In Pursuit of Freedom | Kapil Arambam

When Rock Stopped Rolling

2026-03-20T11:27:00.000+05:30

The Slow Death of a Revolutionary Sound

A dedicated rock fan follows the genre’s evolution from constant change to familiar patterns, questioning when defiance turned into tradition and why the music no longer astonishes.

Photo by Rombo on Unsplash

Rock ’n’ roll has consistently told its own story of rebellion, disruption, and constant reinvention. For those who experienced the last millennium, arguably the last era when rock was perceived as a widespread cultural phenomenon rather than a niche legacy, there remains a persistent feeling that the development of this genre has come to a halt. This sentiment is not merely a product of nostalgia; it reflects a structural reality regarding how rock, once characterised by its ability to transform social tensions into musical innovation, now exists within a cycle of stylistic repetition and revivalism. To grasp this standstill, one must examine rock through a historical lens, recognising it as a fluid cultural entity intertwined with political economy, media technologies, and evolving taste regimes.

The 1950s marked the emergence of rock ’n’ roll as a revolutionary blend, exemplified by icons like Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, Bill Haley & His Comets and others, all of whom reinterpreted African American rhythm and blues into a mass-produced, racially acceptable product. This was not simply copying; it represented a moment of what cultural studies might refer to as articulation, which is a temporary alignment of sound, physicality, and youth identity shaped by post-war consumer capitalism. The early genre flourished on its diversity: the fervour of gospel, the tones of blues, and the narratives of country music merged into a style that challenged generational hierarchies. At this point, rock evolved in the West because it was still absorbing differences, be it racial, regional, or class-related into fresh expressive languages.

By the end of the 1960s and the beginning of the 1970s, rock music evolved into heavier and more experimental styles, with bands such as Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and Deep Purple creating what would later be recognised as the foundational trio of heavy metal. This evolution was fuelled by advancements in technology, psychedelic experimentation, and a countercultural spirit. The genre saw a transition from being primarily dance music to an immersive experience, characterised by distortion, lengthy solos, and darker lyrical themes. It also reflected historical events from the Vietnam War to the disillusionment of the 1960s while translating these influences into rich soundscapes and profound themes.

The 1970s brought even more diversity to the rock genre. Progressive rock introduced greater compositional intricacy, while punk emerged as a reaction against that very excess, and arena rock transformed the genre into a grand spectacle. This evolution was dialectical: each subgenre arose as a response to another. The raw simplicity of punk could only be understood in contrast to the technical prowess of progressive rock. This ongoing internal conflict kept rock vibrant, even as it became more entrenched within the music industry.

The 1980s amplified this dialectic through commercialisation and fragmentation. Glam metal, characterised by its theatrical extravagance and commodified defiance, existed in a tense relationship with the speed and intensity of thrash metal. Bands such as Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth and Anthrax pushed the limits of technicality, while MTV revolutionised rock into a visual marketplace. The debut of MTV in 1981 signified a pivotal change: rock was no longer merely auditory but also visual, thus subjected to new dynamics of image creation and worldwide distribution. Evolution continued, yet it was increasingly influenced by corporate frameworks that standardised what was deemed new.

The 1990s felt like a final renaissance. Grunge, spearheaded by bands like Nirvana, reintroduced raw emotion and an anti-commercial spirit, even as it was swiftly integrated into the mainstream. Alternative rock expanded the musical landscape, blending indie influences and experimental sounds, while rap-rock and nu-metal fused rock with the rhythmic and lyrical elements of hip-hop. This was the last era when rock effectively expressed what sociology would describe as a youth subculture, a somewhat coherent entity with unique aesthetics, political views, and forms of resistance. Importantly, this time also aligned with the globalisation of media, enabling rock to reach far beyond its Anglo-American roots.

In regions such as Manipur, the MTV generation experienced rock not as a native genre but as a mediated import. However, this importation was not a passive process. Through mechanisms that postcolonial theory might refer to as hybridity and mimicry, local musicians and audiences redefined rock within their unique socio-political landscapes. In Manipur, rock became intertwined with issues of identity, insurgency, and belonging, serving as both a global aspirational language and a localised form of expression. Consequently, the earlier ability of the genre to evolve was partially maintained by its traversal across cultural boundaries.

Nevertheless, the 2000s and 2010s signify a noticeable slowdown. Although various subgenres emerged, including post-rock, metalcore, indie rock, garage revival, math rock, and emo revival, they frequently functioned as micro-innovations instead of significant paradigm shifts. Bands tended to recombine existing elements rather than create entirely new sonic languages. From a Bourdieusian viewpoint, the cultural production field had become highly stratified: innovation was limited to niche circles, while mainstream rock solidified into a form of heritage. The advent of digital platforms further splintered audiences, eroding the collective experience that previously fuelled genre-wide changes.

This stagnation can also be interpreted through the lens of postmodernism. In a postmodern state defined by pastiche and the disintegration of grand narratives, the historical path of rock transforms into a collection of styles that can be endlessly recycled. The concept of the new is no longer genuinely innovative but rather a reassembly of archival pieces. For example, the garage rock revival of the early 2000s did not innovate significantly; instead, it nostalgically re-enacted the aesthetics of rock from the 1960s and 1970s. Evolution had just given way to curation.

Additionally, the political economy of music has undergone a transformation. Streaming services now favour algorithmic recommendations over subcultural exploration, emphasising continuity rather than disruption. Hip-hop, electronic music, and global pop have emerged as the main arenas of innovation, absorbing the experimental vigour that rock once dominated. In this scenario, rock seems less like a dynamic, evolving genre and more like what cultural theorists refer to as a residual culture, which is still existent, still significant to certain audiences, but no longer at the forefront of cultural production.

From a postcolonial perspective, this stagnation carries mixed consequences. On one side, the waning of rock’s global supremacy creates opportunities for alternative musical styles, including regional and indigenous genres, to emerge. The rising independent showgaze artists and performers in Manipur is a witness to this fact. The engagement of the MTV generation with rock was linked to a larger desire for modernity and cosmopolitan ideals; as the genre stagnates, so does one of the key avenues through which that desire was expressed.

In the end, the assertion that rock has stopped evolving should not be interpreted as a definitive statement but rather as an indication of its reduced prominence. The genre continues to generate new music, new bands, and new scenes, yet it no longer shapes the cultural landscape as it once did. Its legacy from MC5 to RATM serves as evidence of its past vibrancy. Nowadays, that vibrancy has spread into other genres and media environments. Rock endures, but more as a memory, an archive, and a style rather than as the main driver of cultural transformation.

The Unspoken Violence of Waiting in Manipur

2025-11-17T09:55:00.004+05:30

In the far eastern periphery of India, thousands continue to suffer in Manipur’s relief camps—a poignant reminder, captured largely through fragmented media coverage, of how systemic neglect and restrained attention have turned temporary displacement into a normalised form of everyday violence.

Following months, now years ever since it started in May 2023, of ethnic conflicts in Manipur, tens of thousands of individuals continue to reside in relief camps. They endure shattered livelihoods, ambiguous legal status, disrupted education for their children, inadequate sanitation, and the persistent daily degradation that arises from being considered “in the way”. These issues represent not just the overt effects of violence, but they also embody its more subtle, insidious manifestations, which is a form of violence that functions through institutions, classifications, and interpretations as much as it does through bullets.

Last March, The Times of India reported that over 14,000 Meitei individuals were still displaced in more than 100 relief camps located in the Imphal East and West valley districts. Meanwhile, The New Indian Express highlighted a report on plans to construct 7,000 homes to resettle approximately 20,000 Meitei and 40,000 Kuki-Zo individuals who continue to reside in these camps. These statistics illustrate a narrative of not just temporary disruption, but of ongoing stagnation.

The numerous camps and rows of prefabricated structures serve as more than just emergency shelters. These are locations where structural violence is perpetuated on a daily basis. As of May 2025, Amnesty International states that 58,000 individuals inhabit 281 relief camps throughout Manipur, frequently enduring “inhumane conditions” characterised by overcrowded living spaces, makeshift sanitation facilities, and inconsistent healthcare services. The government’s own statistics roughly correspond with this level of displacement. Such a significant degree of displacement necessitates more than just emergency assistance but calls for an urgent structural change.

