The first taste of Humiliation

The first taste of Humiliation
An article by Monica Ingudam

We just got out of our classes. I was going to walk back to my hostel. I missed taking the college bus as this was an extra class. My friend’s parents had come to pick her up in their fancy car, she insisted I stayed back and she will drop me to my hostel on the way back. Her parents needed to complete some college administrative work so we waited for them, walking up and down in our beautiful college campus giggling and talking silly things watching the sunset. They took time, it was getting dark and I was worried of getting late and told her I will walk if they will take time. My friend pacified me and stopped me saying they are almost done. Finally they came out and we hurried to their car.

My friend told her parents that they need to drop me. Her father drove up the slope of our college, hit the main road. We had to take a left turn for my hostel in 2 minutes, a small detour from the way to their house. I told them that they had to take the left turn in English. After which they spoke in their local language. My friend helplessly said “Amma …” multiple times which was cut by her mother. For the 2 minutes drive the mother spoke mostly cutting her husband and daughter showing clearly who was in charge. I had no idea what they were talking (South Indian Language) but I could sense it was not good and it was about dropping me. Finally the car stopped in the intersection and her mother turned to me from the front seat and said “We’ll drop you here”. It happened so quickly, I didn’t know how to react and got down finding myself standing in pitch darkness near the mud road after 3 minutes of being in their car.

The 20 minutes walk to the girls hostel could be a beautiful mud road walk in a place call Banashankari depending on the time of the day or the company with whom you are walking. It could be a scary road to walk all alone when it’s dark. It’s very quite, you can hear the insects and even your own echo as you pass the rocky hill with a temple on top where you will find lovers sitting behind big rocks. There are not many people walking specially when it’s dark. You will find drunks walking from the near by pub giving you the dirty looks, calling you “ching chong” “chinky”. And there I was all alone, scared, humiliated at being dumped in the middle of nowhere at that time.

I started walking praying to all the possible God taking each names I knew or had learned of, tears rolling missing my parents thinking if my parents were there they wouldn’t drop me at such a spot to walk back all alone. In my hometown where I grew up in Manipur, my parents accompanied me everywhere and we mostly went out only during daylight. Our Gate was closed way before darkness because of the conflict in Manipur. So I was not very good with darkness. Who would wait for darkness to get 3 minutes of a car ride ? Would they have dropped their own daughter at such a place to walk all alone at such a time ? I was so stupid to accept my friend’s invitation. I was blinded putting myself in such situation, being happy thinking I was accepted and got a friend in a new place. I saw nothing on the way and continued walking as fast as I could playing all these questions in my mind. I walked so fast taking only 12 minutes and I saw the light of the house with “Amma” the sweet lady, wife of our hostel guard standing at the gate. Seeing her, I was relief and felt safe, entered the hostel with a gush of strength built by my first taste of humiliation. My thought echoing loudly “I came here for a reason and only one reason, that is to study and study only, and NOTHING will deter me from studying”.

I studied and studied, met people of different kinds. The kind who embraced me and the kind who judged me hurling humiliations. I learnt to love and create human relations with people showing me the warmth and humanity, and I learnt to gulp, ignore people and humiliations which came my way to survive. I was never brave to fight back, resorted to self healing and continued to focus in studies, the only reason I came away from home, my home where my parents are working very hard to pay my fees. And I never got to sharing about this incident with my parents nor with any of my friends and this incident stayed with me.

~The End~

Based on an incident that happened in Bangalore, India.

With the recent news about discriminations faced by north east Indians in Delhi and other places of India, I was reminded of this incident, an insignificant one, but an event that impacted my psyche. My friend’s mother never said anything derogatory directly to me but I felt a sense of discomfort in her look, questioning my origin and way of life. It’s hard for a young student to leave home at such a young age, coming out from a very protected environment, and to handle such situations, breaking into tears and not able to share and be comforted by parents because of the distance. Many of us don’t have enough money and would look at the phone bill while talking on the phone, and hence the conversations are limited to “Send more money, my glasses broke” or “Everything is fine” or a happy note “Results are out and I got distinction”. Incidents like this are not shared as the young students doesn’t want the parents to be worried staying so far away but it does impact a person. It’s easy to pre-judge a student from north east with different features, wearing jeans and skirts and hence perceived fast. They go through a tons of changes at such a young age being away from home, transitioning to survive on local cuisine, changing dressing styles to blend in, dealing with the indifference and yet trying to excel in what they came for, to study.

