A Mara Chief's legacy

A friend took us to her home last month . Her Grandfather and his brother were chiefs of some villages in Saiha. Their home to me was like a mini museum full of musical instruments, baskets , and urns and jars passed through generations. Just putting up some images from there. Thanks to Jeniffer and her family for having us over.  For more information on the significance of these pieces read The Lakher's N.E Perry , thats what uncle (Jeniffer's father) recommends too!

Its Bazaar Day in Saiha

I keep telling myself , I'll put up this post when I click better images. Unfortunately time's running out and i decided to just put up what I have and keep updating as an when. Saturday Bazaar finally graces my blog!

I have no clue what these are, I'm warned of how sour they are but am drawn to them by virtue of their warm color

Garlic from Lunglei

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Tomatoes from Silchar, Assam and Shantawk (excuse my spelling ) from Saiha.

Cabbage and Yam-

Local Sugarcane

Ginger- Local and with a skin so soft that it peels when you wash the mud of it!  

Beans- local again and sold in pre measured bundles like pretty much all other vegetables here.

Bananna Flower- Local and available quite regularly. 

The plentiful greens! Tasted many and clueless about the rest 

The smaller catch is from the Kaladan which flows through Kawlchaw about 35 Km from Saiha.

The larger ones have traveled over 3000 km all the way from Andhra Pradesh

If you cannot make it to the market. The veggies come to you! Often women go door to door with a basket full of greens

And in case it is the basket that your heart desires, well that too you might find on a Bazaar day (Saturdays)!

Wrap up the trip with some ice cream, or better still watch the toddlers wolf them down!

Saiha District Library

I’ve not been a fan of browsing in the library through my school and college years. Especially stepping in them for the course reading list essentials! Access codes, reference numbers, classifications , library cards , due dates etc all gave me a headache. Over a period of time , I have visited very few libraries and fewer have I liked. My favorite library experience still remains, the one along with a gifts shop in the middle of market in Sarita Vihar. Last year I found myself at the BCL library and blinded by the colours , blinked thrice to confirm I really was in the library and not at an overdone  playschool! I did not have it in me to browse through the collection and the loss is probably mine. But I guess that’s that.

The absolute stillness in most of these spaces feels artificially infused. However , till I took a shine to the Saiha District Library I didn't think actively of libraries and was contended browsing through bookstores and picking up what I liked.But the rest of all that can be saved for another post. 
Saiha District Library is what claims this post today. Dwarfed by the DC complex on its side , you might not notice this building if you are new to the area. At the entrance , i'd wondered  how they managed to get hold of the location. A serene  view of the hills,elevated by a a view of Kaladan quietly sneaking through the valley below. 
Turn around to get inside the library and you  detect a scent of old books and can almost imagine yellowing  pages on dusty shelves. Well the books are not that old , yellowing yes and a tad dusty. However , all of it just adds up to your sense of adventure and you wonder what is in store.

The area is probably around 500 sq ft exclusive of the office rooms and is lined with wood cupboards, shelves and tables , all of which seem to have a bit of history clinging to them. As I recall ,the only light available is what comes through the windows and lends the space a warm appeal.

I was quickly at home here , for I didn't need to bother about access codes or classifications or even being unnaturally still. The dear man at the counter leaves me free to browse the 20 odd cupboards and arrive at my own method to deal with this madness and I believe that is the best way. For instance, the first two cupboards closest to the counter and at right angles to each other will in all possibility to contain Indian authors writing in English or translation to English from Hindi and Urdu. That bottom three shelves of a lonely looking cupboard will hold together books on Mizoram, Maraland etc, either in English or Mizo (I’m not sure whether Mara books are there on these shelves). But despite all this semi conscious classifications I could browse through any of these cupboards and be surprised by its eclectic content. 

Nimesh and I often do not need to look around for too long. There are very few users of this space and the person at the counter seems to have grown familiar with our tastes. If he's around and there happens to be some book he considers to be of our liking he promptly whips it out of hiding, smiling and saying you may like. Usually , these books relate to wildlife or Mizoram and he's right on target when he thinks we might like to leaf through them.

Intially we were permitted just two books at a time and I found myself visiting the library almost twice a week. To save myself some trouble , I did ask him if I could take more and he gracefully agreed. Our limit has been stretched to five!

Occasionally I peer into the register while he makes his entry and realise that there aren't many who came in since the last time I was there. And probably thats why the board of chinese checkers is so well maintained , it helps the staff to keep boredom at bay. 