Structural and Symbolic Violence

As framed by Johan Galtung, the Norwegian sociologist and principal founder of the discipline of peace and conflict studies, structural violence occurs when institutional frameworks systematically deny groups access to resources, security, or dignity. In Manipur, this is evident in the patterns of relief distribution, infrastructure enhancement, rehabilitation strategies, and access to legal safeguards for these people categorised as internally displaced persons (IDPs). In a particularly troubling case, Amnesty also reported that in February 2024, the State ceased relief deliveries to camps in Churachandpur district, leading to protests from displaced residents who were demanding basic necessities. Essentially, the administrative systems that should support citizens have, at times, become withdrawn or apathetic.

Merely offering “shelter” in camps does not bridge the gap left by destroyed homes, disrupted livelihoods, contested land ownership, or ongoing security threats. The camps place displaced individuals in a state of limbo: they are neither fully recognised as citizens with complete protection nor are they seen as permanent dependents of the state. Due to policy responses being sporadic, inconsistent, and underfunded, many IDPs remain in these camps not by choice, but by circumstance.

However, the violence extends beyond mere material neglect — it operates through symbolic frameworks that legitimise exclusion. French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of symbolic violence highlights that power is not solely derived from force or policy, but also from the daily construction of what is perceived as “normal”, “deserving”, or “other”. When media or official communications depict displaced communities as burdens or “inmates” and “wards”, and when the narrative focuses on the “return” of a select few families to signify progress while the majority remains in limbo, this represents a symbolic diminishment of their claims. When the struggles of displaced families are reduced to communal labels instead of being grounded in civic rights, symbolic violence has effectively taken its toll.

In “Two years of Manipur conflict: Thousands wait to go home”, The Times of India reported on a displaced Meitei individual residing in a temporary unit who recounted the destruction of his grocery business and the uncertain futures of his children. Meanwhile, the story “Ground report: In restless Manipur, displaced Kukis await return to normalcy” by India Today from Kangpokpi district details a relief camp accommodating 700 Kuki individuals, where four people, including children, succumbed to illnesses due to a lack of adequate medical care. Their experiences are not isolated incidents. Throughout various camps, there are recurring reports of measles outbreaks, fevers, poor sanitation, and unresolved chronic health issues. Even instances of suicide and medical emergencies have been documented, although official statistics remain unclear.

Lives Behind the Figures

The above figures represent more than just statistics. They embody lives in precarious situations. A woman who has lost her home, a child forced to abandon their education, an individual with cancer denied essential treatment: these are the harsh realities that the fight against symbolic erasure must highlight. So, how can we craft a narrative that refuses to relegate the displaced to the waiting rooms of history?

To begin, we must focus on institutional accountability: while rebuilding homes is crucial, it is equally important to clearly delineate, legally secure land rights, and phase out camps in a timely and transparent manner. In the Sep 21 issue of the The New Indian Express, the report “Rehabilitating Manipur: Challenges in returning displaced people from relief camps” mentions the government has an initiative to resettle 60,000 individuals across hills and valleys may be a promising start — yet its implementation must be monitored and evaluated for fairness.

Secondly, the media and civil society play an essential role in uncovering what remains concealed. Local newspapers in Manipur, including The Sangai Express, Poknapham, Hueiyen Lanpao, among others, have historically influenced public opinion within valley communities. By focusing on narratives of internally displaced persons, camp life, trauma, disrupted education for children, and neglect of infrastructure through these local perspectives, we resist the tendency to delegate the conversation to outsiders. When a Meitei newspaper reports on Kuki-Zo families waiting in camps, or when a hill-area publication shares Meitei stories, it challenges symbolic barriers.

In any case, we must ensure that justice remains a priority: displacement without resolution breeds resentment. In the absence of transparency, thorough fact-finding, and reliable legal recourse, any resolution is likely to be superficial. When victims perceive a lack of acknowledgment, they come to accept exclusion as their destiny.

In the camps of Manipur today, silence does not equate to absence, rather it signifies a presence: of denied rights, delayed justice, and gradual erasure. To highlight this is not mere rhetoric; it is a civic duty. If we neglect to identify structural neglect and symbolic silencing, we risk rendering displacement permanent and despair a norm.

A version of the article first appeared in the November 2025 edition of Together.

An Animal’s Lament

2025-07-10T20:56:00.005+05:30

TRANSLATION NOTE

This is a poetic rendition of the Manipuri song Eikhoishibu Saa Ngara (transliterated as Are We Animals?) by the band Eastern Dark. The song serves as a poignant political lament that challenges divine justice and highlights the silence of gods amidst violence, loss, and the historical trauma experienced in Manipur. It intricately combines spiritual irony, historical allusions, and indigenous deities to express the suffering of a people. This adaptation remains true to the essence of the original while embracing a more lyrical style to enhance its poetic and emotional resonance for a broader audience.

O maker of stars, of sky and sod,

Shall I call you God? Or simply nod?
Is Allah your name, or one of disguise?
Or just another mask behind the skies?
But I confess, I’m not impressed,
Your silence leaves my soul distressed.

They cry, they chant, they kneel and pray,
Your faithful lost in disarray.
You, who claim to see it all,
Why let the innocent bleed and fall?

When blood ran red and would not cease,
When fire consumed our scrolls of peace,
When Thangal gasped his final breath,
And Tikendrajit marched to silent death,
When Bijoykumars were torn from light,
And Netaji vanished from the night,
When Torei Kanjaobi died,
And Langjing drowned with Patsoi beside,
Where were you, O Lord of Lore,
When were we dying by the score?

When Heirangoi bridge was torn apart,
When RMC was stripped of heart,
When wildfires danced upon the hills,
And floods came rushing, fierce and still,
When Kangla's gates were breached by the Avas,
When war drums echoed through our sagas,
When Churanthaba shed his age,
And mourning swept across the stage,
Where were you, O Ancient One,
When cries replaced the morning sun?

O Gopala, child so fair,
Fed by Radha’s loving care,
Have you gone deaf? Have you gone blind?
Has madness overtaken mind?

And you, the God of desert sand,
Now bowed to by the western land,
Have you no ear for this lost soil,
No memory of its sacred toil?

Are we mere beasts, to bear this fate,
Forgotten in your grand estate?
It drives me mad, this holy game,
This silence dressed in holy name.

Then let us be your hollow choir,
While you dance on in Vrindavan’s fire.
Let this land be cursed and dry,
Forsaken beneath your distant sky.

To gods who ruled our hills and seas,
Are they now ghosts on bending knees?

O Koubru, Nongmaijing’s pride,
Is Baruni taller, wild and wide?
O Mongba, force of fearless hand,
Is Hanuman grander in hand?

Ema Ereima, mother flame,
Is some new god more worth your name?
O Thangjing, Wangbren, old and wise,
Has Govinda stolen all your skies?

The Sky Breaks, the State Breaks Down: Summer in Manipur Is All About the Unbearable Political Climate

2025-06-15T12:21:00.001+05:30

Some places have winters of discontent; Manipur, it seems, has summers of despair. The recent total shutdown, endorsed by Arambai Tengol, was met with the government’s familiar response: an internet blackout. Even as time moves forward, Manipur remains trapped in a cruel seasonal loop—part history, part present, entirely unresolved.

Arambai Tengol has called a 10-day total shutdown, starting from 8 June midnight in protest against the arrest of (its commander-in-chief) Asem Kanan, by security personnel yesterday. In the ensuing street protests, 21 people have been hospitalised with tear gas shelling injuries so far, while shops, “passenger” vehicles and offices are closed and the streets are empty.

In the wake of the prevailing law and order situation, district magistrates have imposed restrictions under Section 163 of the BNSS (formerly CrPC 144 in the Indian Penal Code) and cut off internet and mobile data services in the five valley districts of Imphal East, Imphal West, Thoubal, Kakching and Bishenpur. [The words in parenthesis ans within quotes are my supplements]
Source: Poknapham, 9 June 2025; translated and paraphrased from a front-page news with a banner headline that reads: Fighting Commander Kanan Fakhibagi Mayokta Arambaina Numit 10ni Manipur Bandh Koukhre]
Note: On 10 June afternoon, Arambai Tengol announced that it is suspending the total shutdown.

Womenfolks protested along the National Highway 37 against the arrest of an Arambai Tengol functionary.

