short stories

Education and Financial Independence for Woman

/ Monica Ingudam / 4 Comments

Education and Financial Independence for Woman

An article by Monica Ingudam

As we celebrate Woman’s day today, I would like to thank my parents and all the parents who have given the gift of education and raising a girl child with gender equality despite the economic background. The best gift any child could receive is the gift of education which would last a lifetime with the knowledge gained, but also giving a path to attain financial independence.

Financial independence for a woman plays a very important role to live in dignity, to voice the mind, to get the freedom to do little things in life, little things that matters in your heart, lifting your self-esteem and confidence. It’s a whole different charm and satisfaction to do things for yourself or for your love ones with your own hard earned money, than it is doing by asking or begging someone or even getting it as a gift.

For “many woman” who are financially dependent, she is faced to accept decisions and whims of the bread winner of the family. Though she may be contributing and managing the home front with excellence, her life gets compromised in many ways. Her voice getting drowned, not heard and finally silenced, reducing her status to a programmed robot, a human robot taking commands with the only freedom to shed tears.

Some may argue this is not always the case and I agree. But if you ever fall in the category of the “many woman” and you are equipped with “Education”, you have the “choice” to attain financial independence pursuing your career to sustain yourself, free yourself, find your voice, and live a life with dignity.

~The End ~

This post is dedicated to all my young student listeners to pursue your education no matter what. There is a time and place for everything and now is your time to study.

This article, though edited was featured in the March 2014 issue of “Northeast Today” magazine, page 57.  Thanks “Northeast Today” for featuring my thoughts on celebrating womanhood.

 

 

A Short Story 006 : Love and Mother’s words

/ Monica Ingudam / 1 Comment

Love and Mother’s words

A short story by Monica Ingudam

It all started from a phone call I received from an unknown number one evening as I am walking from the laboratory to my hostel. After the initial awkward silence trying to figure out who is on the other side of the call, I realized he is one of the senior guy whom I had called “Da” (big brother). I saw him in some common friend’s gathering during my recent trip back home in Manipur. I never understood why he called me that day though he said, it was just to know each other (“Sum KhangNaSe toubanida“) as he was going around with a beautiful girl and I was going around with someone. It was a tiring day and I was in fact very annoyed with his call and tried to find out who shared my number with him. It’s irritating when your friends give out your number without informing.

Before I knew it we started talking everyday, chatting in whatsapp, skyping video calls. And I felt this strong attraction towards him, almost gave a high in me, a feeling which I never felt before. My moods started becoming good or bad depending on how our conversations went that day and he slowly became my world. It was initially denial, fighting with myself with these conflicting feelings as I was seeing someone else. It was the same for him with his girlfriend. I tried staying away from him, tried to make things work with my boyfriend. But I just thought about him even being with my boyfriend, I kept seeing his face, kept hearing his words. Though it was a painful phase, I broke off with my boyfriend. And he did the same with his girlfriend. And with time and healing, we were free to love. I continued calling him “Da” (big brother) and he became my lover, a form of addressing which is quite common in the place where I come from.

I was in Pune doing my Post graduation and he was in Kolkata doing PHD. We had this connection even though we haven’t met each other nor have gone out for a date. We had this virtual dates where we had walked together as it rained in Kolkata, looked at each other’s eyes via video chats melting my heart, he sang for me, said words that stirred me and made me feel like a woman bringing the best smile in me making me feel beautiful. This continued for months and we had to meet to see if it’s real. After multiple attempts of planning, finally we were to meet in Imphal, our hometown.

I was nervous and excited, planned every details on what to wear, when and where we will meet. I was not sure how we will feel about each other when we meet in person “Maybe this is all virtual”. I landed in Imphal airport and walked out trolleying my luggage when I saw him standing tall next to my brother. He looked at me and smiled and I could feel this strong thick attractions pulling me towards him. I felt like walking in a dream. We just exchanged glances, exchanged looks that said a lot but didn’t get a chance to talk to each other as I had to go home with my brother. We meet for our first date at Poana Plaza restaurant at Poana Bazaar, requested my favorite songs to be played, making me feel like dancing with him and be in his arms. He held my hands for the first time and it was bliss, just bliss touching every nerve in my body. We didn’t have any words to say and our eyes said everything. I felt so happy and thought to myself “Oh this is how love feels”. Our relationship took to the next level where we spoke of a life together.