This library and the warmth of the person we interact with has been an important part of my experience of Saiha. A bagful of books to carry home without pressures or due dates and fines has strangely made me a bit more particular about being carefull with the books, returning them and resisting the urge of swiping a good even if I know I might not find it outside. 

Thanks to Pu Simon for helping us get access to the library and for the staff at the library for making us comfortable. Maybe someday I'll figure out chinese checkers and join you for a game.

Lets Paint

Guilt has been gnawing at eachtime I icaught sight of the paints brushes and paper lying at home. I had found these treasures after a lot of scouting in Saiha and finally found them in Aizwal. The idea was to doodle around a bit and keep boredom at bay. But thankfully I was not bored often enough to warrant much use of these.

Had been contemplating giving it to the kids who drop in every once in a while , but then again there was not enough to go around. So this week when a small bunch landed home we let lose the colors. I'd decided on just handing it over to them without any suggestions on what to paint or how to use. Well they took to corners and sides of the chart and it seemed enough for all.

Initially, all bottles were opened and colors tested and their appeal could by judged by scrunched up faces or some excited shriek. A little paint on the paper a lot on each other finally they set to what seemed like serious business. I loitered around and came back for a dekho in a while and found the TV to be the most popular image.

I'm hoping its cause the straight lines are easier to paint! 

Back in Saiha

I’m back at my window, gazing at not so far away Lawngtlai, feeling the peace and content associated with this space I’ve come to call as home. We’ve spent some beautiful days with my sister here. Watching Saiha and Lawngtlai play hide and seek with the sometimes fluffy and often misty clouds as aides. 

The three of us decided to work around the rains and pay a visit to the Kolodyne and its faithful refill Kao. A walk on the banks saw many a frog leap away for the cover of muddy pools. Unable to resist anymore we splashed around in Kao as the tiny but enthusiastic rivulet threatened to push us  into the more intimidating Kaladan. Many a stumbles and mild panics later, we wedged ourselves between stones and rocks and tried a hand at our long forgotten childhood water games.

What the monsoons do to some people and rivers? They make some of us and most rivers decidedly younger and enthused. Like Nimesh’s Ma wanting to sit out on the verandah and get drenched; me wanting to just spread out my arms and soak; the swishing sway in the Kolodyne’s flow; or filling out the youthful Kao’ s rush.

In still some other’s it brings back murky remains of a path that was once crossed, very akin to the muddy waters gushing in the Kolodyne from  banks it had left behind and of the banks of its now that it threatens to break. Our connections reactions to the monsoons are mirrored by all around.

What the monsoons do to the children in the neighborhood is great. Siesta’s break to the sound of shrieking laughter. The group is out playing making most of the while that the sun is out and humouring the light drizzles. 

I’m back home and so are the rains and yes it can’t be said enough ……I’m loving it!

Skipping as I've never known

Its summer and not at at its worst yet. The children are all out of their woollen clothes, looking leaner but happier and definitely looking more their age. They keep paying fleeting visits in the midst of their hectic school and tution schedules. This week they turned up in a large group, wanted to sing songs , dance and have an impromptu fashion show . We had a bit of a pinneapple squash and someone yanked out a long string of rubber bands tied to each other. Before I had time to wonder what that was all about , some frenzied discussion took place and soon two of them were holding it knee high and a third did some pretty impressive skips around it. A skipping rope!!

Well they'd say I was easily impressed as for the 15 minuted that they kept at it , i witnessed a variety of stages and steps in skipping which I as a kid had never imagined! The job of the ones holding the rope was just to keep raising it in height according to the stage the players were at. Complicated manouvers involving , leaping, stepping on the rope , entangling it with the ankle/knee , jumping backwards and releasing it, almost diving over it etc. Maybe I'll get to shoot a video of this someday and share, I'm hoping that the skipping rope and the game as we knew it  never makes its way this side, we'd be laughing stock!

Meeting Weavers- Chakhang

While loitering around in the streets and bazaars of Saiha and Aizwal and (of course on the many mini stops the Sumos took on the way ) we'd seen many a bag , skirts / wrap around, sling pouches on sale both on the street and in handicraft shops. My fascination with them has been seamless and after many trips and queries made by us , we were now also able to distinguish between the Mara and Mizo weaves. Well, at least some of it!