It is June in Manipur. The state is under President’s Rule; the two-year-old ethnic conflict remains unresolved; and mistrust continues to divide communities along ideological and ethnic lines. Apprehension hangs thick in the air, almost as naturally as the monsoon humidity.

Just as the hot and rainy days of May and June follow the hesitant transition of spring, summers in Manipur have long had a tendency to deviate—wrapped, as it were, in a uniquely Imphalesque subtropical tension. By “deviance,” I’m referring to a kind of seasonal abnormality—not meteorological, but sociopolitical. In my school and college days, this pattern had already started to emerge. That was over two decades ago.

It was during the early 2000s, when the old Manipur State Assembly building was set ablaze in 2001, and when Thangjam Manorama was raped and murdered in 2004, that the month of June etched itself in the collective memory as a time of disruption and despair. Now in mid-June 2025, the state finds itself once again in the grip of a shutdown, with sections of the Meitei “civil” society supporting a ten-day bandh, and a five-day internet blackout imposed by the government.

Today, the essense of deviance is not just symbolic. It’s manifested in the collective frustration of a confused public trapped in an administrative system that seems neither willing nor able to function. Sporadic street rallies, brief media-amplified outcries, and empty political gestures reflect a deeper malaise. Most disturbingly, our elected representatives, who ought to be leading efforts toward peace, seem more focused on chasing appointments with the Governor or catching flights to Delhi after being summoned. Their actual contributions to resolving the two-year crisis, if ever recorded, will be buried in a historical footnote chronicling this dark chapter in Manipur’s contemporary history. Ironically, their self-professed achievements would fill chapter after chapter.

Right now, the leaders appear to have only one goal: to secure the proverbial chair of power. Constitutionally, it’s legitimate. The Assembly is still in session, MLAs hold electoral mandates, and they are within their rights to “claim" government formation. But to press that claim now feels like asking for swimming lessons while already drowning, especially when the number of supporting MLAs remains contested.

Who, after all, is concerned about due process when political opportunism is celebrated as statesmanship?

On May 28, The Wire reported:

In a big political development in Manipur, BJP MLA and former minister Thokchom Radheshyam said that ‘all 44 MLAs’ have agreed to form the government as per the wishes of the people, but the final decision will be taken by the central leadership.

Government 1, Civil Society 1

The equation appears simple, but its implications are far from comprehensible. It goes something like this: whenever a crisis erupts in Manipur, one of the government’s first responses is to shut down internet services. During the peak of the ethnic conflict in 2023–2024, the state was digitally cut off from the world for a record-breaking seven months.

As reported by Global Voices, a global network of writers, translators, and human rights activists:

In Manipur, the government imposed a statewide shutdown from May 3 to December 3, 2023, affecting around 3.2 million people for a total of 212 days. This was enforced through 44 separate orders, with only a brief three-day reprieve in between—highlighting the severity and duration of the disruption.

(Source: India’s Internet Shutdown Crisis: A Growing Threat to Digital Rights, Global Voices, Jan 6, 2025)

The present shutdown will also be documented and become a reference particularly for the contradictory position that the government has taken regarding digital growth in the national development. With the hashtag #11YearsOfDigitalIndia, Union Home Minister Amit Shah tweeted on the occasion of the 11th year of present regime’s coming to power, that: “The Modi government has democratised the use of technology and harnessed its power for the business sector, making Bharat a leading digital economy in the world in the last 11 years.” (Source: The Hindu, 12 June). The Government of India has also been running the Digital India campaign, which consists of three fundamental elements: (i) the establishment of secure and reliable digital infrastructure, (ii) the digital delivery of government services and (iii) the promotion of universal digital literacy.

In reality, India has earned the moniker of the internet shutdown capital of the world. More significantly, has the shutdown helped contain the crisis? Did it meet any of the government’s intended objectives? On the contrary, the outcomes speak otherwise. The Global Voices report also asserts that India’s recurring internet shutdowns continue to undermine digital rights, economic activities and the fundamental freedoms of its citizens.

In his study titled Understanding India’s Troubling Rise in Internet Shutdowns: A Qualitative and Quantitative Analysis, Dutch political analyst Kris Ruijgrok argues:

Rather than resolving law-and-order problems caused by misinformation and fake news, internet shutdowns in India are inherently political. They are significantly more likely to occur in BJP-ruled states—3.5 times more likely, in fact, than in states governed by other parties.

And yet, the decision-makers—like much of the public—appear clueless, reaching only for an invisible “switchboard” that controls internet access.

This article was drafted on the third day of the latest internet ban. On one side stands the government, clinging to the same old failed tactic—turning off the internet as if this were a totalitarian regime. On the other side stands civil society with its own means of spoiling the day. As the band Tapta once sang in their protest anthem Bandh, the cycle continues. But clearly, there is a profound disconnect, not only in how the lyrics have been understood but in the persistent misuse of shutdowns that expose a troubling absence of empathy or strategy.

Making informed, ethical, and effective decisions that uphold the dignity of collective life in Manipur has become a Herculean task. As Albert Einstein once said: “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” In this light, the condition in Manipur today reflects a full-blown public crisis, worse, perhaps, than the Centre’s longstanding dual role in the region: that of an involved party masquerading as a neutral mediator.

If the government holds the key to the internet, civil society wields its own symbolic weapon, the “magic wand” of strikes: bandhs, general strikes, total shutdowns, and other euphemisms. Is this merely oversimplification? Possibly. But the government and public often mirror each other’s impulsiveness: if the government flips the digital switch, civil society responds with another symbolic shutdown. One wonders if Antonio Gramsci, had he lived to witness Manipur today, might have revised his theory of hegemony entirely. A chronic power vacuum has bred an unhealthy and often dangerous power relationship between citizens, the state, and various non-state actors.

The Condition That Wasn’t

A day after Asem Kanan’s arrest, the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI)—entrusted by the Supreme Court to investigate key aspects of the ongoing conflict—clarified that he was detained not for his affiliation with Arambai Tengol, but for his alleged involvement in multiple criminal cases, including extortion and intimidation. The Supreme Court has mandated that all related trials be held in Guwahati, citing the prevailing law and order situation.

While the valley reels from the fallout of Kanan’s arrest, Kuki organisations have simultaneously called for a total shutdown in Tengnoupal district and Moreh. That’s another shutdown. Meanwhile, in the hills, the National Investigation Agency (NIA) had arrested one member of the Kuki Inpi Tengnoupal and two cadres from the Kuki National Army.

The Ukhul Times reported (8 June):

The National Investigation Agency (NIA) has arrested three insurgents in connection with a deadly attack on security forces in Moreh, Tengnoupal district of Manipur in 2024 which left two police commandos dead and several others injured.

Through agencies like the CBI and NIA, the Indian government is trying to project a sense of law and order—something Manipur has historically been denied. But perception, especially in times of political crisis, can be a slippery thing. Two reasons explain why that perception continues to falter.

One: When president’s rule was imposed in February 2025, many hoped that governance might finally become impartial, with decisions coming directly from New Delhi. But this has essentially been the condition since May 2023. Former Chief Minister N Biren was sidelined, left to manage only the valley, while a Unified Command, led by a combination of state and central forces, assumed control of the hills in questionable ways. Others mention that it has been Amit Shah all along in a makeshift arrangement with no constitutional basis.

The Unified Command, officially tasked with coordinating the police, Army, Assam Rifles, and Central Armed Police Forces, has made several controversial decisions. In retrospect, the imposition of Article 356 has unfolded faster and messier than anyone could have predicted.

Two: The CBI has been given charge of numerous sensitive cases from the conflict. On the surface, this seems like a strategic move—to buy time, to build public trust, to show that “action” is being taken. Yet the gap between this appearance and ground reality is painfully wide. Which brings us to the idea of public memory. It’s short. No one understands this better than our elected representatives, except perhaps Donald Trump.

By mid-June 2025, the state had already experienced multiple upheavals: an outburst after the word “Manipur” was removed from the Manipur State Transport bus; a devastating flood followed; a new wave of political inaction rolled in; and then came the arrest of a key figure from an armed cultural organisation. And yet, what will people remember? Certainly not the fact that our legislators have always preferred the trappings of MLA-ship to the burden of leadership.

