Manipur Diary

• If there was anything that dictated the way I lived, it had to be the load-shedding routine. It was complicated, and my attempts to completely decipher it proved futile. Roughly, the current came at 8-10a.m., 2-4 p.m. and according to a complex method, it would be decided whether it would come again at 6p.m. or 10 p.m. which would last till 4 or so in the morning. With the monsoons arriving, one would have expected the situation to improve. It did. An extra half an hour was added to each slot, before and after.
• Each morning, by the time I wake up and finish brushing my teeth, my brother would be back from his two tuitions. At 8, when the load is unshed, I would laugh myself to an episode of ‘Whose Line is it anyway’. A heavy breakfast of rice after that. Lunch (chara wanba) is late. A game of footer with an airless ball in the evening with the kids. Late night: watching TV if the current comes, or read something otherwise. By 9, everyone is sound asleep and I am well alone, awake.
• There are 5 trees growing in our garden bearing 4 different kinds of mangoes. I had stripped a diminutive tree of red cherries of all its fruits, as and when they ripened. Now, the mango trees bore the brunt. Raw mangoes are the best when it comes to beating a post-afternoon-nap-lethargy. Add a few mint leaves, green chilli and salt to taste, and u have the perfect recipe to jerk u out of ur lethargy. Not recommended for those with a penchant for stomach upsets though.
• Books have been a good company for me this vacation. Apart from old Graphiti’s and etc’s, the Illustrated weekly of India’s, and Sputnik’s, I have been gorging on novels, finishing off all that I could lay my hands on. The list includes Two Lives, 2 John Grisham’s, short stories of Anton Chekhov, a Peter Straub ( Mystery), an Agatha Christie, Harold Robbins (one of his better ones), and one romantic novel (some Delinsky), and The Rule of Four. Thanks to W. for providing me with most of the books!
  
• The streets in the city (if u can call it one) are dusty, and clogged with ubiquitous, yet inconspicuous one-ways. They are sure to be missed but for the traffic policewomen stationed at these little alleys. I tried smiling my way through once, but the policewoman stuck to her job!! For an outsider (I felt like one myself) it can be a frustrating experience, finding one-ways where u least expect them. The junctions are manned by incompetent traffic policemen, and more often than not, the roads get clogged due to an extra wave or gesture of the hand.

• Football fever hit the place hard. From my 8 year old cousin to 60 yr olds, references to the ongoing finals were abundant. Dad, a staunch supporter of German football, would be annoyed when players of other teams don’t shoot and pass as the Germans would have. He was quiet when the Germans exited before the finals. My cousin studying in 10^th standard explained why she would watch only England’s matches – Frank Lampard. Her anecdotes on football mania at her school were amusing enough. My 8 year old cousin, who had taunted me for days when his left-handed Nadal beat my right-handed Federer in the French Open finals, would greet me in the morning with his own prediction of the day’s matches. His was an opinion I revered, Sarathi’s in Poknafam was not. He did write a decent book – Nungsibi Greece – but his extravagant use of words (and not much else) left a lot to be desired. One big disappointment during the finals was the failure of the electricity department to fulfill their promise of providing uninterrupted power during the matches. It left a lot of people irritated, and once again, devoid of trust in the department.