 We have been asking most of these shops, especially in the smaller towns and villages, questions about where all these goods were coming from.  We unfailingly met with the same response – Aizwal or in some cases, Burma. The girls selling their wares in Saiha, shops in Phura and Thenzawl, Handicraft shops in Aizwal all had either of these two as responses. So if what we know as Mara weaves are all being made by the Maras across the border is there no Mara weaving industry on this side? From folktales to short stories and other writings, all seem to speak of weaving being common place. So what has happened to mara weaving on this side of the border? Or if the weaves are supplied from Aizwal then what is happening to the various tribe specific weaving designs techniques etc? I had plenty of such queries, but didn’t consciously move around seeking answers. Each village that we visited I’d hoped that there would be someone we could talk to about this. Or better still if we could witness the weaving process itself.

The first interaction in that direction is what this post is about. Sharing the joy I felt in the interaction with an enthusiastic  group of women weavers in Chakhang.  

We were on our way back from Mawma Tlang after a steep and arduous (enjoyable nonetheless) trail uphill and having managed not to tumble down the steep descent I was finally walking through the village to get to a tea stall, along with youth from the local MTP.

Self Help Group- Handloom - a board jumped out at me and I stopped dead in my tracks only to recover and get to the window of the home bearing that tag – weaving finally! The woman at the loom was surprised by our curiosity and told us she’d be happy to meet us and talk the following day. So there I was the next morning, leaving our hosts home half an hour late from the scheduled time- and I met a neighbor telling me that the women of the SHG were ready and waiting! Guilt ridden I reached there to find six women busy at their looms. All around on clotheslines were spread different pieces made by them.

Pleasantries over, the chairperson pointedly told me (a tad disappointedly too) that the Mara sling pouch I was using was a duplicate (i think she meant machine woven). Dismissing it she took us around the workshop and showed us what the real goods were. A while later, Nimesh and his colleague left for their work with the schools and I was left without any translation help and sea of questions bottled up inside me. 
Over cups of tea, Kua and Cigarettes, in broken English, Hindi Mara and Mizo, dotted with ample laughter, we had animated exchanges on  what I’m doing in Saiha, who buys these fabrics, designs  etc. Gesturing wildly and playing a kind of charades we tried to get our questions and answers across.   

I inquired about a particular piece that had held my eye from the time I walked in. They not only told me what the design was called but sat me through the names and bits of history of each of the designs. On seeing me jot down some names, they peered at the sheet / scrap of paper and corrected spellings. Noticing that I only had a scrap to scribble on they offered a hymn sheet which I initially refused and subsequently accepted as the alternative seemed to be a young woman running off to the market to buy me a note pad.

While walking me through the available fabrics and their origins, one woman told me how a particular design was her original creation, she also I think was trying to explain how the weaving on these looms is different as all the designs exist in the weavers memory or imagination unlike the mechanized looms. Seeing my jaw drop at the cost of one wrap around (Rs 10,000) she laughed and explained that it was a traditional Mara design and it took her over a year to weave it. Looking at it closely I could well understand why. Patterns were woven into every inch of this colorful piece making it heavier too than most others.  
There were bags, pouches, neck ties and blouses slung on clothes lines all around the place , I was itching to know more yet strangely content as whatever was taking place was a good beginning.

For long while after the initial excitement had died down I planted myself at a window and watched the colorful patterns emerge from the loom, standing in stark contrast to the dry dusty and scorched land outside(monsoons would be such a respite). The tools used were made of wood , bamboo, deerskin, porcupine thorns etc.

The periodic thuds marking the end of one line, looping threads through each other to generate intricate motifs, , frequent combing through the yards of threads with grooved wooden sticks and bristles  ensuring a tangle free flow was all mesmerizing to watch but possibly back breaking to undertake. The loom on one end was pegged to the wall and on the other end a belt held it to the weavers waist. A couple of hours hunched over the details of the weave must take some effort. 

  Earlier in the day I had also seen a loom spread out in the sun, being prepared, it seemed for some action. It belonged to a woman of over 50 years of age. In this group too the majority seemed over 40 in the least and a discussion with a young woman in the MTP too had revealed that not many youngsters are keen on weaving. From what I have been seeing around its possibly because these skirts/wrap arounds are not as popular with the younger generation it seems to be  worn only on  special occasions, cultural events or to church etc. Also cheaper and trendy designs are easily available in the market. 

There however  were two young girls in the workshop though. They repeatedly came upto the older women when they got stuck with a patch on their loom.  The younger girl was adamant on learning a particular design and older one explained in a laughing and halting English that they were both still learning and were excited about learning more and faster. I could relate to their impatience, I was also overwhelmed by the urge to understand better, what everyone seemed to be telling, to ask all questions i've been holding in, to get answers there and then. 

