immense pleasure in being niece and nephew or grandchildren or sisters or brothers-in-law, or cousin, or distant relatives or master or mistress of someone who by legitimate or illegitimate means has reached the top. For me, the most irritating connecting lines on the face of this world could be, “Do you know who I am?” followed by, “I am the son/daughter of…”  I believe people will be more or less interested in who you are or what you have done for the society or what you have done for yourselves rather than to what grapevine you belong.  There is nothing wrong to be born with a silver spoon, and it is great if you make the silver spoon turn into gold but the problem lies when privileges are misused. However, what is more, dangerous is false humility, camouflaging pride with meekness in occasions just for good personality gimmick. I really respect people who are their own godfather, and I do respect people who are born to the family of fairy mothers but they do not use the magic spell to get things done. It is true that we all are part of the social web and we need one another to achieve a set target but in the process of doing so one should not have the bulging pride of forgetting that the chromosomes are termed as ‘xx’ and ‘xy’ for everyone. As an old youngster, I have heard people chanting, “It is rocking to live life on the edge.” I just want to edit it a bit, it is okay to live life on the edge but make sure that the mountain that you are standing on has been climbed by you, for what joy it is if you took the help of a helicopter.

MY FIRST NOVEL

Originally ‘The Winning Story’ was written for National Novel Writing Month 2010. The story is set in two imaginary towns in Nagaland, North East India; Ivy hill, a small sleepy town and Timberland, a blooming commercial town. The story revolves around the nucleus of the society that is family. In a way, it explores all the different kinds of love that shape the lives of all the people in Eve’s story. It begins with a prologue, where Eve the protagonist of the novel gets herself all set for the competition, ‘My Winning Story Competition’. She unfolds the story spinning back to her decades of memories. The story unfolds a merry go round of emotions; revolving in the whole cycle of life- birth, childhood, youth, adult hood, love, heartbreaks, marriage, hardship, success, failure and dead. She takes her audience for an adventure of hope, second chance, trust, her Christian faith and everlasting love, making the listeners realise that there is but no greater story than one’s life itself..

FOR KIMDE ON HER BAKING SKILL

                                                                                 Under the candle light she bakes the bread of hope;

Kimde Marak

Her shirt has stains of vanilla essence, sweet she smells every season,

The cookies on the tray carry the mark of her enduring love;

She sets the temperature for the feeling of warm contentment.

God has touched her pie; it cures the worse of sorrow,

When her finger touches the flour mercy gets a new name;

She gives delight to all the weary hungry souls,

And now all I wonder is when will I get a piece of her magic.

                                                                                              

*The edited version of this poem can be found in Ayangti Longkumer's Magic Quill.

RAIN DANCE

Neither was I born fairy,
Nor am I a sweet page from a lover's diary;
My smile might not make you fall,
But the spark in my eyes says it all.

So, listen to me when I say;
When you are old with rust in your gold,
All you need is a rain to wash your pain;
Switch on your mind's music to take steps in rain :)


*The edited version of this poem can be found in Ayangti Longkumer's Magic Quill.

WHAT TYPE OF FIRE ARE YOU FOR WOMEN?

Listen guys, I am not a psychologist or a behaviorist. One fine winter night I sat beside the warm fire and that is how this Quiz came about. Do not take it by heart, pure fun :)

1.            Which is the best pick up line?

a.       Where is the man’s toilet?

b.      You resemble my grandmother’s granddaughter

c.       Hello!( With a smile)

d.      What a lovely weather, no?

2.        If your best-friend hooks up with your girlfriend, then?

a.        It means War

b.      Sleep with his sister

c.       Could like to hear their side of story

d.      Cry and forget the matter after drinking a bottle of beer

3.     When a woman says money matters, she means

a.       I am a gold digger, money crazy, money can buy love

b.      Get rich or forget me

c.       Financial stability is important

d.      We live in a material world

4.     You want to look sexy on your New Year office party, you wear

a.       Bare chest and jeans

b.      T-shirts and shorts

c.       Take the help of an expert but definitely will settle for something comfortable

d.      Suit- classy and expensive suit

5.     Among your friends circle you are known as

a.       Spoil brat, a real down- market Casanova

b.      The genius, the problem solver

c.       A very trustworthy and a reliable friend

d.      There is no such thing as titles in your friend circle

6.     You got lost in a deserted island, what will you do?

a.       Search for the hidden camera

b.      Check your mobile connectivity

c.       Try to find a lighter or a match box, or start scribbling SOS

d.      Try to remember what Tom Hanks did in Cast Away

7.       Which is your favourite drink?

a.       A cocktail of vodka, rum and beer

b.      Champagne

c.       Wine for the glasses, and whiskey with the masses

d.      Beer

Mostly A’s: The Crazy Fire: You are crazy for sure, but if handled well you are not that bad to be with.  Go through the quiz all over again.

Mostly B’s: The Seasonal Fire: You know the rules but use it very carefully. With your easy charms you can light some of the girl’s heart but not all.

Mostly C’s: Take me Home Bachelor Fire: Are you for real? Were you honest with this quiz? Anyway, you can burn a woman’s heart with your intense fire.

Mostly D’s: Guy Next Door Fire: Seriously, a lot of women feel comfortable having you around. Although you are not born heartthrob you will have your own share of attention.

A LOVE LIKE THAT

                                                               

                                             

                                                 *a short story based on a true story.....

