The imaginary
homecoming
Kapil Arambam takes you through a surreal world of visiting his hometown, whilst
elaborating on the pros and cons of living in a metro and the charm of a sleepy town
May 28 2011, Imphal: The laid-back attitude is
getting right under my nose, since I left New Delhi
for good a year ago. Now what I care for is my
profession, and a bit of homework to help family
and friends in the coming times. I'm subsequently
wont to rise early, on the dot when sweating or
mugginess used to wake me up in days gone
by. When I remember those
days of chapatti, samosa, gulab
jamun, milk tea, I'd go to the
leikai tea-stall – where old men
anatomise the morning paper
over a cup of tea and nurture
the good old memories of those
dates-in-the-garden; Dev Anand
and company; snatching-and-
marrying girls of their choice;
and those idyllic time before RK
Sanayaima, A Somorendro, N
Bisheswar and their ilk took the
centre stage in the region's politics.
As the month advances into the middle week,
I don't worry about Bunty Booree, my former
landlord in Maharani Bagh, troubling me for the
rent anymore. This dickhead, who would always
show up in the early morning around mid-month,
was a real pain in the neck. He always took light
years to help me fix a broken tap or a defunct
switch-box but he was always on schedule to
collect the payment. I could notice his rapacious
eyes, which sparkled if the monthly electricity
bill showed a higher remittance... just because he
was getting more Mahatma Gandhi notes. And
how I hate him when he came delightedly to
inform me that he was raising the rent! No more
I'm preyed on my mind by his piggishness these
days. Incidentally, he was I have got a job on account of my merit alone and Government offices are
my second landlord, and the not through some backdoor selling and buying as supposedly obsolete,
previous one in Malviya Nagar is customary and revered in our holy land
– a subjugated, aged man,
whose grumbling wife would
henpecked him many a time in front of us – was no
less worse.
Yet I feel sorry that I have got these scumbags,
in the first place, to rant my vitriol. But they didn't
The imaginary homecoming Kapil Arambam
The imaginary homecoming.indd 1
seem to care how much I had made an effort to get
apposite accommodation – each episode teaching
me the value of time and money in a hard way. I
had to take help from friends and brokers to find a
pad where: the lessor is not nosy; I enjoy the liberty
to cook fish, chicken and pork or delicacies with
ngāri and soibōm; I can call my friends for a night
stay; and so on. Thank goodness,
both of these owners gave me
ample freedom but it was their
Scrooge character that put me off.
For this matter, I take pleasure in
the sojourn at the Akriti Hostel in
New Friends Colony, where I stayed
for two years during my master's
degree. I didn't have the luxury to
cook or invite my friends, but it was
ideal in the course of my study. I
also met a lot of great friends who
have become so close as much as my
leikai-, school- and college-friends. In these days
of Facebook and Twitter, the real-time distance is
apparently a misnomer.
Just miss a beat on my profession in this confab.
As you know, there is no probability of an Anil
Ambani or a Narayana Murthy putting money
into our state. However, I have managed to get
my hands on a coveted post in a fortunate stroke
of serendipity. Don't get me wrong here, I have
got this job on account of my merit alone and not
through some backdoor selling and buying as
is customary and revered in our holy land. For
long, I have mulled over pursuing a profitable
merchandising activity rather than putting our
ancestral paddy on sale for the rarely available,
clerical vacancy in a nearly defunct workplace.
maybe the miseries
affecting the state, have
also bogged down its
employees. As of now, what I want to flaunt is my
set of skills that I have acquired in my 21 years of
formal education and a couple of years' experience
in the industry, but not my social standing in a
1
6/1/10 3:34:26 PM
 dreadfully sick society, where cheap money can
buy you anything that a dozen of MasterCard
could not even afford elsewhere.
All of us are responsible for the atrocious
condition we are in today. When we become
informed electorates we can have a meaningful
society. This is not oversimplification though it
seems so, since we have lost count of the thousands
of invocation through the media. In retrospection,
our predecessors are
more suited to gossip
in a leikai tea-stall
than to see the light
of contemporary
Manipur. Some few of them, who have the
privilege to attend college and hold office,
are instilling the art of corruption whilst the
commoners are complying with the dictates as if
this was the providence.
My generation is also picking up; now we are
coughing up for the job we want, and it will not
be unexpected in the coming decade when we
outsmart the old-timers. Despite this, we are not
dumb clucks like them. There is a good chance
though it will not be possible in, at least, another
two hundred years, about people returning back
and bucking up the economy. Alright, let the
younger generation abuse us too. Reverse brain
drain or brain gain – you call it any name – is
possible, provided we get rid ourselves of the
intense animal instincts in us.
And the political masters are also
inevitably coerced to appreciate
that we cannot be taken for
granted eternally.
