Pipi's Mango Tree

By Nahai

What comes to your mind when someone mentions something that is superb, juicy, tasty and very colorful fruit? A tomato or jackfruits maybe close to the answer, but the answer will be definitely none other than the ‘King of fruits’- Mango. It is for this that the mango tree, the one that has stood behind my grandmother’s house that brings sugary reminiscences whenever someone speaks of mangoes.

The villagers would either refer to the tree as Pipi Theihai (pipi’s mango tree) or simply as ‘Sweet mango tree’. Maybe they do not have time to learn what is Mangifera indica Dussheri, Chosa, Langra, Safeda, Kalmi, Alphonso, Amrapali (some varieties of mangoes) like we do. The only thing they were worried about were the recurrent hailstones during the flowering months of early spring as heavy winds and hailstones would come which meant lesser ripened mangoes left for them to savor.

There are several species of mangoes but the genera of the mango tree never bother children and the village folk of Patpuihmun. Instead they would look onward eagerly for the huge tree to bear its fruits. Children do not care as long as their little hands could reach to plug their favourite fruit, of course with permission from Pipi (grandmother).

Pipi Theihai is a tall tree now growing almost up to 100 ft; a dense, heavy crown of branches has a spread of around 100 ft. The evergreen drooping leaves resemble those of the peach tree. Coppery to purplish-red at first but becoming green at maturity, they are lance-shaped and slightly curved. It has witnessed many summers and according to the village elders it could be as old as 100 years. What is amazing is that the fruits are as sweet as before. Its ivory colored small flowers are still numerous with fruit clusters hanging outside the foliage canopy.

The small yellowish flowers would appear. Children’s knew that soon they would have those little mangoes again. Now those flowers produces a volatile substance which in some little kids it would cause an allergic reaction and respiratory problems. Mothers would scold their kids for being glutton. The few lucky ones who were permitted by Pipi did not have to fear the volatile substances for they do not have to fear her rebukes for not taking her permission before climbing the tree.

Pipi Theihai also provides lots of dense shade. And at high noon everybody in the village of Patpui* would seek its company looking for superior cool shade it offer. It also had lots of visitors. The first to arrive during the flowering were a flock of chattering bulbuls that trying to impress their mates. These bulbuls were then be followed by other smaller birds. Pipi Theihai is not just a Mango Tree now. It is more like an individual in the little village where people would come together whenever they need to find relief from heat and of course not forgetting the ripe juicy mangoes.

Its huge trunk provided a strong limb children used to put bamboo ladders to climb it with. Everyone loves to sit by its lowering branches. They would even talk to the tree wishing for more shade and more fruits.

Due to its excellent succulent taste and its fresh yellow colour, Pipi Theihai is simply known as the ‘Sweet Mango’. Called it Am (Hindi) or mavina hannu(Kannada) Pipi’s mango will still retain its form, size, color, scent, taste and quality. There are over 500 named varieties of the mango. The colourful cheek, tasty, juicy, flavored fruit that Pipi’s Theihai bore is now known all over the surrounding villages.

The villagers from other villages would asked for the dry flat elongated fibrous seed from Pipi in the hope that a new ‘pipi theihai’ would grow behind their huts as well. But the folk would regret sadly that none of the fruits that come up in their garden taste as good as the one on Pipi’s.

Pipi’s Theihai is however like any other mango trees when it comes to putting up with nature calamities, pesky black birds, bugs, insects, bees, and is susceptible do getting mildew. Yes, that is what all that black stuff all over the trunk, leaves, and fruit. But nobody cares about the mildew when Pipi’s Theihai is laden with plum juicy fruit. They would throw stones and pick and pick all the ones that were just right.

Each time I look back in fondness, I am saddened because Pipi’s Theihai lost its largest branch facing the east last monsoon when it was struck by lightning. But then a good Mango tree can last for 300 years and still fruiting great tasting Mangoes- the kind you love to eat.

From Northeast to Southwest: Home Away From Home

Who cares about language these days as long as they are used for artistic things? Language issue is of secondary importance to music unlike in politics where language is a priority. This is why many young boys and girls in remote Mizoram and Manipur hummed to Hindi film songs even without knowing the least of what it meant.

Art and music defy language as a means of expression. Same is with the ‘high pitch yet full of feeling’ voice of Lalrindiki, better known as Daduhi. Beautiful things go beyond word to express and bypass the language barrier across nationalities. It is for this reason that we appreciate the music of heavy rock and roll music though you may never understand a word of their lyrics! ;)

Daduhi brought with her a unique style in pop music in Mizoram and popularized contemporary music to be followed by many new entrants. The music scene in Mizoram is way ahead of its and people irrespective of their languages hummed to the catchy tunes. I don’t know much about music and its notes neither was I aware of this woman who could unite passion and feeling in her songs, but certain events in life bring us to understand what you thought you will never understand.

It was in early July 2005, in Karnataka, one evening; I went to a laundry to get my clothes washed. The laundryman was listening to certain music which I thought was familiar from the distant. As I went to his shop, there it was, clearly and distinctly the very voice from the land where ‘I came from’. The song was Kar hla Di!I still remember.