The way they were forty years ago: They were two inseparable young souls, both so different, in upbringing and beliefs yet both hated cruelty, both glorified love. Everyone was sure that they were meant to be together forever, their kisses produced diamonds, their tears were like sapphires, happiness was the shadow of God and when they looked at each other the sun could shy away. She loved his dreams like her own, he believed in her more than himself, he knew it well that she could be someone great someday making him the proudest of all.

                                              The night that changed everything

Her side:  They decided to meet in their favourite restaurant at 7 pm. The winter chills did not weaken her zeal, she wore her best of the coat, curled her hair the way he admired, and when it was time kissed the mirror goodbye. When she reached the shop, she was surprised not to find him for he was always the first one to show up. She checked her watch, she was ten minutes early, she sat on their favourite corner and began to read the novel she had carried. She stared at the clock it was 8:15pm, fine. Her finger turned to page number nineteenth, it was 8:40 pm by then; she began to worry. She rose up and requested the waitress to make a call but the phone was death. By the way, it was the time when there were no cell phones. She looked through the window, the street looked so deserted, she and the two waitresses were the only one in the shop; they gave her company with pity smiles. She waited for her watch to turn 9 pm and when it did, she rose up. She was angry but most of all she was worried. As she walked down the street, some street urchins whistled, sang songs and started passing malicious comments. Worse was when one of them began to run after her till she got hold of a cab.

She headed to the place he lived, which was a one room apartment. With eyes full of tears she knocked the door, the door opened and there stood a pretty lady in best of warmest dress. That was it, she run down the stairs with only two thoughts: all this while he was with that girl and that she should be at home as soon as possible.

His side: He was a man who always took one step at the time; that night his mind was occupied with the thoughts of her, it was not an unusual thing. He often laughed at the thought of how someone could be as lucky as him, she was everything that he had prayed for and even more. Every minute spend with her was a gift, he knew it and that was why he could not stop smiling over and over while putting on the sweater which was given by her. Then there was a knock at the door, to his utter surprise stood the woman who had deserted him years ago. He met her in a club where she was a popular member, so perfect was she that he was awestruck by her beauty at first sight. They dated for months only to be enlightened at the end that she was a prisoner of her own pride, and she could never consider anyone’s feeling for she was the beginning and end in herself. So, why was she here that night? She has come to say sorry for all that she had done; she would be leaving to a distant shore and all she wanted was good wishes from the people who had loved her unconditionally. They sat and chatted, he was well aware that he had to meet the woman he truly loved and that he was already late but the courtesy in him made him listen to the lady. She had so much to say, he wondered why she had to be so verbose that night. When he could not take it any longer he politely told her that he had to leave, and when he rose up, he heard the door being knocked. He knew who it could be.

He gave a smile of relief when he saw her standing at the door, but was surprised at the weird expression she gave. She ran away, he had to run after her.

                                                                

                                                                Forty years later

He had to put on his shoe; everyone could be waiting for him on the lawn. He looked in the mirror; just then his youngest daughter walked towards him and arranged his tie. She was always proud of her father and was happy that she had found someone with all the virtues like him. As his shoes touched the velvet grasses, a loving eye watched every step that he took. He walked towards her just like he did forty years ago.

                                              Forty years ago it so happened that

He ran after the woman who had stolen his heart and was in no intention of returning it back. He was always a fast runner, in no second, he got hold of her. He asked for an explanation for her behaviour, she too seeks an explanation; he laid out the reasons, she too laid down the reasons. Both apologized, both laughed at the silliness, nothing was so big a deal for them. They did not yell or shout or slap, the matter got solved under the same winter sky under which the whole night’s scene had taken place. They took a stroll through the town, and before the morn showed its face he proposed her to be his wife.

                                    So it was their Fortieth Wedding Anniversary 

She whispered in his ears, “My shoe strap has come out, but I have no intentions of throwing it away.”

“Why should you? Give it to me, I will fix it. I bought a good clue yesterday; it will just take a few minutes.”

What a Love!

AND OUR LIVES ON THIS EARTH IS A TOUR

During one of my summer breaks in Dimapur, I got a bad throat infection, getting ENT appointment was not difficult only that I had to wait. So, while waiting for the receptionist to call out my name I got busy by flipping through the tour and guide magazine, then a fascinating question hit my mind; the man who was cleaning the hospital floor was near me so he was the victim of my inquiry. The conversation was in Nagamese: “Oye Bhai, don’t you feel bored at the thought that you will be spending the rest of your life in Dimapur? Don’t you want to go tours abroad? Holidays will be pleasant out there?” Forget about tours never in his life he could have saved enough money to buy a pair of branded shoes. But his answer was not, “How can I even dream off!” His answer was an optimistic one; let me recall what he said, “Life itself is a tour. Now, see the flowers that bloom by the roadside, look at the blue sky and the ground beneath; in every foreign land you will find a sky and a ground. I know that I am heading towards a beautiful place called eternity so why far-off lands?”  I remembered all these words he said and the list of medicines I had to take when the summer break came to an end.

WHY DID SHE THROW THE PHONE?

She turned her finger to the page where she stopped, and began to read, “So, he had this nice sense of humour, which I had missed for so long. It is a tough thing to find a guy like him for the world had produced people busy in their own lives. Will he win my heart? There are chances that he will. But, I am scared for he looks like a womanizer, what if he takes me away from my very own existence. He is what I had long for, for so long. What if I am just a game for him? What if he just wants to win me like a trophy and throw it in the nearest sack of the rag picker?”

She closed the book only to sympathize with the protagonist. Then her phone rang, she did not pick it up, she did not want to. When the ringing stopped, she took out the SIM card and threw the phone in the green coloured trash can.

                                

                                 Task for the Readers: Why did she throw the phone?