Within a few days of our return from Chakhang, we were in Aizwal. We made the long pending trip to the state museum. The loin loom and the other implements displayed there were similar to the ones used in Chakhang. Nimesh and I went through each in detail and tried to understand what we could. 

Sometime soon I tell myself, I’ll get down to reading and understanding more. I realize now that as much as my queries are still largely unanswered I have found the first step in understanding more- what has been the best part of the deal is that- no book or research reading could have boosted my desire to learn and understand more about handlooms and the changes that have taken place with regard to weaving . A heartfelt thanks to the group I met in Chakhang.

In the meanwhile, if anyone reading any of this can point me to some person , organization , group etc. I’d be thrilled to explore.

Letting it all in

The curtains here seem to borrow the softer shades of the landscape around. Whites, the lightest hues of pinks and greens flitter around the windows.  Laces, satin and sheer net seem to be favorites, swaying and singing with the gentle breeze that caresses the hills around. Its lighthearted softness combined with the warmth of wood planked walls and floors offer such peace.

I derive great pleasure from gazing at these every time I have the fortune of visiting a home.  This time round when traveled from my  home in Saiha to Aizwal I noticed that most town markets en route have at least one shop with these dangling. You find them with hawkers selling Burmese goods, in furnishing stores and also in the second hand bazaars.  I’m yet to see one that wasn’t the sheer -flowy variety. A very welcome change (most things here are that- a very welcome change) from the drapes in other cities I’ve lived in that keep out all the elements. But of course the elements here are much worthier of welcoming home and these screens offer only a token resistance like the hesitation in accepting the first touch of a beloved.

Our visit to Phura and Palak

Waiting for daybreak, the roosters were literally ruling the roost. When we stepped out, visibility or rather the lack of it was quite surprising. The heavy misty dew was settling around us. While we fumbled along the path to our tea stall, my orange Ayappa lungi was the only element spottable from a distance. My embarrassment at having ditched the less conspicuous alternative was long lived,  but never owing to rude stares. We could  feel a drizzle around and Nimesh patiently explained to a sleepy eyed me that it was the falling dew....the rains were still a couple of months away.

Where we stayed

This was my first stay at any part of Saiha and I was completely humbled by the sensitivity and hospitality extended by the people around. From the old chowkidar uncle who cooked for us and brought in an assortment of chutneys to an old lady who brought Raddish and Antrum (mustard leaves) from her field for us (refusing to let us buy it off her). The woman running the tea stall also was most disarmingly warm.

The village has about 200 plus households and seems almost picture perfect, with its houses of wood planks and thatched roofs, a large field , a small market place , 2 huge churches a small post office and handfull of shops excluding the make shift hawking of Burmese goods (huge lighters, blankets , shoes etc). We stayed at the forest department's guest house and were generously taken care of the by the aged but agile chowkidar uncle (pic on left).

 The homes like their Saiha counterparts bear the name of the head of the household along with his designation professionally or in the youth groups, church and other such associations. Usually blue and green boards are painted with white/black announcing the various positions/designations of the head of the household.

Along with the name/designation boards most homes also display remains of the animals they’ve caught. Tails of squirrels and feathers of various birds are very common. We also saw the skulls of something akin to a gaur , tails of civets hornbill casques etc. When I’d initially heard about hunting in these parts I’d wondered how much hunting can possibly be going on? This visit proved to be an eye opener. Wherever we went, on foot or in a vehicle we saw young men with catapults and guns. We heard a minimum of three gunshots a day and of course saw the range of trophies on the doors of homes. Infact the younger kids are often playing with beautifully put together bamboo toy guns. After visiting Palak and seeing the lively tree hopping squirrels it was a tad depressing to see three of them being roasted over the fire at our regular morning tea haunt in the marketplace.

A toy gun made of bamboo

  Late evenings were accompanied by the sounds of drums and songs. The rhythmic sounds and the excitement of our companions to join the evening song and dance at church was a regular feature once the sun was down and animated breakfast conversat

Towards Palak Dil

We visited Palak twice during our stay at Phura and I still haven’t had enough. The lake itself is mesmerizing in its simplicity added to it the long walk to get there from phura is nothing short of being the same. It’s a tad tiring 6 kilometers from the forest guest house, but worth every step of the way. Through the first 3 kilometers we have the valley on our left with its rice fields. We were four, and each was busy doing spotting of their choice, one peered at butterflies, another strained some neck muscles to sight birds and chased after the falling leaves. Nimesh has been here multiple times and was enjoying this walk after the long gap. Yours truly looks for birds and squirrels and they did reveal themselves generously to this novice. While crossing the fields at the very beginning of our walk we amongst many others saw some splendidly blue green rollers and a very clumsy descent of a coucal down some bushes.