I returned to Pune and he stayed back in Imphal for longer. He was very happy and he spoke of telling his family about me. I knew something was not right when he stopped calling me, wouldn’t answer my calls and have even blocked me at whatsapp. It worried me sick and finally when we spoke, I found out that his mother rejected the proposal. She rejected me and told him that he can choose any girl in the whole world except a girl from that family, my family. Upon digging there was some family history going back to my grandparents times which caused the rift and hatred. I was heartbroken with the rejection. And he was torn between our love and his mother’s words.

I had built this wall with my ego on this rejection thinking “I am beautiful, qualified and why should I go to a family who have rejected me, I deserve better”. I had all the good reasons to walk out of this relationship but my heart just wouldn’t agree with my thoughts. Some days I understood his situation being torn between 2 of his favorite woman and felt sympathetic but most days, I am angry, very angry that he wouldn’t stand for me, fight for me, do something, do anything and make me his woman. We have this phase of disappearing and reappearing in each others lives starting with a simple casual “hi” and ending with passionate talks. The disappearing phase seem so empty and painful making the reappearing phase irrestible making me give in just to hear his voice, read his words fighting my mind which echoed loud and clear “There is no future”. We see no future and yet we can’t keep away from each other. I don’t know how our story will end and how long this forbidden love will go on. I just know that I love him.

~The End~

LIFE’S THIS & THATMonicaIngudam

Collection of short stories written by Monica Ingudam. These stories are based on Life’s this and that focusing on Manipur and the people of Manipur.

 

A Short Story 005 : “Memma Chenkhre” (The married lady who eloped with the Bachelor)

/ Monica Ingudam / 7 Comments

“Memma Chenkhre” (The married lady who eloped with the Bachelor)

A short story by Monica Ingudam

It was the talk of the “Leikai” (community) that a married woman, mother of 5 children eloped with the handsome “Pakhang” (Bachelor). And such stories flies really fast from leikai to leikai, “Keithel” (market) to “pan dukan” (small pan shop). As I was browsing vegetables in the Keithel, I heard the story and people passing judgment, severe judgment on moral grounds, calling names to the woman “Nupa Phabi” “Oktabi” “tou-ngumbi” (woman who catches/traps guys, loose woman etc.).

They were talking about me. I got married when I was a teenager. My husband worked in a government office. I knew nothing about him before I married him but it was one of the common event of eloping on the first meeting arranged by friends on words that the guy is very good, working, from Imphal and life will be good “Nupa do yam phabani, thabak tourabani, Imphal dagine, nakhuta hamaga charani“. I grew up in a village in Manipur, life was hard with farming and Imphal sounded very attractive. We had exchanged couple of letters, unspoken shy glances on the road, prior to our first meeting which lead to the eloping event.

I got married, got pregnant almost immediately. Before the life of marriage sunk in, I was coping with this new changes in my body with morning sickness, constant emotional battle with mood swings. And my husband had worse mood swings than me besides being drunk, breaking and throwing things in the house which slowly transitioned to beating me up. And his mood swing would be triggered by anything from food not ready when he came back from work even on days he came earlier than usual to his drinking water was not warm enough. It was a constant struggle with him, finding fault in everything I did.

I had my first kid, a beautiful daughter. But he wasn’t happy. He wanted a son. Before we knew we had 5 children, a child almost every year. I was a mother of 5 children before my mid twenties. He had a voracious sexual appetite and crossed lines of dignity in getting his needs, irrespective of my health or mental condition, after beating me, in front of the kids, fingering and dragging me in front of other people to get his needs. He was rough in his ways, too rough tearing me inside out. My body took a toll with multiple child birth, satisfying his needs, his beatings and the mental trauma.

I didn’t have a place to go, not even my parents. I didn’t have any money. I saw no other ways other than to stay strong and raised my little kids who looked at me with eyes filled with fear. We grew up together, stayed a life of fear and did everything to please him. The little ones would come running shouting “Baba Lakle” (father is on his way) warning so that we can be prepared to set his food, water, clothes ready for his likings and the kids learnt to go out to the other room pretending they don’t hear anything, when he starts acting up to get his needs. And I would run and hide to escape his beatings and come back after my kids will signal that he has cooled down.

Time passed and my life took a turn after I was forced to seek work to feed the family after my husband was suspended from work. I started going out of the house to work and started earning. It was a newfound freedom, freedom to fulfill little things in life, have little surprises for my children. It gave me self esteem and I found a voice to fight back my husband. I had this confidence that I could survive without depending on my husband and surprisingly he stepped back. It’s true but financial independence can change one’s life.

