Lone home of a farmer!!

The peddy field near Mayang Imphal- Uchiwa Road
Photo Courtesy : Chaoba Phuritshabam

I'm not a poet who can write on your beauty; I'm not a singer who can sing about you. But I would never forget the moment, I have shared with you in my childhood. The early morning walk at 3am with my group of kids in the Mayang Imphal-Uchiwa road. The prayer song from the mosque wake me up and my gang would gather near my gate to start our everyday journey from konchak to uchiwa lamhang. Nobody wishes to go there as people talked about weird things,people being killed there and thrown away in the night. But fortunately, we never met any such incident. We played in the road, jump to the lotus field near the road and sometime we even sleep on the road when the road is empty. Life was free from everything i.e guns, bomb and any kind of materialistic thing. I'm glad I was not born to an elite family where I would be forced to confine me within the four walls fearing of the world outside, with some dry brown bread and take my freedom away :). I have the sky as my roof and the mother earth as my bed. I dream about everything I could see in my eyes but nothing about the world I live now. When the prayer song from the mosques come to an end , we are very sure that it is already 4.30am. We have to rush home now. You don't need a radio to entertain you, the song of the farmers and also known as khulang eshei would make you afresh in the early morning. They don't sing like the old version but the way they entertain themselves while they are working would be worth watching. Sometime I would sit near the field and spent half of the day listening to their conversation and songs. What i enjoyed most was the hindi song sung by the farmers with his own prepared words in the same tune.

Things are too different now. This beautiful place in the picture is no more a place where you can go for walk in the early morning or evening. This place has turned to a graveyard. People are being killed and thrown in the empty road and it was made a place of horror. Only some small huts of farmers are there amidst the field. There is no development as usual. The roads are still too small and narrow. But no one can claim her beauty and take it away from you. You are still too beautiful in my eyes no matter how much people try to make you dirty with the meaningless bloods and tears. I can still see the beauty of the lone home of farmers where he dreams of his small family, the huge income he can earn from his fish farm, the wealthy monsoon, the dry summer.Above all a dream of building a new bigger home before the rainy season arrives where he could sleep without the rain waking him up whole night.