 

A Short Story 001 : Being the second wife

Being the second wife
A short story by Monica Ingudam

I got married very young. My life was perfect with a loving husband. But my perfect life was short-lived as my husband passed away without any warning due to an illness. He left me even before I crossed my teenage years. I was in shock and denial. When my sanity was restored, I was back in my maternal home. No one asked me what I wanted but it was decided in my best interest. My in laws didn’t protest either. I had no place in my husband’s house, and I had no son who will carry the family name. My mother and my brothers pampered me restoring my perfect life once again. But with the new status of being a widow, I remained a “kabokang” (water hyacinth), looked upon as a problematic species, something to be kept out of boundary never to be taken home.

Time changes and with time my brothers got married, had children of their own. And the vocabulary of “ours” got extended to “yours” and “mine”. As the family grows with more people, our family started disintegrating with different thoughts, different perspective and everyone believing they are right not willing to see the other’s point. The family separated by initially having their own kitchen under the same roof to slowly talking about splitting the ancestral property so that each family can build their own houses. You see I am a daughter and in the land I am born, daughters don’t have any right to the ancestral property and there I was in my own home or so I thought, questioning the concept of “home” as the discussion of dividing the land never included me and where I will stay, making me feel more alien in my own home. And of course the whispers of “Ningol Hallakpi” (Meitei-lon derogatory term for married daughter coming back in maternal home) amongst my brother’s wife didn’t help the situation.

Sometimes in life one takes a decision and the decision is influenced by his or her situation at that point of time. I was in my twenties and I met this guy who charmed me with his words, made me feel feelings I didn’t know I could feel, bringing out the best smile in me, smiles which I didn’t know existed and the world with him looked so dreamy, tempting and beautiful. And one evening I eloped with him to be in his world as his second wife. I was disowned by my family, I was not accepted by his family, I was looked down by people being the second wife, I was not invited in ceremony, I was this “Nupi Yumgaibi” home breaker to the first wife and quiet rightly so. I was so much in love with him and nothing else mattered. But who would understand, how a widow can fall in love and that too with a married man ?

He made our home far away from everyone, literally at the foothill, remote and away from people. We made a beautiful garden together. The soil was good and everything we planted grew well. In no time we had juicy pomegranate both sweet and sour, peaches, guavas of different type, mangoes and plums. We didn’t have to buy vegetables from the market ever. All possible seasonal vegetables grew ferociously including “hangam” (mustard leaves), corns, cucumber, “Maroi” (herbs), brinjal, okra, “Morok” (peppers). We had planted beautiful local flowers “Takhellei” “Aparjita” “kaboklei” “Numit Lei” and I was happy, very happy in my world raising our boys together. He disappears in between without announcement and no questions asked from me for we know in that silence where he is going. I went through conflicting emotions, tears and jealousy with his disappearance. But without fail he would return and I see his love in his eyes. I learnt to be the second wife, found my home and my world.

~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.


 

Broken

Broken
An article by Monica Ingudam

Everyone goes through a phase leaving you completely broken. The reason why you reached that state may be different but the feeling of being broken is the same. You try to be strong on the outside picking yourself up trying to fix yourself going through a multitude of feelings. You go through loosing your self respect, a terrible heartache and a sense of feeling worthless leaving you empty.

At times when you are alone, you can’t control such strong emotions and even try resorting to hurting yourself. And when you come to that state you have to divert your mind to things you love doing. There has to be something you love doing. You have to promise yourself never to come to that state. It’s all in your mind. Let your mind take control over what you feel, over your heart. If you hurt yourself and die, you will be just another news in a small section, people will say “Oh so sad” “Nungaiteda” probably some sharing/comments in Facebook and other social media places. But you will soon be forgotten and people will move on with their life.

Nothing or nobody is worth hurting yourself. Learn to love and care for yourself. Be a survivor and not a victim, make your own story and start living. Look into the mirror and say “I am a survivor” “I am not a victim” “I will not be a victim” and see the strength in you, the strength no one can take away. It is yours and only yours. Get the strength, fix yourself and continue blooming beautifully.