Time passed, and my first daughter got married and I felt satisfied seeing my children growing up and getting independent. We had this closeness after going through so much that we could communicate through our eyes. I have crossed my forties when I met the “Pakhang” (Bachelor). Despite my situation, the age gap there was this unspoken connection from the first time we met. After being in denial, fighting myself, fighting the conflicting thoughts of society norms and moral, we fell hopelessly in love, a love which I never felt before giving me such happiness. After months of conflicting thoughts, with my first daughter speaking more with her eyes than her words “Ema, nung chatlo. Eiena loina yengshunge” (Mother you go, I will look after every thing) one evening I eloped.

My children and grand children visits me in my home, the small hut far far away from Imphal. I am looked down and spitted on by society. And I continue living my life taking one day at a time. Life is a struggle and never perfect but I am happy and at peace.

~The End~

LIFE’S THIS & THAT

MonicaIngudamCollection of short stories written by Monica Ingudam. These stories are based on Life’s this and that focusing on Manipur and the people of Manipur.

 

029 It’s all in the mind : Cold and Beautiful

/ Monica Ingudam / Leave a comment
Cold and Beautiful

There is always a price you have to pay,
One way or another for the beautiful things in life,
You would fall in love all over again and again,
Every time you see the beautiful white snow falling,
Making it irresistible,
Making you drop everything to play with it as it falls,
Giving you immense happiness in that moment,
But paying the price of the bitter cold that follows,
By now you know the pattern,
And yet, you will fall all over again willing to bear such bitter cold.

~The End~

Photograph taken today, watching the beautiful snow falling.

An Experimental attempt to put thoughts in writing by Monica Ingudam.

028 It’s all in the mind : Words

/ Monica Ingudam / Leave a comment
Words

When you get a moment which you can truly call your own,
Witnessing the beauty of nature,
Bringing out life’s enchanting thoughts,
Stirred by words,
Beautiful words written for you,
Words whispered to you,
You tightly cling to it,
As they become words for your soul,
Giving light in your darkness.

~The End~

An Experimental attempt to put thoughts in writing by Monica Ingudam.

A Short Story 004 : My Three Mothers

/ Monica Ingudam / Leave a comment

My Three Mothers

A short story by Monica Ingudam

I look up the sky and see birds flying. I wish I have wings to fly away and find my place where I could call Home. Growing up, I was the best dressed and pampered boy by my Father and my mother in my “Leikai” (community). I always remember my mother to be this beautiful woman, fair with neatly tight black hair, wearing beautiful red half saree over Manipuri Phanek. Our house was beautifully arranged, every thing was in place. My mother really took care of my Father and me. I remember my father waiting for me without fail outside my school, standing tall and handsome. He would treat me to “achapot” (snacks) before we go home. It was laughter, love and fun in the family. We were perfect. But even God can’t stand perfection and has to test people. My mother passed away suddenly from a mistake one of the expert doctor made in her treatment over a small ailment. I was just 7 years old then.

Life took a sharp turn. My Father was heartbroken. Everyone was whispering that he should get married. My mother’s side tried to fix my mother’s younger sister with my father and other relatives had other proposals. After a little over a year, my father remarried to a woman of his choice. I was taken to watch a movie in a theater to “distract the son” as they referred as, on the day of the wedding. It’s strange how people talk right in front of you as though you don’t exist, I was small but I remember everything. I neither felt good nor bad. I didn’t know what to expect and I went with the flow of life.

The earlier days were perfect. My step mother played the perfect doting mother. But with time, I was seemingly getting in between my father and my step mother. I didn’t understand then, now I do. They were young and newly married couple who needed their privacy but how could they have any privacy with me hovering around my Father all the time. I remember one time I woke up at night, saw my step mother sitting on top of my father, her long hair opened and I stood there stupidly, I didnt mean to watch them, I just frozed. She turned and looked angrily at me, she looked like angry Durga with big eyes and I was scared, very scared.

Events after events happened taking me further away from my Father. I was hurt, very hurt that my father didn’t see my side of the story in any of these events. He seem to be under her spell. And she is not even pretty no where near my mother. Maybe I was jealous of the attention my father gave her. She was an intruder. It was hard for me to accept her. I missed my mother and cried so much. I missed her hugs, her smell, her pampering and fussing over me to eat. I was sent away to a boarding school. That really devastated me, I was so lonely with no visitors. I tried alcohol, pills and I even put my name to join a rebel group. I was expelled from the school and was sent back.