Take me as a simple human
being with simple tastes. I don't
bear anyone a grudge, what you
sow you reap; the social mores
only define your judgement of
the world at large. And there is
no question of selling myself off
in this situation, for I would have
stayed back in Delhi if I had not
gotten this shot. As luck would
have it, I'm destined to be here. Now it's no more
a hassle to go to the office. I commute on my own
and don't have to wait for a cab,
in which I was once loaded with
colleagues in the same way as
commodities are conveyed on a
lorry along the highway.
Oh, those sickening feeling in
travelling for an hour when the
temperature hovers at 45℃! I
took pity on those guys, who had
to travel across three states from Noida to Gurgaon
via south Delhi for work. I can recall those days
The imaginary homecoming Kapil Arambam
The imaginary homecoming.indd 2
of sweltering heat, which no fan or cooler could
hinder on occasion. It's perspiring when I look
back on.
Today when I leave home for work, I'm neither
bothered whether I have locked my door or not. I
have always enjoyed my work. From my previous
job, I learnt so many new things in the professional
front, grasped the inside knowledge of the market,
and have matured into a man. Though I loathed
the tasks of pencil
pushers that we
were occasionally
burden with. I long
for responsibilities,
which are appropriate and are up to my abilities.
But then, work is work – you are perhaps a nerd if
you think it's worship. William Faulkner, the noted
American writer, described the eight-hour regimen
in an interview in 'Writers at Work': "One of the
saddest things is that the only thing that a man can
do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work.
You can't eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight
hours a day nor make love for eight hours – all you
can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason
why man makes himself and everybody else so
miserable and unhappy."
Imagine Faulkner's ire if I tell him I had worked
for ten hours a day. Wait, I buy Malcolm Gladwell's
10,000-hour rule. Investing time on our subject of
interest in the office would be itsy-bitsy for the
simple reason we are not paid to
do what we desire. Yet there is a
silver lining in working anywhere
that we are devoting our time,
at least, on the profession of our
choice. What matters is, in the
end, how much we are becoming
proficient in our trade and we are
adrenalised to perform our duties.
"See, Eepu Faulkner, it was a
corporate canon," I'd convince him.
"That's the norm and presuming I
spilled the beans about the wicked
schedule, they would simply
hand me the pink-slip... Human
resources are not as scarce as cow dung, like the
folksy saying in our town. I had a shift work from
12 noon to 10 pm but luckily I didn't have a night
shift, the murderous graveyard shift. After all they
paid me good, and it's quite a formidable time for
me to learn the tricks... so I didn't mind."
I'm earning half the salary I brought home
previously, yet I can save twice the amount I
used to in a month. That's the way of small-town
living. I love it and hate it simultaneously – but
then, the issue will only bring in the merits and
demerits between a life in the metro and that of
a teeny municipality. I get better facilities and
2
6/1/10 3:34:27 PM
 The so-called wonders of the India Gate and Qutub Minar are completely down six sets to love in a match
against the curling Khonghampat road having picture-perfect views or any of the mysterious hilly terrains
with heartfelt ravines across the state

easy access to services in Delhi still the comfort inadequate supply from the projects. But the
of living in Imphal, with my own folks in the grievance notes have been buried under the debris
familiar environs, has its own fascination. The of Loktak and in Yurembam long ago. No more
most peculiar thing about my hometown is the have the people felt the need to protest but to
break I have got to enjoy the sight of breathtaking suffer in silence. In fact, we can see in this darkness
natural landscapes. The so-called wonders of the that a life is far more important than electricity.
India Gate and Qutub Minar are completely down What we do most of the time is distract ourselves
six sets to love in a match against the curling from the avaricious eyes of bloodshed and drug
Khonghampat road having picture-perfect views or addiction and extortion and hostilities.
any of the mysterious hilly terrains with heartfelt It's not surprising all the rubbish will pelt
ravines across the state. down like a June downpour, when I mention a
The weekends might be lifeless as the Elephant problem in Manipur, because no system is working
and Budhachandra of Samumakhong, nonetheless, in tandem here and we have fucked almost
the renovated Khwairamband Keithel, Mujikhul everything up. Insurgency, underdevelopment and
(read the local wine vendors) and the various local conflicts are conspicuous throughout and in their
joints provide a worthwhile shadow lies the administration
sanctuary. Needless to The search for a solution to the problems that has gone haywire, the
say, there are other hot in Manipur is only as good as waiting for complication of transport and
spots, including the NH 39 Chaisra to reciprocate Sandrembi's feelings communication, a deplorable
(upto Sekmai), Moirang, education system, insubstantial
Churachandpur, Moreh, the Tamenglong route, health care, dismal infrastructure, a chaotic
Kangchup, et cetara; these places are viable, seeing social order and what not. And their genesis is
that we can return back home in a day's time. multifaceted too, with the geography, economy
I have only a few alternatives, alas, when the and history of the land, twisted in such a way
entire state is a forbidden area – which they tagged that the search for a solution to these problems is
it as a disturbed area in bureaucratese. And it is only as good as waiting for Chaisra to reciprocate
regrettable we have reproachable creatures in the Sandrembi's feelings. Time has certainly gone
form of paramilitary forces and delinquent rebels ahead of us in our march towards enlightenment.
to breed more agitation. Remember, time has not even spared us.
