Her imaginations were back to the ground when a voice from behind exclaimed, “So, this is the Nagaland of 2017!”
She turned back to witness the most handsome creation of God. It was love at first sight.
He continued, “I am a man from the past.”
He narrated Atina the beauty of his journey. He was a genius, apparently. He built a time machine in the year 1963, the year Nagaland got her statehood, he sat on it and boom…there he was, exploring Nagaland of 2017. She easily believed in him. Well, because he was handsome, she was naive, and the writer of this story is told to finish her story in two pages.
It reminded her of a novel which she had read years ago, a hero showing up from some centuries back, his stories successfully making the heroine fall flat for him, but she had forgotten how the story ended. For sure, he was not the man she was to fall in love for; though all the elements present that evening was good enough to create a real fantasy romance.
Mesmerized by him, all she wanted him to do was talk, a very good excuse to watch his full lips.
He said in all its possibilities things have not changed much. No doubt there were taller residential complexes, more shopping arenas, more schools and colleges and hospitals, more people, but there were certain things which were same then and now. He lamented about the condition of the roads, the poor electrification, and the load-shedding, the unavailability of pure drinking water in many areas of Nagaland, of the emerging class divide, of the dirt, the garbage and lack of civic sense and the phenomena of corruption which was not ostensible then. Further, he continued, why he was not surprised at the lack of courtesy among the Naga people even though they had acquired degrees which were impossible to attain during the 1960s because we dwell in the narrow understanding of what education is all about. He talked about the sovereignty of the Nagas and how redundant it sounded as the unity among the Nagas were divided into numerous identities and each identity proving to be just another Pandora’s box and not an equation which needs to be solved. He took Atina’s hands, looked into her eyes and said, “I am not surprised to see women standing up for the assertion of their rights, this is a sign of political consciousness spring out from fragments of evolving society, but being vocal doesn’t always mean walking the talk. Much has been done, much has to be done…equality can come in many shades, but the supreme colour is an appropriation and that too is contested often.”
Although she was smitten, it did not stop her from stating, ‘I am not interested in politics.’
That’s when he stood up, walked an inch away and without turning his back uttered, “Some will be survivors, some will be happy with their loyal thoughts, some will use power, some will use courage and some will use all the tricks known in the books. All is fair, everything is for survival…but remember, eternal hell can be created in this lifetime too…”
He kept on walking until he disappeared in the dark shadows cast by the night of Dimapur. Atina felt trapped, but she knew an old hell was already inside her and a new hell was just coming on her way. Her love for him was just a geometric move, his thoughts about Nagaland was a morning which would come twice in a day, and she knew it.
It reminded her of a novel which she had read years ago, a hero showing up from some centuries back, his stories successfully making the heroine fall flat for him, but she had forgotten how the story ended. For sure, he was not the man she was to fall in love for; though all the elements present that evening was good enough to create a real fantasy romance.
Mesmerized by him, all she wanted him to do was talk, a very good excuse to watch his full lips.
He said in all its possibilities things have not changed much. No doubt there were taller residential complexes, more shopping arenas, more schools and colleges and hospitals, more people, but there were certain things which were same then and now. He lamented about the condition of the roads, the poor electrification, and the load-shedding, the unavailability of pure drinking water in many areas of Nagaland, of the emerging class divide, of the dirt, the garbage and lack of civic sense and the phenomena of corruption which was not ostensible then. Further, he continued, why he was not surprised at the lack of courtesy among the Naga people even though they had acquired degrees which were impossible to attain during the 1960s because we dwell in the narrow understanding of what education is all about. He talked about the sovereignty of the Nagas and how redundant it sounded as the unity among the Nagas were divided into numerous identities and each identity proving to be just another Pandora’s box and not an equation which needs to be solved. He took Atina’s hands, looked into her eyes and said, “I am not surprised to see women standing up for the assertion of their rights, this is a sign of political consciousness spring out from fragments of evolving society, but being vocal doesn’t always mean walking the talk. Much has been done, much has to be done…equality can come in many shades, but the supreme colour is an appropriation and that too is contested often.”
Although she was smitten, it did not stop her from stating, ‘I am not interested in politics.’
That’s when he stood up, walked an inch away and without turning his back uttered, “Some will be survivors, some will be happy with their loyal thoughts, some will use power, some will use courage and some will use all the tricks known in the books. All is fair, everything is for survival…but remember, eternal hell can be created in this lifetime too…”
He kept on walking until he disappeared in the dark shadows cast by the night of Dimapur. Atina felt trapped, but she knew an old hell was already inside her and a new hell was just coming on her way. Her love for him was just a geometric move, his thoughts about Nagaland was a morning which would come twice in a day, and she knew it.