That didn’t make my life any easier. Day and night, there was fights. My father shouting at me. He became this man I never knew, he saw fault in everything I did. I was not good enough for him, I was wasting his money and one day in anger he blurted out “I should never have adopted you”. My life didn’t need this kind of excitement, it’s my life and not a movie that needed drama. I was adopted and all these while my biological parents are alive. After lot of fights and drama it was decided that it’s best I am returned to my biological parents. I was just a commodity moved from house to house as deem fit. I was angry mostly hurt by my father’s action. My biological parents tried to make me comfortable but I was angry with them too, asking myself why they gave me away. My father and my mother couldn’t have kids and they were on the verge of separation and adopting me right after I was born saved their marriage. I see pain and regret in their eyes and we learnt to stay together catching up on lost times but I never found that connection, the connection I see my siblings having with my biological parents.

There are drama going on about property, rights, sueing etc. And I really don’t care. My father walks past me looking at the other way pretending he didn’t see me. I don’t know how his love for me was lost. We don’t talk anymore. He never had a child with his second wife. I have no hard feelings for anyone now, it was the situations. I hope my father is happy with the choices he has made. As for me, I knew 3 Mothers in my life, I crossed 30 years and yet looking for place which I can call home.

~The End~

LIFE’S THIS & THAT

MonicaIngudamCollection of short stories written by Monica Ingudam. These stories are based on Life’s this and that focusing on Manipur and the people of Manipur.

 

A Short Story 003 : Being the Stalker

/ Monica Ingudam / Leave a comment

Being the Stalker

A short story by Monica Ingudam

Love could be a beautiful feeling if it’s both sided. The tragedy and pain comes when it’s one sided. And my story is no different. It all started harmlessly when I met him, at a time where I had self respect, maintained my sanity and could identify stupidity. And today I am reduced to a pathetic stalker, with no self respect, as I watch him smiling, dancing and partying with his Valentine hanging all over him.

I had ridiculed people when they speak of love at first sight. How could they associate such a serious pure word into something so casual, with someone they just met? I didn’t acknowledge when it happened and before I realized he overtook me like a storm, seized my capability to think and reason out. I became addicted and obsessed with him. Initially he entertained my company and was polite. But as I became more depended and literally throwing myself over him, I could see him withdrawing. And who wouldn’t ? I was suffocating him. I had this compelling feeling which made me weak and seek only for his company. I wanted to spent every minute with him. Seeing him or talking to him was never enough, I always wanted more. He was irresistible and I could drop everything what I was doing when he came to see me or called me which probably he did out of pity or probably at times he played to his advantage. But it didn’t matter to me, I played along with starry eyes.

The more he withdrew and started ignoring me, the more obsessed I became. I was totally addicted, I had to see him and hear his voice for me to function. My life was impacted drastically. I went to places, parties where I knew he will turn up, I started following his activities closely, way too closely. I started mingling with his friends, people I wouldn’t hang out normally just to hear about him. I became this low life person doing exactly the things I termed earlier as “Stupidity, what was s/he thinking ?”.

I did things that would seek his attention, created excuses and events just for a brief encounter or moment with him. I maintained a shrine of the things he said, things he liked, everything about him. I even went into a phase of low esteem analyzing the rejection. Days became months and it came to a point where he no longer wanted to meet me and finally blocked my calls and message systematically. That hit me really hard and struck to me that I have become a stalker. I had cried enough wetting my pillow, gazed at his pictures endlessly, spent countless days lovesick, just lying on my bed thinking about him without any urge to eat or do anything else. And I see myself falling and destroying my health and life. It’s time to move on before I loose my sanity. He taught me what it is to feel love and now I know how it feels. I don’t blame him for not loving me back. I now understand that love just happens, totally unplanned and beyond anyone’s control.

~The End~

LIFE’S THIS & THAT

MonicaIngudamCollection of short stories written by Monica Ingudam. These stories are based on Life’s this and that focusing on Manipur and the people of Manipur.

 

A Short Story 002 : Lyrics only for her

/ Monica Ingudam / Leave a comment
Lyrics only for her
A short story by Monica Ingudam

I was young and she was my first love. Her beauty, her innocence and her smile captured my heart from the moment I saw her for the first time as she walked with her hair flowing in the land of Manipur. I felt the world of love, heard my own heart beat with her reciprocating my feelings. It didn’t matter where we were as long as we were together. Such beautiful feelings and joyous moments to last a lifetime.

I saw her and our love only. My family came to know about my feelings for her. My parents saw her family and status. She was poor and her father is mentally imbalance and they were dead against this relationship. It broke my heart but I was not strong to fight back. I was young, and didn’t know how to handle the situation with my mother wailing. Words reached her or so my mother made sure it reached her, she didn’t take the rejections well. She was hurt and heartbroken. So was I, but nothing that I said would make her alright. Pride and ego could be a strong wall in matters of the heart. She couldn’t get over the things my family said about her father. The long distance didn’t help the relationship and we became more and more distant. I was studying outside Manipur to become a Doctor.