~The End~

Dedicated to everyone where the thought of harming yourself ever crossed your mind. Nothing or nobody is worth hurting yourself. Learn to love and care for yourself. Be a survivor and not a victim, make your own story and start living.

Rejections

Rejections
An article by Monica Ingudam

Everyone goes through rejections at some point of their life. It may rejections in love, in friendship, in work or any form of human relationships. Whatever form it may be, you will be hurt, really hurt making your heart ache so bad that you will cry. And it’s ok to cry. You are only human to cry. And nothing or no one can help you ease your heart ache. It’s only you, your solitude and time that can heal you.

Sometimes you come out emerging strong but loosing your belief in love, life, friendship or relationship. Sometimes you come out weak loosing your belief in yourself and remain broken. And sometimes you are stuck and in the moment of weakness you will loose yourself. Now the question is how to come out strong and drive towards the bright light from the dark tunnel, believing in yourself, transitioning from being a victim to a survivor to living your life.

No matter what advice you get from people or what you have read, it’s you and only you who have to step out of the darkness. Take the time you need but be sure to come out of the darkness you have been in. Open your eyes, look in all directions, directions which pulls you in, which makes you happy, which makes you smile and you will be surprised. Surprised in finding beautiful things in life which you have never seen before and will question yourself on how blinded you were not to notice it earlier. And you will start to see that there is no reason to waste your time in wallowing yourself with people or things who takes you to the dark tunnel, time and again. It is your choice, and only you can choose to move to beautiful things in life and find yourself. But find yourself, for you are special, precious and you deserve it.

Once you have found your place, place filled with your beautiful things bringing out your best smile, you will realize that you actually missed the light. And you can see events from a different perspective and move on with your life, with a stronger you.

It’s easy to fall back even after you found your place. But you should never give up. Once you know you are falling towards the dark tunnel, be quick to turn yourself to your space, your space of beautiful things. The space is different and unique for each of you. For some it may be reading, for some it may be music or writing or photography or gardening or walking or running or movies. There are tons of options, just open your eyes and you will know what pulls you in. Bringing you to a place where you, only you can control your state of mind and no one will ever drive you back in the dark tunnel. You are a survivor and you will find your way to living a beautiful life.

~The End~

Dedicated to everyone scratched by Rejections.

 

025 It’s all in the mind : The Drive just after the snow!

The Drive just after the snow!

It’s a cold snowy day,
Your hands and face frozen after cleaning the snow off your car,
Roads are slippery and icy,
The visibility is low with ice on your windshield.

You see accidents of cars on the way,
You see frozen river giving you the chill thinking how cold it must be,
With all the dangers associated,
There is a certain charm driving just after the snow.

Driving on an abandoned road,
Once filled with traffic,
Making you feel you own it,
Driving at your own speed with your favorite songs played.

As you enjoy the beautiful sight,
All the dirt covered with pure white snow,
The barren tree, now covered with snow making it glow,
Snowflakes falling as the wind blows.

Even the sun won’t miss this sight,
But this beauty is short lived,
As It melts quickly,
Bringing you back to reality with slippery icy road.

Cars stained by the dirt,
Biting you with the bitter cold as you walk by,
When people ask you why bother to drive in such a bad weather,
You smile thinking you wouldn’t miss the beautiful sight and will drive yet again.

~The End~

Picture of George Washington memorial Parkway today.

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

024 It’s all in the mind : I am wandering but am not lost

I am wandering but am not lost

It’s a cold and windy day,
But that didn’t stop her from stopping by to see the river on her way,
She hurried and walked by the river,
She sat and watched the view.

Then continued with her walk,
Following where her feet takes her,
Soon she was on the bridge,
She stood on the bridge all by herself and watched the view.

It was getting colder with the winds from the almost frozen river,
But she continued with her walk,
Crossing the bridge,
And she walked and watched the view from the other side.

All the views was different and unique,
And it’s the view of the same river,
She continued walking back,
Rubbing her hands to keep herself warm.

Suddenly an old man sitting in the nearby bench calls out asking if she was lost and if she needed help,
She smiled and replied “I am just wandering but I am not lost”,
He points to a flask he is holding asking her “Coffee ?”