But I never knew that it was Daduhi until the announcer from All India Radio declared that it was Daduhi. I was surprised to hear not just the song but why the people in Karnataka listen to Mizo songs. “I just love it, of course not the lyric because I cannot understand a word … but the tunes and music and this girl voice are nice,” said the laundry man.

I asked him whether it was just incidental that Mizo songs were broadcasted from AIR station. The laundry man told me that since, he don’t know the language he cannot be sure if other songs are played but several songs like this used to be broadcast from AIR. From that day on we became good friends and answered several questions he on had about Mizoram and the Northeast. Don’t forget I still had to pay him for his laundry work.

At that time I thought that there was no one from Northeast, except me, in this ‘remote’ coastal city of Mangalore. Even if there were there would not be any Mizos, I assumed. My guess became partially true till today with not more than five Mizos in Mangalore.

Now I no longer go to the laundry man and I don’t know if Mizo songs are still broadcasted.
But I do know that Daduhi’s voice was a great comforter and connects me to the people with whom I was to stay for the remaining two years. Being my first time from out of Northeast India and that too from North East to South West I feared that might not be able to make myself at home during my stay here. But life changes unpredictably.

Daduhi’s Kar Hla Di’ pledges to stay faithful to the lover and wishes for togetherness sometimes echoes in my mind. And I too wish that my “thinlai(will) a dam ngei ang”, sooner or later. Until then, “…Tawng leh ni her chhuak ang…Run hmun leng dun ve Nan” will comfort me with a note that I am not so far away from home. After all I am amidst people who appreciate the same music as I do.

Why I got a mobile,How I lost it, got a new one and err…someone’s call…

By Nahai
Having a mobile phone became a necessity once I sat foot on India’s IT capital- Bangalore. I had to receive calls from …er…you know. So, I got myself a new Nokia handset sometime back. But I found by the end of one month that it was eating up my pocket as it turns out to be me who do all of the callings— instead of receiving calls. For the next two months, I reminded myself not to recharge every week but the service providers get me hooked by offering me new schemes… an offer I can’t refuse to let it go. So I gave up and talked as much as I could.

Sometimes, somebody at the other end of the line would just say, “You’ll be spending too much…” to which I would simply shrugs off saying, “ Don’t worry about that I got great offers to call you!”

I spent lots of time talking over the phone. The handset must have been very tired sometimes— if it were human. If ever, it were to complain, it would surely have done it or throw me a punch right on my ear!

Last week, somebody up there must be feeling pity for my overworked phone. It was finally relieved from my very own pocket under my very careful instinct. It happened when I was looking for a ‘safe house’ to rent it out as someone, you know, was coming to stay with me. Instead of finding a safer place, I landed up in an area where pick-pockets make their living.

I was returning in an over-crowded Bangalore Mahanagara Transport bus, constantly putting my right hand in my pocket to feel the presence of my ‘slave’ mobile. But as I was about to get down from the bus three people also tried to get down pushing me… the next moment I put my hands into my pockets I realised that my mobile had been taken away from me.

I saw one of the guys, who was half drunk, putting something under his armpit. I chased him and the bystanders looked at me as if they have never seen a Northeast lad running after a Southern crook. I caught him and frisked his pockets but I didn’t find my handset. Before I could tell the policeman who had been watching from the distance all the time, another crook hurried over to the next side of the road never to be seen again.

Not knowing exactly what to do, I went to the public call booth at the bus stand and called up my number. The thief picked it up but spoke in Kannada — a language I wish I could drive with my tongue.

I pleaded him to bring back the mobile and even offered him something… but he cuts-off the line. I tried to call several times but I could only hear, “This mobile you are calling is not reachable. Please try again.” I got tired after several attempts so I went to my office in the afternoon to start the days work. But I miss my mobile… that’s for sure as I could not concentrate properly on my work. I gave some extremely hilarious and overtly serious headlines. My colleague, quite a mused, by all the headlines send me a note (via the intranet): Robert, did ‘someone’ call you up? I replied saying, “ No, I had just lost the tool…damn it.”

During office break, using a colleague mobile, I called up the customer care service to block my SIM which they could not do under new guidelines for registration of lost mobiles and number blocking. The customer service man politely explained his helplessness and advised me lodge a police complaint.

The next day, I went to a police station, located in quite a posh residential area. There, my Northeast or ‘foreigner look’ gave the police constable the liberty to asked me Rs 100 — a fee for filing a police complaint!

I never knew that there was such provision in the Indian law, but when I reasoned with the constable he took me to the sub-inspector who was also expecting the same ‘fee’ from me. But he made a big mistake of asking me my job and profession. When I told him that I belonged to the media fraternity and working as a jounalist in the city, he quietly took my complaint paper and signed his acknowledgement!

Clutching the paper, I walked my way to the nearest Airtel showroom telling them that I have got the police note to confirm my claim. They, as customer friendly ever, politely expressed their regrets for the lost of my mobile! The lady at the desk assured me that I could get my same number and a new SIM card at no extra charge. “ Sir, your new SIM will be activated within three hours,” she added.

