Christmas, Boxing day and the Leveller

Brevity is the breathe of life (DB, Life)

One long year wait for Christmas ended in a single day. The celebrated day trickled down to exit in a brief second. Like martyr it left when other calendar days were not expected or feasted upon. It doesn’t take time for anything to end while the rest seem to be in a never-ending journey. Many a time the beginning is never seen or known, but the ending is too obvious. Too evident. Too inevitable. But brevity adds to the pleasure of life. It is all that make things matter. Better too. If everything were eternal, it would be so ugly.

I started the day trying to save all the SMS Christmas wishes I received. After sometime my mobile screen was blinking with the message that said: no space for new messages. To create space for the incoming messages I deleted those that have no sender’s name. It was a desperate move trying to save some while deleting others. The might and power of religion has attached unquestioned value to the messages of the day while technology delivers them with assured certainty. Then I wonder what the day would be to different people who are negotiating pale uncertainties. In Manipur’s Chandel, Kuki brothers and sisters have called this year’s Christmas as “Black Christmas.” Their land continued to be an uninvited battlefield with the Indian Army fighting against the United National Liberation Front (UNLF). The protracted conflict in Chandel has once again resulted in severe internal displacement of the Kukis from their homes. Their lives are trapped in the dictate of the barrel of guns. Their lives are on the run. Their lives remain shattered in the broken State that house many broken hearts. However, their plights, as human being, are never address as there is no governance and order with the Government. In the process they have become “refugees”, “landmine victims”, “displaced”, as they continue to lose everything in their own homes.

Then I thought of the distressed villagers in Manipur’s Tipaimukh who told me in October that they desire to celebrate Christmas in October with the little harvest they have as they were gnawed by the impact of gregarious bamboo flowering. They knew they have so little to last them through December 25. I saw fear in their eyes. Their words quake with waning hope. Of helplessness. They, who battle with rats and rodents, also wish to have a wonderful Chrsitmas. As doom flowers, they bred hope in silent prayers. Their faith is not moving mountains, but it is making them see the unfolding days and nights. A grim situation where they are compelled to hope against every possible hope. They are victims not only of natural calamities, but also of man made disaster. While the Government at the Centre has pumped in money to combat the impact of the dreaded flowers nothing reaches the marginalized villagers who are living a near famine situation. They don’t know that someone somewhere is getting filthy rich with their share of money that was designed to fight their hunger and the fear of it. They don’t know that the food shortages and the crisis were man made and not merely nature’s cycle. But they keep blaming the bamboo that flowers and not the corrupt insatiable lot who will never bell the cat. I wonder how they would be facing another day.

Then on the night of the Boxing Day I was woken by Robert Sanglora Khawbung. He told me our friend Mesak L Sinate breathe his last at AIIMS hospital. I got to know of Mesak through Robert in Delhi. I remember we shook hands and greet each other on Christmas night after the dinner in the Church. He said it’s almost late but we still can shake hands for Christmas sake. That was about five hours before he met with the accident. From what I was told Mesak met, greeted and called all his near and dear ones on Christmas day. His father told the congregation at the funeral service that Mesak telephoned home early on Christmas morning, which his father said was very unusual and unlikely of him. Mesak cried over the phone saying he was feeling homesick. Then he spoke to everyone in the family. One by one. His father said that it must be his way of saying goodbye to the family. We also shook hands, and as he said, before it was late. I must also believe that must be his way of saying goodbye. The hungry leveller had his way on the Boxing Day.