Just a few hours ago, in a conversation with friends, someone recalled how a shopkeeper had been assaulted roughly a month ago by bandh supporters for the sole crime of opening his store. None of us could remember the reason behind that particular general strike. It likely occurred before the May 20 incident, but we weren't sure. That, in essence, is the tragedy of our times: a society in a state of permanent reaction, with little clarity, no accountability, and a dangerously selective memory.

What’s Civil About the CSOs in Manipur?

The recent spate of arrests by the CBI and NIA isn’t surprising. Many observers see this as one of the goals behind the suspension of operations (SoO) agreements with insurgent groups—groups that, ironically, were not fighting the government to begin with. In plain terms, this is counter-insurgency by other means. These SoO agreements have effectively legitimised and strengthened these groups, enabling them to push their political agendas more forcefully.

Blaming “others" is no longer useful. It’s an open secret, even if some communities remain trapped in denial—a defining trait of many ethnic groups embroiled in violence and conflict in Manipur. And here comes the indispensable role of the civil society organisations.

The term “civil” in civil society is deeply problematic in this context. The Meiteis hold hegemonic power in the state—albeit a fractured and incoherent hegemony. Meanwhile, political aspirations are loudly expressed by all three major ethnic blocs, including those of the Meiteis, Nagas and the Kukis. Whether their demands are valid, coherent or even realistic is a different issue. Still it is also telling how, in the hills, nearly everyone now claims either a Naga or a Kuki identity—labels that are, historically speaking, relatively recent. Decades after decolonisation, we’re still dealing with identity politics rooted not in civic values, but in ethnic nationalism.

It is unfortunate that there is no space for civic nationalism in this formidable era of globalisation. No appetite for compromise. Instead, what thrives is an ecosystem of extreme ideologies—and at its heart are civil society organisations (CSOs) that have real power, and not only symbolical status. Yet, their behaviour raises serious doubts about how “civil” they truly are. Their role in public life is often as performative and questionable as the silence of a Prime Minister famed for his speeches, but absent when it matters. And when we point fingers—at Modi, or at the Kukis, or anyone—four fingers point right back at us.

Group psychology would indicate that arguments against our own group will not be tolerated. It is always “them” who is the villain, one who is responsible for starting the fight, and any person who is against “us” is a snake in the grass. In such a setting, the Coordinating Committee on Manipur Integrity (COCOMI), the Federation of Civil Societies (FOCS) and the All Manipur United Clubs Organization (AMUCO are a CSO in the valleys, and so are the Kuki-Zo Council, the Indigenous Tribal Leaders Forum (ITLF)and the Committee on Tribal Unity (COTU) in the hills.

Two final points, and one question.

One: The idea of a truly “civil” society will only begin to take shape when different communities come together—not for show, but solely for humanity. Without that, all we’ll have is tokenism—ineffective, insincere, and politically useless. Only with real solidarity can we talk about peace, justice and development.

Two: The Government of India must act with more honesty and seriousness. A nation-state isn’t only defined by its territory, but also by the people who live in it. Along with the presence of a government that creates a system of law and governance, by the way in political science, a defined territory and a population serve as the three main constituents of a modern nation-state. Recognising the region’s own histories, cultures, and political realities would go a long way toward reducing alienation and helping complete India’s long-unfinished nation-building project.

Three: Who, exactly, is willing to talk honestly about ethnonationalism?

Final Words

Just like the early 2000s, June in Manipur has brought double strikes, layered shutdowns enforced by both state and non-state actors. This time, Arambai Tengol marched forward with their protest schedule, and almost instantly, the government responded with an internet shutdown and curfew, likely under the usual pretext of maintaining law and order. Throw in the internet ban, and the State—which includes the state government, the union government and agencies, and the people running the shop—can claim it has everything under control. And if not? Non-state actors are always ready to “assist,” as we’re seeing in our neighbourhoods these days. At the end of the day, each June returns in Manipur, not to heal but to remind.

- Concluded.

Postscript

15 June 2025, Manipur: I arrived in Imphal on 25 May, a time when civil society was vocally criticizing the government, alleging that it was conspiring to eradicate the Manipuri identity. When referring to the government, we specifically mean three individuals: the governor, the chief secretary, and the military advisor, due to the current enforcement of the PR. Approximately a week earlier, on 20 May, central security forces had instructed the removal of the term "Manipur" from a state transport bus that was transporting journalists to the Shirui Lily Fest. This led to widespread civil unrest, with protesters locking government offices, vandalizing signboards, and demanding the resignations of the aforementioned three individuals.

On 9 June, newspapers in Manipur published a blank editorial as a form of protest against the violence perpetrated by security personnel against reporters covering the protests following the arrest of a self-styled commander-in-chief of the Arambai Tengol.

Shortly thereafter, a flood occurred, with Imphal East being the most severely impacted, and many residents have expressed that it is one of the worst floods the valley has experienced. I would argue that last year's flood was more severe. For the first time in my life, around this time in 2024, I witnessed two unprecedented sights: the water had reached the maang-gon level, and the Mantri Leikai neighbourhood was inundated, which I believed to be a first occurrence. However, I was later informed that a similar flood had taken place in the mid-Eighties. Currently, the floodwaters have receded after claiming five lives and affecting nearly 160,000 individuals and 35,000 homes. Some areas in the valley, particularly in Imphal East, remain submerged.

Then, in under a week, Imphal grew impatient and exposed the current crisis while we are forced to wait in lines at ATMs that operate in a rather frugal manner, as if there is no reason for all of them to function correctly. With only one operational machine in every five kilometres, this is the utmost that Imphal can achieve while both the government and the public engage in a contest for the title of Supreme Dumb Consistency. Instagram and GPay have left the conversation! And I will be leaving the city on 17 June.

Trapping Ink, Telling Stories: Introducing Imphal Inktrap

2025-06-04T23:49:00.003+05:30

The letterforms in Imphal Inktrap sit on a grid of geometry and restraint, with enough visual character to headline a poster or anchor a digital interface.

Imphal Inktrap is a crisp, contemporary Meitei Mayek typeface that typesets tradition through a clean, minimalist lens. It renders each character with subtle angular ink traps, which help shape legibility while giving the typeface a modern twist. The letterforms sit on a grid of geometry and restraint, with enough visual character to headline a poster or anchor a digital interface. Designed to reflect Manipur’s cultural pulse, the font composes heritage with a typographer’s eye for clarity.

Born from the challenges of phototypesetting, inktrap typefaces feature tiny notches that caught excess ink in tight corners, preserving legibility in print.

To understand what gives Imphal Inktrap its edge, you have to trace the roots of inktrap typefaces. These typefaces originally printed their way into existence during the days of phototypesetting and offset presses, when ink often bled into tight corners of letterforms. Designers countered this by carving tiny notches or indentations that are called ink traps at joins and terminals. These negative spaces filled in as ink spread, preserving legibility. Today, even without the technical need, designers still kern toward inktraps for their gritty, industrial texture. They break monotony, catch the eye, and add a slice of typographic rebellion.

Typography design, as a whole, draws together structure, emotion, and storytelling. It arranges language not just to say things, but to display, align, emphasize, and breathe. A well-composed type design doesn’t just speak; it articulates. And that was also the philosophy behind Imphal Inktrap.

Imphal Inktrap in a Spread

The following spread was originally designed as a carousel for Instagram. Here the letterforms are, in one long shot.

Existence Pending: The Universe Forgot to Attach the Manual

2025-03-22T12:19:00.004+05:30

This piece goes headlong into the lovely messy richness of what life is—all from philosophers, poets, scientists and professional overthinkers. Along with them is a chain of posters marking these diametrically opposite and absurdly tremendous definitions of life, one paradox at time.

Is it Dostoevsky’s hell of self-consciousness, a cosmos where pain is the sole hard currency? Or Socrates' surprise pop quiz with no correct answers—save, of course, for self-knowledge, obtained only through flunking. Is life Aristotle's intellectual jigsaw puzzle, best solved by a good mind and better definitions?

Nietzsche smiles, showing off metaphysical biceps: life is will to power, baby—take the day or go down. Freud protests, puffing on a cigar (which, cynically, is never really a cigar): life is a grand overture to death, libido and Thanatos in a prize fight. Marx rolls into the factory: it’s the notion, comrade—material dialectics and sharing of existential fear.