I missed her, her voice, her smile and felt this emptiness and heaviness in my heart, such strong feelings of extreme pain having the same intensity to the love I felt. I wrote to her many times but I was left heartbroken with her not replying to any of my letter (this is before the time of mobile phones). During my final year, I heard that she eloped as a 2nd wife to an older man of high power. The man who helped her to get a job in a government office in an administrative department. I knew deep in my heart it must have been a forced elopement. She couldn’t have loved that old guy with dirty looks, filled only with lust for her. People say man don’t cry but I cried like a child that night and many nights, cried with flames burning my heart. But then I did nothing, nothing to stop it and at times think if I could have done something, anything.

Time went by and I kept myself so busy with my work as a Doctor. I got married to a wonderful lady of my choice (which my parents didn’t approve as she is out of our community, but I didn’t care and I found the strength to do what I wanted) and raised our beautiful children. I am a grand father now and I love my family. But I never really did get over my first love. We have parallel lives but it stayed with me. We never spoke but I saw her one day by chance, couldn’t help watching her from far, in the crowded “Ema Keithel” market with her daughter. It pained me to see that her smile is gone, replaced with a serious look, with lines of wrinkles on her face, a very different picture than what I saw earlier but still a beautiful dignified lady. I hear that she has a hard life, not looked by her husband and she struggles to run her house raising her daughter all alone.

I have the perfect family but somewhere there is a void giving me sleepless nights. To fill the void, I have taken to writing and as words trickles from my pen it’s her I see and I have words and lyrics only for her.

~The End~

LIFE’S THIS & THAT

MonicaIngudamCollection of short stories written by Monica Ingudam. These stories are based on Life’s this and that focusing on Manipur and the people of Manipur.

 

Father’s Pet but a street dog elsewhere

/ Monica Ingudam / Leave a comment

Father’s Pet but a street dog elsewhere

An article by Monica Ingudam

It was during my engineering college time in a beautiful place call Banashankari. I got close to one of the girls with whom we started sharing our study notes. She was passionate about studies and so was I. We bonded over chapters, notes to getting the perfect final results in labs and had a beautiful friendship. We hung out together and studied together.

One weekend we decided to study together at her home. It was towards the afternoon and we still needed more time to accomplish what we were preparing. My friend suggested that I have a sleep over and we can study late night. I told her that I needed permission from my hostel warden and probably If her mother will write or call my hostel warden, we can try. She was giggly and excited about the idea. I got carried away too thinking it will be fun to have a sleepover with my friend. Her mother was in another room and after my friend told her what we were thinking. Her mother, apparently educated and could speak English gave a questioning look giving me some level of discomfort and lectured “There are lots and lots of students from Assam roaming around at night, I wonder how they get permission. Maybe they forge the permission letter ? Maybe they get sleepover permission for studies and roamed around ?”.

I was naïve and couldn’t connect the dots and was trying to digest what she was saying, was that a “Yes” or “No”. I couldn’t even speak up to even say that I am from Manipur and didn’t understand her context of mentioning Assam. They continued in their local language (South Indian Language) and I was lost in embarrassment. I could never forget her look, her look of questioning my origin giving me extreme discomfort.

It was one of the awkward moment where people don’t acknowledge what just happened. We were back on their roof and my friend diverted the topic and was talking something to which I just said “um” the kind of “um” to keep the conversation going without actually listening. I just remembered looking over the trees and road with my mind blank, questioning and digesting the feeling of the word “disrespect”, I was not sure what to interpret but it sure didn’t give me a good feeling.

As I look over the fluttering leaves with the winds blowing cooling my flushed red face, and I saw my Father’s Face with his serious look, I remembered one incident where my Father sent my Mother one late night to pick me up from grandmother’s place, forbidding me for a sleepover in my own grandmother’s place. My mother was to sleep in my grandmother’s house if I were to sleep there. We walked back in the dark. My father was and is very strict. He was not pleased and said I was growing up, I need to be careful and shouldn’t be staying anywhere. I was just in 8th grade then. My parents never let me off their sight with either one of them accompanying me everywhere I went while I was in Manipur. How could I have forgotten how my parents raised me with such care and value (“Yam Cheksinna”) and I easily agreed for a sleepover, I was in college, all grown up and my Father will definitely not agree for this sleep over, what was I thinking ? I packed my books, got back to my hostel.

I missed home terribly that night but never had the courage to share what I felt that night with my parents. We never had study dates again though we remained friends in college and this incident left me with a bad taste.

~The End~

Based on an incident that happened in Bangalore, India.