9 March, 4:02 am
I was born exactly at this time, nearly three decades ago, in a small village in Manipur. Mom had not been keeping well for few months and was weak during my birth. Maibi (or dais - traditional birth attendants/midwives) was being sent for when she went into labour. But before her arrival I popped out of my mother's womb surrounded by anxious relatives. The house was humble and with too many people living in it, my mother was moved to a makeshift room during the later stage of her pregnancy. The verandah to the right side of the house, a shelter for people to sit in during festivities and/or ceremonies, was converted into an extra room with kitchen for mom's convenience.
It was Holi. The town would soon be seen reveling in the festivities. But there was double the reason for celebration in our house. Father, who was with the army, was promptly informed of my birth. He was posted in Jammu and Kashmir at that time. When the news reached him, he was out collecting snow for boiling drinking water. He says he threw the container away and ran like a madman to receive the call.
I am the only one who was born in my hometown in a remote village, Sugnu. So, besides my mother's milk I was fed on chabon - a starchy liquid formed during the process of cooking rice in a pot. When the water begins to dry, the starchy liquid is collected from the top and after adding a pinch of salt it is fed to the baby. It was a poor man's cerelac! My brother and sister would sometimes gang up on me saying I am a lawai macha (a gawar or dehati - a village bumpkin) while they were born in cities and grew up on cerelac! The teasing bit was also because I could not speak my mother tongue - Manipuri properly. It was more crude and rustic. It's another thing I still can't!
Despite our different circumstances and the different environment we were born in , we have somehow managed to turn out good. And despite leaving our hometowns for studies then work, staying together then separately, we are still connected.
And as
today I think of where life has brought me and how much it has shaped and moulded me through the years, I find myself celebrating my birth with these two wonderful beings I call family.
With our celebrations I rejoice and remember and miss the person who gave life to us, knowing somehow that a corner of the Heaven must be celebrating with us too...
I was born exactly at this time, nearly three decades ago, in a small village in Manipur. Mom had not been keeping well for few months and was weak during my birth. Maibi (or dais - traditional birth attendants/midwives) was being sent for when she went into labour. But before her arrival I popped out of my mother's womb surrounded by anxious relatives. The house was humble and with too many people living in it, my mother was moved to a makeshift room during the later stage of her pregnancy. The verandah to the right side of the house, a shelter for people to sit in during festivities and/or ceremonies, was converted into an extra room with kitchen for mom's convenience.
It was Holi. The town would soon be seen reveling in the festivities. But there was double the reason for celebration in our house. Father, who was with the army, was promptly informed of my birth. He was posted in Jammu and Kashmir at that time. When the news reached him, he was out collecting snow for boiling drinking water. He says he threw the container away and ran like a madman to receive the call.
I am the only one who was born in my hometown in a remote village, Sugnu. So, besides my mother's milk I was fed on chabon - a starchy liquid formed during the process of cooking rice in a pot. When the water begins to dry, the starchy liquid is collected from the top and after adding a pinch of salt it is fed to the baby. It was a poor man's cerelac! My brother and sister would sometimes gang up on me saying I am a lawai macha (a gawar or dehati - a village bumpkin) while they were born in cities and grew up on cerelac! The teasing bit was also because I could not speak my mother tongue - Manipuri properly. It was more crude and rustic. It's another thing I still can't!
Despite our different circumstances and the different environment we were born in , we have somehow managed to turn out good. And despite leaving our hometowns for studies then work, staying together then separately, we are still connected.
And as
today I think of where life has brought me and how much it has shaped and moulded me through the years, I find myself celebrating my birth with these two wonderful beings I call family.With our celebrations I rejoice and remember and miss the person who gave life to us, knowing somehow that a corner of the Heaven must be celebrating with us too...
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