Picasso grasps a brush. “No, no,” he wails. “Life is art!” And GC Tongbra, with a sideways grin, observes, “It's irony”—an absurd theatre, with you, in arrears, the star, scriptless. Schopenhauer turned his eyes around. “It's suffering. Stop making it pretty.”

Bertrand Russell computes the mathematics of life as competition—civilised if fortune prevails, and savage if the truth tells the tale. Jobs attributes it as belief in the unseen product pipeline. Einstein adjusts his collar, grumbling, “It's knowledge," while Hawking comes back, spinning through spacetime, “It's hope.”

Kafka laughs down an alley—in fact, it's only the beginning. Maybe of something worse. Camus flips a coin. Heads: revolution. Tails: revolution. Either, serve the coffee and accept the absurd. Thoreau lives in a cabin. Rumi runs in circles. Kierkegaard leaps into the unknown. Epicurus reclines under a tree with bread and no X or Instagram.

Laozi watches the river, saying nothing. Jung scribbles dreams. Watts laughs—loudly—“It’s a game!” Victor Frankl tightens his belt: it’s meaning, especially where none exists. Simone de Beauvoir affirms it’s freedom—if you’re ready to wrestle for it. Hegel mumbles something dialectical, and Hobbes interrupts: “No, it’s survival. Hide your bread.”

Rousseau runs into the woods. Marcus Aurelius remains seated, unfazed by all of them. Seneca raises a calm eyebrow and says, “We’re all just preparing for the curtain call.” Confucius arranges the chairs properly.

And yet, for all their wisdom, their strife, their spirals into meaning and metaphysics, there’s a strange silence at the heart of it all. A question no one quite answers:

Why does the universe exist?

For until we're sure of that, how can we define this? Until we know if this universe was started off at random from nowhere by chance, scripted out by all-knowing poet-writers, or created more-or-less at random on the back of some starry post-it notes—then all our definitions of life are poet's versions, good guesses dressed up in philosophy's most stylish finery.

This series of posters is a nod to those guesses: sublime, contradictory, deep, and deeply human. It’s a nod to the efforts to describe the wordless while surrounded by it—like trying to tell you about the play while performing it, blindfolded, in the words you just created.

Step on in. Ride the contradictions. Be awed by the metaphors. And keep in mind: until the universe sends us a memo, life remains beautiful, maddeningly, beautifully undefined.

Paradoxes: The Art of Contradiction and Hidden Truths

2025-02-02T12:14:00.001+05:30

A paradox is a statement, scenario, or idea that seems to contradict itself or defy logical reasoning yet often reveals a profound truth. Paradoxes challenge established thought patterns, uncovering hidden intricacies and prompting us to reevaluate our assumptions about reality, logic, and perception. They serve not merely as intellectual challenges but as significant instruments for delving into knowledge, reasoning, and the essence of human nature.

Paradoxes manifest across various fields, including philosophy, mathematics, science, and literature. In philosophy, they frequently underscore the constraints of human reasoning. For instance, Zeno’s Paradoxes interrogate the concept of motion, positing that movement is unattainable because an infinite number of steps must be traversed to cover any distance. In mathematics, paradoxes reveal inconsistencies within logic and set theory, exemplified by Russell’s Paradox, which questions the existence of a set that includes all sets that do not include themselves.

In the realm of science, paradoxes highlight the limitations of our comprehension of the universe. The Twin Paradox in Einstein’s theory of relativity illustrates that time can elapse at varying rates for two observers based on their relative velocities—an assertion that contradicts everyday experiences yet has been validated through experimentation. In quantum mechanics, Schrödinger’s Cat introduces a thought experiment where a cat exists in a state of being both alive and dead simultaneously due to quantum superposition.

Literature and storytelling also heavily incorporate paradoxes. Authors frequently employ them to evoke irony, suspense, or philosophical insight. For example, George Orwell’s 1984 illustrates the paradox of “doublethink,” where conflicting beliefs coexist, mirroring the distortion of truth in authoritarian regimes. Similarly, the well-known line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, “I must be cruel to be kind,” encapsulates the essence of paradoxical thought.

In this series, we explore various categories of paradoxes, and each one of them will invite you to think differently, question what you know, and embrace the fascinating world of contradiction.

serendipity

2025-01-31T15:25:00.000+05:30

For M

it is simple,
it’s when you’re there,
by chance or fate,
without a care.
it’s when you linger, when i find,
i see you too, from eyes so kind.
sans words, yet thoughts too vast to say,
i wish you’d also think that way.

if not as much, at least a bit,
a fleeting spark, a moment lit.
i hold you close, in dreams so deep,
where memories dance and secrets keep.

serendipity:
it is simple,
it's when you’re there,
in fleeting times i hold so dear.
in january’s chill, in june’s embrace,
between the years, in time and space.

in my own shelter, built with grace,
a sacred spot, a little place.
and if by chance, it comes to be,
that you too feel this serendipity,
i’ll tell the world, i’ll make it stay,
just as it will, beyond today.

Icons of Innovation: 10 Pioneers in Graphic Design

2025-01-28T11:43:00.005+05:30

Graphic design goes beyond just visuals and Photoshop; it’s all about communicating ideas, telling stories, and solving problems with creativity. Over time, some visionary designers have really made their mark on this field, influencing culture, branding, and visual identity in a big way. Think of iconic logos like Paul Rand’s IBM, Saul Bass’s memorable movie title sequences, and Massimo Vignelli’s sleek designs—these pioneers have changed how we perceive and engage with the world around us.

In this post, we’re highlighting ten legendary graphic designers, showcasing their groundbreaking works and the innovations that have inspired countless others. We’ll also give a nod to some honourable mentions who have pushed the limits in typography, digital design, and branding. Plus, to fuel your inspiration and knowledge, we’ve put together a list of ten essential graphic design books that cover everything from theory to history and creative techniques.

Whether you’re a student, a pro, or just a design lover, this collection is your ticket to exploring the brilliance and evolution of graphic design. Jump in and get inspired!

I❤NY is typeset in American Typewriter.

Light in Frame

The following photography project was created by Visual Communication students (2023 Batch) from the Centre for Media Studies, Jyoti Nivas College Autonomous, Bangalore, in November 2024. It is part of Light in Frame, an annual publication that celebrates the best student work in photography, with a new theme each year. This edition, Light in Frame: Portraiture, blends photography, painting and classical portraiture. Drawing inspiration from Vermeer, Caravaggio, Rembrandt, and da Vinci, the students reinterpreted old master techniques through modern eyes, where light becomes memory and shadow, time.

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A post shared by Canvas (@dpc_cms)

Power, Politics and the Pentagon: US Invasions Under Post-WWII Presidents

2025-01-22T21:11:00.009+05:30

Since the conclusion of World War II, U.S. presidents have launched a variety of military interventions across the globe. This piece briefly examines the prevalence and motivations behind these actions, emphasizing the geopolitical, strategic, and ideological elements that influence US military operations and their repercussions on the international stage.

Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely

After World War II, the United States stepped onto the world stage as a superpower, with its influence in economics, military, and politics reaching far and wide. This new role often saw the US getting involved in military actions, ranging from secret missions to full-blown invasions. The reasons behind these interventions were usually a mix of ideology, strategy, economic interests, and humanitarian concerns. During the Cold War, for instance, US military efforts were often justified as a way to stop the spread of communism, which pulled the country into various global conflicts.

In the time after the Cold War, the reasons for US interventions evolved to include combating terrorism, safeguarding human rights, and ensuring access to vital resources or strategic locations. While these military actions were sometimes framed as necessary for stabilising regions or protecting American interests, they often sparked controversy. The outcomes have been significant, leading to regional instability, increased anti-American feelings, and raising doubts about the effectiveness and ethics of US foreign policy.

This trend highlights a larger pattern of the US military engagement in international matters, often justified by the desire to promote democracy, security, or economic stability, but sometimes motivated by less clear objectives. As visible in the above infographic, the Pentagon has been involved in a variety of military interventions since World War II, often citing reasons like defending democratic ideals, countering hostile ideologies, ensuring national security, and humanitarian efforts. The consequences of these actions have been intricate, leading to prolonged military presence, regional upheaval, and political repercussions. While some interventions have met their goals, others have sparked ethical debates about sovereignty and interventionism.

Update

As of 22 January 2025, Donald Trump has been sworn in as the president of the United States of America. He previously held the position from 2017 to 2021, a term that saw considerable military involvement, especially in the Middle East.