On my way back home, I bought a new Nokia again, inserted the new SIM card and eagerly waited for the assured time. At exactly one minute past three hours it was activated leaving me to ponder over the way the police station and an Airtel office functions in providing service to the people. Before, I could give any judgement to what I was thinking, a call finally comes from that… someone: U Malsawm, Thank God I could reach you finally. I’ve reached Guwahati… don’t worry too much about me. I will reach Bangalore on Tuesday.

Life: Never Stop Learning

Never be so stubborn about what you think you’ve learned about success.
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My first work for Integrated Media Practice during my MA course in Mass Communication and Journalism at Mangalore University’s Department of Mass Communication and Journalism involved changing the page design of Campus Courier by using QuarkXpress. It was a long, tedious effort, but ultimately accepted.

Afterward, I admit to being somewhat smug. I knew some were not for change. Part of this smugness came from the fact that some of my groupmates had come from earlier campus courier assignments that had purported to use the same copy design on QuarkXpress, but were (in my then mind) not practicing it correctly. Several of the practices introduced early into our project, were not much like QuarkXpress as commonly discussed in the class (or practiced by newspaper copy editors), and did contribute to some early adoption issues we encountered. By shifting towards a more typical QuarkXpress descriptions of those practices, we got attracted, and ultimately success.

Now I knew what QuarkXpress is.

So, on my next project, I tried to introduce those new features as in the last project only to find that they were now completely wrong for the team. I concluded that the problem was context-specific.You see where this is going. It was four issue (five if you count the ideas that seeded the first), before I began to realise that you can’t separate context from implementation of practices or otherwise. Each time I found certain principles carried over, but I also found that while there were similarities in implementation (to a greater or lesser degree) there was little (nothing really) that when cookie-cutter applied in the new situation netted the same results as on the previous issues.

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And this was for the marginally successful practices. It took me even longer to realise that this mind-set was appropriate for the most successful practices as well. Just because something was a smashing success didn’t mean it was immune to this re-examination on the next project.

There have been several more projects other than Campus Courier since then, but I still struggle with this today. While rationally I feel that I would be willing to abandon or modify any practice if it wasn’t helping us. I bring into each new project, and an inevitable ‘Aha’ moment when I realise how that prejudice is blinding me to what will help most. Mainly that moment just happens sooner.

I believe that this pattern applies to practices, values, and even principles: what works for us in the past, what we feel makes us successful, or even who we are is based somewhat on the accident of experience (or chance), and may prove disastrous when blindly followed in an inappropriate circumstance. Prejudicial thinking is difficult to notice in oneself. How much harder it is to detect when reinforced by culture, early experience, and prior positive outcomes.

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These days, I believe the key difference between practice, value and principle (something much talked about at one time in the classes) is simply how likely we are to adjust them if things are going wrong for us (i.e. practices change a lot, principles rarely). But none should be immune from our consideration when our actions result in negative outcomes.

Experience tells me not to look for advice on starting projects, but plans to work it out for myself; Start each project with a blank process sheet. View the ideal process as a seamless flow of projects from the one who assigned to one of us who does the project. Find what’s gumming up that flow; apply the contents of your experience toolbox to the rough spots until things run smooth. Never stop looking for new things to add to your idea.

Always know what your goal is. Never stop learning. Never believe you’ve got it all figured out. Most importantly: never be so stubborn about what you think you’ve learned about success, that you aren’t willing to change. It is for this that the practices we cling to most stubbornly in inappropriate circumstances are the ones that have served us best in past situations.

Crossed Tracks

You may have got your French kiss, but what about experiencing a real French suspense thriller which is totally based on realism cinema?

Crossed Tracks by Academy Award winner director Claude Lelouch, and an all French cast, is a witty thriller in which every characters reveal nothing as to who they really are.

This romantic suspense drama involves best-selling crime novelist Judith Ralitzer (Fanny Ardant) who has all her books written by a ghostwriter, Louis (Dominique Pinon). And Huguette (Audrey Dana) who is abandoned by her fiancee at a petrol station.

A petrol station — That’s where the characters and the story crossed their tracks. Huguette meets Louis in the midst of a frequent FM radio news updates about an errant schoolteacher who left his wife and a pedophile serial killer who has escaped from prison.

As the tale zigzags between these three characters, the narrative doubles back and forth to reveal their identities. The real problem starts when ghostwriter Louis decided to come out of Judith’s shadow by trying to put his name in the novel he currently writes for her.

The film plays out like a poker game. You’ll never be quite sure what is what and who is who, until the very last cut — the hallmark of a successful thriller. However, Crossed Tracks needs your full concentration and of course sharp eyes to read the English subtitles, if French is Greek to you.

Other than that, this film gives you the drama you wish to follow, the melodrama you can appreciate, a brilliant comedy to make you grin earnestly, but most of all it is the presentation skills that keep this film way ahead of others in its genre.
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French (with English subtitles)
Cast: Dominique Pinon, Fanny Ardant, Autrey Dana, Zinedine Soualem, Michele Bernier
Director: Claude Lelouch