Its time to say goodbye yet again. The umpteenth time in my life. It’s always been this way. The only thing constant in my 22 years of existence has been the adieu. Schooled in ten different cantonments, moving onto someplace new is something I always looked forward to. The end of each tenure; that was always the highlight in my otherwise low key upbringing. Newer pastures to roam, new horizons to explore. Every time.
I was proud to be a nomad, a vagabond with no roots and no place to call my “childhood home”. I still am proud of it. This, however, seemed to worry my father quite a bit. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it given the fact that my so called “rootlessness” (I don’t’ think that’s really a word) was all owing to his being in the Indian Army’s Infantry. He wondered and tried hard to make me feel one with our great North East and take pride in the fact that I was Assamese and that ours was the only part of India that the Mughals could never invade. Yes, I took pride in this fact which was of historical reckoning. Did it make me feel that I was indeed a child of the impenetrable, wild, nonchalant and yet superbly passionate soil of North East? No, not quite.
I was proud to be a nomad, a vagabond with no roots and no place to call my “childhood home”. I still am proud of it. This, however, seemed to worry my father quite a bit. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it given the fact that my so called “rootlessness” (I don’t’ think that’s really a word) was all owing to his being in the Indian Army’s Infantry. He wondered and tried hard to make me feel one with our great North East and take pride in the fact that I was Assamese and that ours was the only part of India that the Mughals could never invade. Yes, I took pride in this fact which was of historical reckoning. Did it make me feel that I was indeed a child of the impenetrable, wild, nonchalant and yet superbly passionate soil of North East? No, not quite.
I could never fathom how or why I was expected to feel a sense of belonging to North East or any other place for that matter when right from the time that I was conceived, I have never been in a place or a community long enough to find any sort of permanent footing. Yes, I have developed into a fully functioning human being and evolved into a secure and “thinking” individual but no, I don’t belong anywhere. There was no place to call home. Until now.
I found home. I found my people and I love them and they love me. A kind of love that needed no reasons, no explanations and no time to evolve. It was just there.
I landed up in my North East. By default, like every other time. 4 months is all I have spent here. The shortest. Ironic. There are places I have been in for 7 years and yet it never, not for a moment, made me feel like anything other than the nomad that I always felt like. And now, 4 months. That’s all it took to realize where I come from.
For someone who always awaited “the posting order” with bated breath, my heart is broken. For someone who never could comprehend the tears that farewells bring to most people, my eyes have been welling up every day at the slightest sound of someone speaking in Mizo.
Yes, I have felt pain on separating from loved ones every once in a while and yes, I have cried on a few lonely nights when I missed a friend or two while reminiscing about the old glories. But I have never felt the kind of crippling, spirit numbing pain that I did when WE my long lost people, sang together in church one last time. “ What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear….”, we sang and I could faintly relate to the pain one goes through at the death of a loved one while with the quiet reassurance of peace and promise. And then we sang, “God be with you till we meet again! Till we meet—till we meet--! Till we meet at Jesus’ feet…”. Yes, we sang those words and I was no longer relating to pain.I was already dead.
There was no mistaking it. From the moment I set foot on my soil and smiled at them, I had every answer to why I am the way I am. Defiant. Quirky. Fiercely Loyal. Randomly nonchalant. Inexplicably wild and yet more tamed than the most domesticated. I know exactly why. Because I am from here. Right here, right this moment I know I am home. Even though, the nomad is moving on again. My mother always called me a “wild, wild angel”, one of her favourite tracks by the English Glam Rock band Smokie who found success in the 1970’s. She was right.I know now why I am a wild wild angel. It is because I belong here. The blood of the land runs through my veins. I am them and therefore, I am.
The Assam Regiment. 82 Mtn Bde. All its jawans and their families. THAT is my definition of North East. And THEY are what this land and my roots is all about for me. And they are all that signifies North East and home.
Tagra Raho.
I found home. I found my people and I love them and they love me. A kind of love that needed no reasons, no explanations and no time to evolve. It was just there.
I landed up in my North East. By default, like every other time. 4 months is all I have spent here. The shortest. Ironic. There are places I have been in for 7 years and yet it never, not for a moment, made me feel like anything other than the nomad that I always felt like. And now, 4 months. That’s all it took to realize where I come from.
For someone who always awaited “the posting order” with bated breath, my heart is broken. For someone who never could comprehend the tears that farewells bring to most people, my eyes have been welling up every day at the slightest sound of someone speaking in Mizo.
Yes, I have felt pain on separating from loved ones every once in a while and yes, I have cried on a few lonely nights when I missed a friend or two while reminiscing about the old glories. But I have never felt the kind of crippling, spirit numbing pain that I did when WE my long lost people, sang together in church one last time. “ What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear….”, we sang and I could faintly relate to the pain one goes through at the death of a loved one while with the quiet reassurance of peace and promise. And then we sang, “God be with you till we meet again! Till we meet—till we meet--! Till we meet at Jesus’ feet…”. Yes, we sang those words and I was no longer relating to pain.I was already dead.
There was no mistaking it. From the moment I set foot on my soil and smiled at them, I had every answer to why I am the way I am. Defiant. Quirky. Fiercely Loyal. Randomly nonchalant. Inexplicably wild and yet more tamed than the most domesticated. I know exactly why. Because I am from here. Right here, right this moment I know I am home. Even though, the nomad is moving on again. My mother always called me a “wild, wild angel”, one of her favourite tracks by the English Glam Rock band Smokie who found success in the 1970’s. She was right.I know now why I am a wild wild angel. It is because I belong here. The blood of the land runs through my veins. I am them and therefore, I am.
The Assam Regiment. 82 Mtn Bde. All its jawans and their families. THAT is my definition of North East. And THEY are what this land and my roots is all about for me. And they are all that signifies North East and home.
Tagra Raho.