Google on 22 January 2025. Just as the chief minister of Manipur does, President Trump reminds me of that Turkish wisdom: When a clown moves into a palace, he doesn’t become a king. The palace turns into a circus.

During that time, he greenlit airstrikes in Syria and kept US troops engaged in Afghanistan, while also striking a significant arms deal with Saudi Arabia that affected military operations in Yemen. Although his foreign policy leaned towards a more isolationist and America First stance, aiming to cut back on U.S. military presence overseas, his administration still saw its share of military actions.

A notable moment was his decision to order the assassination of Iranian General Qasem Soleimani in early 2020, which ramped up US military activity in the region. As he steps into the role of president-elect again in 2025, the world will be paying close attention to how his foreign policy shifts, especially concerning US military involvement in West Asia, Ukraine, and beyond. Trump’s strategy is likely to showcase his tendency for unilateral moves, often using military force as a diplomatic tool, while also keeping in mind his goal of reducing overseas commitments and focusing on strategic pullbacks. The possibility of more military interventions during his presidency is still up in the air.

More Than a Game: Cricket, Identity, and Politics

2025-01-05T23:20:00.020+05:30

How a childhood love for cricket has turned into a lens for questioning nationalism and colonial legacies in India vis-à-vis Manipur

Cricket is often called a religion in India, and for good reason—it’s been a passion for millions across the subcontinent for decades. Yet, the art of watching cricket, especially on television, has undergone an extraordinary transformation—a journey intricately tied to technological evolution, socio-political shifts, and the dynamics of personal engagement. Growing up in Imphal, where football is the OG sport, my cricket experiences were a mix of enthusiasm and doubt. This piece looks at how watching cricket on TV has changed—from Doordarshan to OTT platforms, black-and-white to colour screens, and how Manipur’s politics has shaped my bond with the sport.

Back in the early ’90s, tuning into a cricket match was a big deal—a shared experience that brought families and friends together. In Manipur, where power cuts were common and cricket fans were few, most TVs were black-and-white. Doordarshan was the only channel broadcasting cricket, and the picture was often grainy, and the commentary could be hard to hear, however the excitement was unmatched. I remember the 1993 Hero Cup when India took down the West Indies at Eden Gardens. I also remember the palpable excitement as if we were witnessing history. (I had also watched the 1992 World Cup but could hardly recollect anything.)

Changing channels was a hassle—sometimes you needed pliers to turn the knobs on those old sets since they were often broken or jammed. These little struggles made watching a match feel more like a ritual than just a pastime; it required real dedication. Soon, those days also marked the beginning of cable TV, which totally changed the game for cricket fans. No longer were we stuck waiting for Doordarshan and suddenly, channels like ESPN and Star Sports started airing international games in full colour, complete with replays, expert commentary, and way better production quality.

In Imphal, this change was a mixed bag. While the rest of the country was going wild for cricket, football still ruled the local scene, and it still does. People tended to watch cricket matches at home instead of gathering in public like they did for football. However, cricket wasn’t all about good times. The 1996 World Cup semi-final at Eden Gardens was a tough pill to swallow for many supporters. As India lost to Sri Lanka in that edition, the visuals of chaos in the stands reflected my own heartbreak. I felt just as crushed as Vinod Kambli was!

Although cricket was introduced during the colonial era, its development in contemporary India often reflects the nation’s post-colonial journey.

Bouncers and Boundaries: Cricket’s Colonial and Capitalist Legacy

My early days as a cricket fan were all about my deep admiration for Sachin Tendulkar. His performances were more than just stats; they were milestones I carefully jotted down in my notebooks. Every run, every ball faced, and every century was recorded by hand, a true labour of love before the internet took over. I even calculated his batting average after each match, which felt just as satisfying as watching him play.

Cricket was more than just Sachin for us. It was the game we played in our leikai lampaak with plastic balls, eventually moving on to tennis balls. Winters were all about local cricket tournaments, while summers were dedicated to football. These seasonal changes reflected the cultural vibe of Manipur, where cricket and football coexisted, but again football always had the spotlight.

The year 2001 was a turning point for me, both personally and politically. The burning of the State Legislative Assembly in Imphal—in protest against a planned extension of bilateral peace talks between the government of India and the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN) Isak–Muivah faction—signaled a time of major social and political turmoil. I was in senior secondary school, wrestling with my sense of identity, belonging, and what it meant to be part of India. Cricket, once a source of uncritical patriotism, began to feel problematic. As an addendum, on the first day of the fifth test in the recently concluded Border–Gavaskar Trophy, a mob vandalised the office of Deputy Commissioner and a police official was injured in Manipur's Kuki-dominated Kangpokpi district🔺.

(🔺The incident happened on 3rd Jan 2025. This blog post was published on the 5th.)

In a place where the national anthem and Hindi movies were banned, cheering for the Indian cricket team turned into a complicated issue. It wasn’t just about rooting for Tendulkar or Dravid anymore; it was about facing the contradictions of nationalism. The political situation in Manipur, with its tense relationship with the Indian government, made it hard to see cricket as something that brought people together. Instead, it felt like a reminder of India’s neocolonial product—a game brought over by the British, mostly played in Commonwealth countries, and tied up with the legacies of empire.

Cricket’s roots are deeply connected to colonialism. The British introduced it as a way to assimilate cultures, but colonies adopted it as a form of resistance and a way to assert their identity. Nowadays, cricket is taken seriously in only a few countries, almost all of which were once British colonies. The International Cricket Council (ICC) recognises 12 full members and many associate members, highlighting the limited geographical spread of the game.

The British introduced cricket as a way to assimilate cultures, but colonies adopted it as a form of resistance and a way to assert their identity.

Sweeping Covers, Sweeping Changes

The limited global reach of cricket raises questions about its relevance in a rapidly globalising world. Why does a game with such colonial underpinnings continue to command such fervent loyalty in countries like India? For me, these questions became increasingly difficult to ignore. By the early 2000s, my view of cricket had changed a lot. With the rise of the internet and social media, getting info about the game became super easy, which took away the fun of keeping track of scores by hand. Plus, the commercialisation of cricket, especially with the Indian Premier League (IPL), turned it into a flashy consumer event. Matches became shorter, more frequent, and lost some of their significance.

Cricket has evolved into a microcosm of laissez-faire system, where the essence of the game is frequently eclipsed by its commercial allure. The practice of player auctions, extravagant endorsements, and high-ticket prices illustrate the extent to which capitalism has permeated every aspect of the sport. What was once regarded as a gentleman’s game now resembles a competition to capitalise on every over, every delivery, and every cheer from the audience.

In Manipur, these shifts brought about a feeling of alienation. Cricket, which was already a bit of a niche interest, felt even more remote in a state dealing with its own political and cultural issues. The unwavering support for the Indian cricket team that marked my childhood shifted to a more critical viewpoint. Watching a game transformed from just being a fan to a deeper exploration of identity and belonging.

The players have changed too, not just in their skills. This is new. It is noticeable how their dressing style has evolved over the years. Gone are the ubiquitous tracksuits of the ’90s, which have been replaced by the social-media sights of trendy, branded gear and even endorsement and launching of labels such as Wrogn. The Indian cricket team has really stepped up its game in this department. For some reasons, though, the Virat Kohlis and Rohit Sharmas just don’t resonate with me as the Tendulkars and Dravids did. This statement might sound like the Hindi commentary of the 90s but the personal connection I used to have has faded away entirely.

Watching cricket has changed so much overall, going from a shared experience on old black-and-white TVs to a tailored, on-demand thing in our digital world. For someone from Manipur, this shift has been closely linked to the state’s social and political landscape. Cricket, which used to bring pure joy, now serves as a way to explore issues of identity, nationalism, and cultural legacy.

Spins, Swings, and Struggles: How Cricket Mirrors India’s Fault Lines

For the last decade or so, I have hardly watched any and for many people I observe that the excitement of a five-day test match has been swapped for the quick thrills of T20 leagues for many people. The capacity of cricket to unite people feels less powerful in a world that’s so divided politically and culturally. Still, I can’t forget moments like, amongst many others, Anil Kumble’s ten-wicket haul at the Kotla against Pakistan in 1999, Tendulkar’s back-to-back centuries during the Desert Storm onslaught against Australia in Sharjah in 1998, and VVS Laxman and Rahul Dravid’s partnership in the phenomenal comeback against Australia in 2011.

