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.