She couldn’t resist the invitation in the freezing cold,
She could use a warm drink before her walk back,
She nodded and sat next to him,
Unscrewing the cap he pours piping hot black coffee.

Sipping coffee they chatted about their favorite view of the river,
He loves his Miracle river from where he is sitting right then,
She loves the Potomac river when she sees from the middle of the bridge,
They spoke passionately about why they like what they love about each view.

They parted shaking hands,
She thanking him for the coffee and him thanking her for the company,
With a look they both knew,
What they spoke had deeper meaning than just the view.

She walked back hurriedly,
But stopped by in the middle of the bridge to see her view,
And waves to the old man still sitting on the bench,
And she continues back with her walk questioning if she is wandering or lost.

~The End~

Picture : Bridge across the Potomac River by George Washington Parkway, Washington DC.

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

023 It’s all in the mind : The first taste of wheat, the gift from the old priest

The first taste of wheat, the gift from the old priest

It must have been during the Eighties,
The rains won’t stop pouring in Imphal,
Day after day flooding everywhere,
People gathered in dry houses for sleeping,
Days went by and there was no food to eat.

The water just won’t go down with continuous non stop rains,
Rafts were made with banana stem to commute,
It was a hard time for everyone,
The old priest who spoke less and observed more sent bags and bags of whole wheat seeing people going hungry,
Emptying his whole go down of food supplies.

There were lines, long lines in Kwakeithel,
People coming from many other nearby leikai (community),
Everyone in the line was given whole wheat until the last grain was over,
Without questioning their religion,
Giving us the extra gift to see humanity and spirit of giving,

Being a rice eater, whole wheat was new to us,
Mother made whole wheat pudding, piping hot and watery with a pinch of sugar and milk added with the remains after scrubbing the canister,
And that was the first and best taste of whole wheat on a very cold day,
Tasted with a dash of kindness, the gift from the old priest,
His deeds never forgotten even when he is no longer with us.

~The End~

An Experimental attempt to put thoughts in writing by Monica Ingudam. This post is dedicated to Late Father Mathew Planthottam, founder of St. Joseph School, Imphal.

Author’s Note: I wrote in 2013 dedicating to Late Father Mathew Planthottam, founder of St. Joseph School, Imphal, Manipur to remind myself and others of the humanity and love beyond ethnicity or religion. On that day, I was very saddened to read a generalizing thrashing comments against religious Institute from the very people who stood in the long lines to get the wheat distributed during such hard times of hunger and flood. At that time, it didn’t stop them from receiving the help, despite the difference in religion or ethnicity but conveniently forgotten the kindness and ganging up with such vicious generalization. I wrote a stanza reflecting the hypocrisy but deleted as I was not brave enough to voice that part.

021 It’s all in the mind : Beautiful Snow

Beautiful Snow

It’s the first snow of the season,
Looking beautiful as it falls,
Mesmerizing your mind,
Making you pause to admire the beauty,
Feeling the soft pure white snow,
Melting instantly as it touches you,
And yet you surrender for the beautiful moment,
When you know it will melt again,
Making you forget about the sun.

~The End~

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

020 It’s all in the mind : Death

Death

No one wants to talk about death,
But there is nothing to be scared talking about it,
When you lie down facing the ceiling,
Seeing people wearing bluish green scrubs working on you,
And all you can do is wait,
You have all the time to think about life and death.

No one wants to talk about death,
But there is nothing to be scared talking about it,
You think of instant electric cremation in the place where you die,
Placing the ashes in a beautiful urn to be taken back home where you were born,
You don’t want to give any trouble carrying a lifeless body,
You don’t want anyone to remember the face of a lifeless body.

No one wants to talk about death,
But there is nothing to be scared talking about it,
Resting the ashes at home in the birth place,
Singing beautiful country songs,
Family and friends wearing their best colorful clothes with smiles of good times,
Planting beautiful flowers on the grave.

No one wants to talk about death,
But there is nothing to be scared talking about it,
The resting place becomes a place of beauty with flowers blooming,
Passer by stops to smell the fragrance of the flowers,
Visiting your resting place someday by your kins will be the only connection to your birthplace,
Knowing that you would rest in peace.

~The End~

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