Those remind me of a time when cricket was more than just a game—it was a lifestyle, a dream canvas, and a reflection of a changing world. However, I have got a doosra and a googly in the same delivery now. More than looking for teams, squads, fixtures, and match results, at the moment, I’m occupied with several questions that arise infinitely far from the 22 yards:

How does the limited popularity of cricket in Manipur illustrate the state’s distinct cultural and political identity, setting it apart from mainstream Indian narratives?
When the national anthem and Hindi cinema are prohibited, in what ways do symbols such as the Indian cricket team in general and their matches in particular signify notions of national unity?
How does cricket, as a colonial legacy, complicate the dynamics between Manipur and the larger Indian identity?
In what ways have personal and political changes in Manipur altered the perception of cricket, transforming it from a source of pure enjoyment into a representation of more profound identity conflicts?
What insights does the commercialisation of cricket, especially with the emergence of the T20 format, provide regarding India’s socio-political priorities, and how do these priorities align or conflict with the realities experienced in Manipur?
Why has India never been able to produce real fast bowler? (Note: Jasprit Bumrah is an exception that only proves the rule.)

The political significance of cricket in India is substantial, particularly when analysed through the framework of neocolonialism. Although cricket was introduced during the colonial era, its development in contemporary India often reflects the nation’s post-colonial journey. The triumph in the 2011 World Cup held on home turf that was hailed as a source of national pride could not help either. The emergence of India as a cricketing powerhouse has not effectively addressed the underlying political and social divisions present in the country.

In contrast, Manipur, along with other regions experiencing conflict in India, presents a stark divergence from the prevailing narrative of cricket as a unifying element. The state’s complicated relationship with the Indian government, characterised by years of armed conflict, insurgency, and the enforcement of the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act (AFSPA), reveals the limitations of cricket’s symbolic influence.

-- Concluded.

POSTSCRIPT ONE

The Border–Gavaskar Trophy ended today (5 January 2025) on third day of the last test between India and Australia with the latter and the host winning the five-match series 3–1.

Ever since 1996–97 with the inception of the BGT, the two teams have played 61 matches, of which India has won 25 and lost 23, while 13 matches were drawn.

POSTSCRIPT TWO

Manipur Remains Tense: Manipur has been facing ethnic violence between the Meitei and Kuki-Zo communities, leading to over 250 deaths and displacing at least 60,000 people since May 2023. Displaced individuals are enduring squalid conditions in relief camps, with limited prospects for return due to ongoing threats. Sporadic gunfights, curfews, general strikes and internet bans have been recurring frequently.

Poetry, Poverty, and Protest: Thangjam Ibopishak Meets Imphal Talkies

2024-12-30T10:25:00.016+05:30

Discover the powerful poetry of Thangjam Ibopishak in our latest post, featuring translations of Manipur, I Don’t Want to Die for You, The Story of Misery and The Fragmented Statue. These poignant pieces explore themes of sacrifice, poverty, and cultural disintegration, enriched by a connection to Imphal Talkies’ music project. The translations offer profound insights into Manipuri life, blending protest and reflection into a narrative of identity and justice.

🕮 Contents

Front Matter
Manipur, I Don’t Want to Die for You (Manipur, Eihak Siningde Nahakkidamak)
The Story of Misery (Lairabagi Wari)
The Fragmented Statue (Ningkhairaba Murti)
End Matter

Image: Adapted from a DP from Oja Thangjam Ibopishak’s personal profile on Facebook

Front Matter

Thangjam Ibopishak, a renowned poet from Manipur, masterfully blends deep reflection, biting critique, and vivid imagery in his poetry. This collection features three impactful poems—Manipur, I Don’t Want to Die for You (Manipur, Eihak Siningde Nahakkidamak), The Story of Misery (Lairabagi Wari) and The Fragmented Statue (Ningkhairaba Murti)—which provide a profound insight into the intricate tapestry of Manipuri life, history, and identity. These emotionally charged poems, filled with social commentary, have been translated for a music project by Imphal Talkies and the Howlers, allowing their powerful themes to reach a broader audience.

In Manipur, I Don’t Want to Die for You, the poet challenges the glorified idea of sacrificing oneself for one’s country. He delves into societal fractures—poverty, exploitation, and inequality—while emphasizing the importance of individual choice in rejecting unwarranted martyrdom. The poem resonates with raw emotion, serving as both a lament and a call for justice. The Story of Misery offers a stark depiction of generational poverty. Through the perspective of a struggling father and his inquisitive young son, Ibopishak sheds light on the unyielding hold of deprivation and the quiet strength that endures in the face of hardship. In The Fragmented Statue, the destruction of a historical symbol embodies cultural fragmentation. The imagery of the shattered statue set against a backdrop of social turmoil evokes both sorrow and a pressing need to contemplate Manipur’s identity and future.

These translations, accompanied by music from Imphal Talkies, enhance Ibopishak’s powerful words, merging different art forms and amplifying their significance.

☆

Manipur, I Don’t Want to Die for You

Manipur, they call you mother,

Let me, too, embrace you as mother,
Yet I falter at the thought of dying for you.

Amidst the dust of this land,
Under the reign of today’s power,
I feel my sanity slip away.
In poverty, some languish,
In opulence, others thrive,
When all are your children,
Does anyone remain a stranger?
Manipur, I hesitate to die for you.

Among humans,
There is a divide of light and darkness,
A gulf between heaven and hell.
Whose making is this?
Whose mandate is this?
The fortune of gods, their folly,
Can't solely be their boon or blunder.
This cannot be destiny,
That poverty plagues the people,
That sin burdens the sinful,
That it’s divine will, that it’s destiny.
Manipur, gods will be mad with you.
People crush others to survive,
People feed off others' toil.
Hey, humanity,
Why lame blame it on the gods?

If we claim a deity we must name,
If we claim a creator is our aim,
Humans and beasts, birds and insects,
All are living, without defense,
No strong, no weak in essence,
No wise, no fools in sight,
In his eyes, all is unified,
Mother Manipur, I name you dear,
But not to die for you, I fear.

If death beckons, let them die
Let those who drain you dry
Let those who loot and terrify
Let those who seek only to enrich themselves
Let them die;
Why should I be the one to die?

I fear no death’s call,
Nor am I one to clasp and cling,
Unaware of my surroundings,
Nor to old age that I may attain.
When my time arrives,
I will depart,
But why should I sacrifice myself for you?
--

The Story of Misery

This is the tale of poverty’s grip,

The poor man’s father, born a slave, let’s sip.
The patriarch relied on others, far and wide he strayed,
Seeking a day’s meal, in misery he stayed,
Poor as a pauper, life in disarray.

But this is just the start of the plight,
The poor man himself, in endless night,
No change to come, nothing new to see,
Sleeps a little, eats a little, oh so drearily.
Poverty whispers, “Why strive anymore,
When rock bottom’s hit, and life’s a chore?”

I’m struck by poverty’s relentless hand,
Amazed by its grip on his barren land,
And it’s frightening.

But what truly astounds, what chills the bone,
Is the poor man's son, just five, not yet grown,
He knows not theft, nor rudeness sown,
He begs not, nor asserts his own,
In the market he wanders, curious and meek,
Searching without words, digging not deep,
His father chuckles, to neighbors clear,
“My son, a coward? Never fear.”

The Fragmented Statue

Last night, a roar tore through my veins—

a crack, a splintering thunder
shattered my silence,
like an earthquake’s sneer
at the Old Khwairamband Market.

Bhagyachandra’s statue, once proud,
now lies fractured in the dust;
his crowned head,
a forlorn whisper on the ground.

Crowds surged, a sea of purpose,
each with their eyes locked on the ration shop,
barking, “First, mine!”
“Mine, too!”
The land was draped in white,
a canvas of desperation.

So were the Meitei,
stripped and starved,
like the rubble of Kangla’s ancient walls.

On a forgotten edge,
the severed head lay alone,
a broken monarch against the fading horizon.
The old Canchipur palace, a tremor
in the dim and distant sky,
shuddered beneath the grey.

End Matter

Check out more translated works of Thangjam Ibopishak right here on this blog!