Gradually the fields give way to slopes that have been left to their own device for some time, and then the final downhill descent which is marked by the beginning of a forest growing thicker by the step. Dense- the word now has an image association. I felt like quite the city idiot because I did spend some time wondering what the thick vines and creepers were. Were they going up or coming down? Eventually I just decided to enjoy the sight and leave deciphering for later.

A lone black trunk bearing witness to some previous Jhum

Numerous calls which most of us could not trace –to- source accompanied us throughout the way. At the descent we are also joined by the cool moist wisps of breeze. The noise made by a falling leaf is not something that I gave any thought to, till this walk. But it is something that takes me by surprise here. The forest thick green, contains within it various stages of decay and growth. Leaves -tumbling, falling, gliding towards the ground as they break their last contact with the tree. Almost each brush against a branch or trunk till the final landing can be heard. I could almost hear the wisps even when it was just floating mid air I think!

I had seen a shadow of a squirrel on our first visit and was thirsting after a better opportunity. No sooner had I expressed this desire that Nimesh glanced up and there was one on a large not very leafy tree. Here one second and scurrying on to the next branch the next. I saw it leap from one giant trunk to the neighboring one in its entire bushy splendor and had to stifle a whoop of pure delight. The second trip was dotted with many sightings of these. Small ones, large ones, playfull ones and calm ones, later looking them up in the field guides I realized they are called, the Hoary Bellied Himalayan Squirrel, Stripped Himalayan Squirrel and the Orange Bellied Himalyan Squirrel.

At Palak

Finally we pass a gate which must be there for some ornamental value as it really does not close the entry into anything nor open up to anything. Two pillars and a gate on it and open space all around, a bit amusing I must say. The sun was bright and harsh so the amateur’s (that’s us) camera’s and binoculars weren’t given the most conducive environment. From a small clearing on the bank aided by these we watched the pond herons, egrets and the moorhens in action.

The viewpoints (mini watch tower like huts) were not accessible so I spent the better part of my second visit on a larger clearing on the bank, while the trio trained their binoculars from a smaller better covered patch. I’d had enough of binoculars and guides for the day and was looking forward to some quiet time. Like a lazy birdwatcher cum reiki practioner (which I’m not) I fancied myself sending out non threatening vibes to all the bird and animal life around , hoping that the vibes would be read as friendly and some would come to have a dekho at me while I get a glimpse of them. Looks like my fancy was turning true, for in a while I had some spotted doves pecking in the leaf litter some meters way, followed by a gorgeous emerald dove, I kept straining to hear the flap of the wings of the hornbills, with no luck. Two egrets headed straight to the banks where I was planted. I think they spotted me too and changed course just before landing. The moore hens also wandered around not too far.

On our way back my perfect content was slightly punctured by the fact that I had missed the hornbills. No sooner had I said this out loud that Nimesh pointed out to the clear expanse in front of us and there……about 5- 7 of them were gliding across the lake into a thicket on the bank. One after the other large black wings passed my vision and I was stunned into silence (a rare occasion Nimesh would say!!).

My content was finally perfect I walked back sighing and smiling to myself.

Kawlchaw once again

Visited Kawlchaw again in the the third week of January. I was still semi ticklish about the thermocol balls instance. This time around I was left to my own device and had the camera as a companion. Kao has been reduced to the trickle of large bladder but the ruckus it creates in the flow is almost equivalent to the stone crushers around. Kaladan still flows almost akin to my last visit. 

The trickle of the Kao

Spent some time sitting at a spot where the two meet and watched boys cast their tattered nets and bring it up empty. But they seemed to just enjoy just rowing up and down the shores.

Fishing in Kaladan

Took a walk along the bank and through the market on one side, quietened my growling hunger with some Chow and walked across the bridge down the other bank and settled myself in a manner where I was out of sight for the bathing shrieking children. Sat around trying to decode the camera’s features and then just watched the to and fro rowing.

The bridge across the Kaladan

The tripod attracted too much attention from the children some of whom ran about heralding my arrival shouting ‘ Tv ‘ ... ‘TV’ ...‘TV Camera’. Sufficiently embarrassed I put the eye sore away. The water as usual was soothing to the nerves , regretted not taking a dip but the full -bladder -trickle of Kao couldn’t tempt me enough , while the Kaladan had already been claimed by a boat and the bathing children. Watching the action from the sidelines is just as enriching.