adjective ta·boo \tə-ˈbü
: not acceptable to talk about or do
:forbidden to profane use or contact because of what are held to be dangerous supernatural powers.
That’s how Webster defines the word.The taboos exist because of us. Because of the nature, itself. No. Neither the “main-stream” Indians nor the “chinky” Indians are responsible for this. India is the homeland of North East. Or is it the other way round? Think about it. Our country is home to them. And they spending every moment of their life in this country. And I forgot to mention xenophobia. I have even heard people commenting about Chinese looking people and the fear haunting them. Wait. What. Honestly?
Omitting the rape cases, things are not as smooth as they go. People have slowly started assimilating for their own good.
Next we come to the stereotypes.
North eastern girls are shameless.
- You may have come across this too. They happen dress in a way which men find them desirable. Do people who hold on to such taboos know that its not just clothes, but the perception of shame also, which is culture. Let me spell out that loud for you. C-U-L-T-U-R-E.
- Its a known fact that some Naga and Mizo tribes eat dogs. Mainstream Indians say the hill people have no compassion because of this. Just like the way we love goats, chicken and not to mention beef, they too see them as food. Can you consider it now? It a lifestyle choice. They have settled the way they want to. And we, most of all people have no right to point fingers.
North Easterners are spoiling Indian culture by pretending to be very Western or rather South East Asian
- I was watching Pink the other day and Andrea caught my attention. While she was being questioned in the court, she was the only person who was continually asked – “So you’re from the North East?” How come was this not asked to other people present who came from Rajasthan or Andhra Pradesh? As Deepak Saigal put it. Talk about colonization. Before the Japanese Forces got a hold, the north east was not isolated. They had their own religions, worshipped gods, river nymphs. As the British came in during the 1940s, many settled in the Brahmaputra Valley. Many in Myanmar. And many were converted into Christianity by the British. The church exposed them to the standards of the present world, scripts for their own languages, education and solace from the demons (us). That has made them look up to the church and its “Western ways.”
They are the seven sisters. They are landlocked between. They want peace. They want a little bit of humanity. They are far from mainstream India. Huddled in their daily chores.
Raise your voice. They too have a story to tell.
Before late realization hits you hard, you will have all things sorted out.
You will enjoy your morning coffee everyday.
You will put on a new dress and hang out with your best friend with whom who have not met for ages.
You will pack your bags for a short trip in the country side.
You will chat with your neighbours in that park bench which you always noticed while coming back from work.
You will turn on the T.V. and watch crap telly, followed by Chinese takeout.
You will meet someone with whom you will share your ideologies which go on in your chaotic mind.
You will take out that leaflet from your purse and contact the NGO.
You will make yourself a cup of coffee and curl up on the sofa reading Jane Eyre.
You will wake up everyday with a thousand mega-watt smile.
You will find enjoying yourself.
You will find out the real you.
I wake up with a jolt. Feel my pulse. No. Not feverish at all. I look at the clock. It says 3 :15 a.m. I can hear my own coarse breathing. I feel that my neck is covered in beads of sweat. I empty the bottle of water by my bed with two and try hard to close my eyes. Next thing I know I see a little girl. She follows me wherever I go. She has wild, unruly and unkempt hair which falls in heaps across her face. She is staring at me intently. I can’t see her. She is like a silhouette. All I can see is her face. The rest of her body seems to be clad in darkness. All I can see is a face, devoid of body parts. Her stance changes and she lunges at me. I stand right there, paralyzed. I try to run but the earth underneath has engulfed my legs in. I am incapable of running from her. I am angry at myself at this observation that the girl standing right in front of me is a living manifestation inside me and she is tearing me apart. She is me. My own self. Sometimes she suffocates me, draining out what little life I have left inside me. Sometimes she just stands there. Watching. Waiting to pounce.
She is a shade of own self and envelops me, depriving me of the colors of life. How wrong I was when I expected the moments of ordinary life filled with hues. But the truth was that it was filled with bitter charcoal. She is responsible for the vagueness. She holds on to me, against my will and whispers to me about the pleasures of life.
I don’t have any solution as to how I can escape her. I cannot. She is my own self. Going through all the motions, she holds me with real physical force. I try, but with time comes exhaustion. And I lose the battle. I give in. The girl slowly converges into my body and finally I am at peace. I bid adieu to the madman inside me ages ago. Why try now, when you know the authenticity of it? Only then do I give in. The girl jars me with all her might. I drown gradually wishing for colourful skies, fairy lights, bloomed flowers and lanterns. But there’s no escaping. No. There’s no escape from this.
I am new here. Please follow me and read my writings. It would be really helpful. Thank you !