Utterly confusing it is sometimes, whether we In this degeneration and plodding social
have traversed 21st century or are hemmed in movement lies my life. I give a damn about how
a time warp. The daily load shedding for long much O Ibobi-bozo has amassed wealth from
hours makes the eyesight painful. For the pathetic the government coffer or how many civilians are
electricity, we can go to the power office and the the gun-toting thugs going to murder. I'm least
concerned, or rather the unconcerned ministry, worried how many times people will rape Manipur
both of which have ready-made answers to cite and taint the record of the land with barbaric

The imaginary homecoming Kapil Arambam

3
The imaginary homecoming.indd 3 6/1/10 3:34:27 PM
 crimes. Call me selfish, I don't mind either – I'm
a guy who love rock n' roll and simple, beautiful
things in life. So it's maddening to contemplate,
when all I long for are peace, and a little bit of
freedom to go where I'm pulled and do what
I'm good at. Unceasingly, I'm so annoyed to feel
shackled.
I've been trying to break myself free from these
manacles of a primitive lifestyle. Presently I get
the kick out of reading good books, visiting new
places that I have not been before, watching
movies and catching up with friends. It's a boon
to be away from the hot spell, which makes me
go bananas, in the capital city; albeit the winters
were fine, allowing me and others to roam around
anywhere. Be that as it may, Nikhil's has replaced
the momo kiosk in Lajpat Nagar now, so have the
Orchid and neighbourhood hotels taken the place
for Al Bake and the Aggarwals. When I wander
nobody asks me if I'm from
Nepal or China anymore
and I'm quite relieved,
being exempted from those
ridiculous queries like how
far Kathmandu is from
Imphal or how we manage
to catch and eat snakes.
Considering this cultural
generalisation, the mainland
Indians are seemingly so
engrossed, hankering after
the acclaimed IITs and IIMs
that they have ignored
geography and sensitivity
completely. Or maybe they
are plain idiots, ignorant
of the world outside
the number theory, trigonometry, the business
management principles. There was once a halfwit
guy, who lived in the adjacent building to where I
stayed. One day, I heard him complaining to Bunty
Booree that he had found big animal bones on his
terrace – exaggerating the size with his hands and
repulsive eyeballs that almost popped out from
The imaginary homecoming Kapil Arambam
The imaginary homecoming.indd 4
his disgusting face. "Moron," I thought, "You better
join some Love Beastie Boys and Legal Bestiality
dot-com." But he was drunk and I ignored him.
This kind of bigotry is prevalent throughout and
the best remedy I found was to make the other
fellow understand. Understand who we are exactly
and tell me what's our problem. Here and there,
I had to take a pen and a piece of paper to draw
the Indian map and locate where Manipur is. It
was obviously annoying to be profiled in such a
narrow sense, but then theirs is a land where caste
makes the country count backwards. In another
incident, one of my Northern friends disclosed he
had never seen an exposed female leg above the
ankle in his life, and no wonder during his first
few days in Delhi, he ejaculated whilst gawking at
mahilas in shorts. He was of course talking about
girls in general; however, this is also a fact that the
people look at the North-Eastern chicks as easy
and sensual. But that's another
story. All the people, however,
are not like my distasteful
neighbour or the buddy with
out-of-control feelings. I'd also
met many individuals and groups
who know and are eager to know
about us. The bottom line is to
speak up. "Blockhead, now you
understand Manipur is not a
district in Assam?! Wise up, else
your arch-rival dragon will flood
the market with giveaway Viagra
and let India screw itself up with
population explosion."
Back to where I belong, and
nothing can be as good as the
feeling of attachment somewhere.
I long to bask in the balmy winter sun; watch the
colourful skies of spring and its pristine greens;
hear the torrential rain singing in chorus on tin
roofs; and visit unknown, unspoiled countryside to
gaze at uninterrupted views across the lush fields
and blue mountains. I want to stop the apathetic
time. I want to move ahead in life.
as imagined on May 28 2010, for May 2011... aha!
Fallout of the reverie
I'd love to travel across the world instead of
staying back at home. But I don't think it's a
Catch-22 situation or anything like that... The
thought of enjoying vacation in my homestead
always fascinates me but that's not the only
thing/place that I draw my motivation from. I've
been striving and the dream that I'll ever be
victorious in this struggle fuels my existence.
What is there beyond our existence, anyway?
© http://kapilarambam.blogspot.com 2010
4
6/1/10 3:34:28 PM