Imphal Talkies and the Howlers:
Facebook | YouTube | Spotify

Read: India, I See Blood in Your Hands

Retro Riso: Who Says Print Has to Stay on Paper?

2024-11-16T09:09:00.002+05:30

Bringing that retro riso vibe to the digital world! Made this risograph-inspired design on Photoshop—because who says print has to stay on paper?

A Note on Risograph Printing

Risograph printing, often called “Riso,” is a unique, stencil-based printing process that combines elements of screen printing and photocopying, producing vibrant and textured prints. Developed by the Riso Kagaku Corporation in Japan in the 1980s, it was originally intended for high-volume, low-cost duplication.

A Risograph printer creates prints by burning a master stencil of each colour layer, then pressing soy-based ink through the stencil onto paper. Each colour is printed one layer at a time, similar to screen printing. Risograph prints are known for their retro, imperfect look, with slight misalignments, bold colours, and textures that give each piece a handmade feel. These “happy accidents” are part of the appeal!

Happiness Is a Side Effect of Life

2024-08-10T10:58:00.004+05:30

Ten Principles of Happiness: Albert Camus, Absurdism, Happiness and a Carousel

Albert Camus’s popularisation of absurdism offers a distinctive perspective on happiness. This ideology holds that the struggle between our search for meaning and the quiet, uncaring universe is what makes life fundamentally nonsensical. Nevertheless, Camus offers a route to happiness that goes against accepted wisdom within this apparent chaos. Fundamentally, absurdism acknowledges that while the pursuit of meaning may be pointless, it does not imply that there is no happiness or contentment in life. Absurdism encourages us to accept the absurdity and find happiness within it, as opposed to becoming depressed at the absence of an underlying meaning. It says that accepting life’s absurdity and pursuing personal fulfilment in the here and now will lead to happiness instead of seeking great, existential solutions or financial achievement.

Camus is well known for using the metaphor of Sisyphus, who is destined to roll a boulder up a hill forever, to illustrate the human capacity for tenacity. He contends that Sisyphus’s fight against the pointlessness of his labour is what gives him delight. Through finding significance in the struggle itself, Sisyphus—and so, we—can make our own meaning in a world that doesn’t care. Briefly, happiness comes from living life to the fullest, even when life seems like pointless or repetitive. According to absurdists, happiness is about accepting absurdity with humour and resistance rather than trying to run away from it. To be happy in this ridiculous world means to embrace the impromptu and transient joys of life while acknowledging its fundamental silliness. Happiness is, thus, not a goal, but a side effect of life.

Many people have come up with their ideas of what happiness is, can be and should be. Here is the Ten Principles of Happiness originally designed as a carousel for Instagram on Adobe InDesign and Photoshop.

PS: This was originally created as a carousel post for Instagram. 🅾

The Unspoken Sound of Linguistic Hegemony

2024-07-16T19:02:00.004+05:30

Hegemony creates many problems ranging from domination to exploitation as much as it foments resistance and conflict; and here is a case of Manipur and Meiteilon language in the Indian scheme of things.

There are some Hindi terms and expressions that many Manipuris love to use: achha-achha, thali, bhabhi and so on. It is no surprise because language is an organic entity. It evolves, grows, expands, changes, absorbs, loses all the time. However, the point is the unintentional use of such terms and expressions by people in a periphery creates a problematic hierarchy. It is even worse when they do not realise that such phenomenon creates hegemony, and when it comes to hegemony, there is always a problem of/for the ruler and the ruled, the developed and underdeveloped, the hegemon and the public, and in the case of Manipuris, the mainland and the locals.

The Starting Point

The phenomenon of linguistic hegemony manifests at a broader context in different forms as is evident from the relentless North–South divide in mainland India. This tribalistic notion of separation, predominantly based on geography, society, economics and politics is seemingly boundary-less too, just as we can witness it throughout the world--ranging from the local North-and-South-Delhi and North-and-South-Bombay debate to the relentless Global-North and Global-South dominance. When it comes specifically to language in India, the balance of power is stable to a large extent.

Definitely the power play resulted in the anti-Hindi agitation of the mid Sixties, and ever since, the North’s proclivity for considering that part of the world as the centre of the globe has been making them rub others up the wrong way. Only one way goes out of here and the people from the North must empathize with others. They just have to reflect on how others might love their own language. It is as much as they do theirs! The issue becomes critical in exceptional cases.

The hangover of the Sixties’ agitation is not completely gone. Many people in Kerala, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, as always, are not in line with the present authoritarian Hindu-supremacist regime that is based wholly in the Northern part of the country where Hindi is the main vernacular and coincidentally it is also the region from where Hindi lobbyists belong to. As far as the use of language, or against its use is concerned, it is a tool that many people use from time to time according to a given context or convenience. A politician divides mankind, Friedrich Nietzsche puts it succinctly, into two classes: tools and enemies.

Different societies have their own cultural constructs and structures. In a State such as India where numbers can drastically affect the body politic, the minorities are always on the receiving end. It becomes acute when there are sublayers of loss as can be seen from a place like Manipur. The Meiteis are hardly two million in strength. Check some of these numbers: the house size of the entire Manipur is 60 in the State Legislative Assembly out of which 40 is allotted to them. In India, the big ones include Uttar Pradesh with 403, Maharashtra 288 and Bihar 243) and it sends two members to the Parliament and only one parliamentary constituency is assigned albeit anyone can compete regardless of the ethnicity. Again, amongst the highest, UP has 80, Maharashtra 48 and Andhra Pradesh 42.

Antonio Gramsci, Bhaiya and Bhasha

Antonio Gramsci’s formula of cultural hegemony can be applied to all the problems of control and power. The ruling class exists not only on the addition of political and economic power but also on multiplication of cultural institutions and ideologies. The sum is internalised on its own and becomes as natural and inevitable as the sum of 2 and 2 is 4. Do not be surprised if the hegemons make it 5. Likewise, linguistic hegemony follows the same formula, albeit it involves around the dominance through language. The point of discussion for tonight is the dual setbacks faced by minorities through both everyday politics and the politics of language.

Linguistic hegemony manifests when a dominant language marginalizes minority languages, often resulting in the erosion of cultural identities and the silencing of alternative worldviews. This process is not merely about communication but also about power dynamics, where the dominant language becomes a tool for maintaining control over marginalized groups. The suppression of minority languages is a deliberate act that reinforces the social and political status quo, making it difficult for minority communities to challenge their oppression.

In conflict zones, linguistic hegemony compounds the difficulties faced by minority communities. These regions are often characterized by violence, underdevelopment, and political instability. The imposition of a dominant language exacerbates these issues, leading to a two-fold setback for the affected populations:

Politics of Violence and Underdevelopment: Conflict zones are marked by ongoing violence, political strife, and economic instability. Minority groups in these areas are disproportionately affected, facing displacement, loss of livelihoods, and lack of access to basic services. The systemic marginalisation in such contexts often prevents these communities from participating fully in the socio-political landscape, perpetuating a cycle of poverty and disenfranchisement.

Politics of Language: The imposition of a dominant language further alienates minority communities. Language is a critical component of identity and cultural heritage. When minority languages are suppressed, it not only hampers communication but also erodes cultural traditions and historical narratives. This cultural erasure contributes to a loss of self-esteem and a sense of inferiority among minority groups, making it more difficult for them to mobilize and assert their rights.

And in hindsight, it is not complex considering the material condition of this phenomenon. Personally, it is beyond toleration level, when my friends speak in Hindi in Imphal. When people start calling West Asia as Middle East, there is definitely some form of ignorance on part of the locals.

Dual Setback and Its Consequences

The dual setback of political violence and linguistic hegemony creates a vicious cycle that is difficult for minority communities to break. The immediate effects include:

Loss of Cultural Heritage: The suppression of minority languages leads to the gradual loss of folklore, oral traditions, and historical knowledge. This cultural erosion weakens community bonds and diminishes the richness of cultural diversity.

Educational Barriers: Linguistic hegemony often translates into educational disadvantages for minority children, who may struggle to learn in a dominant language that is not their mother tongue. This barrier affects academic performance and limits future opportunities.

Economic Marginalisation: Proficiency in the dominant language is often a prerequisite for better employment opportunities. Minority individuals who are not fluent in the dominant language are thus excluded from higher-paying jobs and remain trapped in cycles of poverty.

Political Disenfranchisement: The dominance of a particular language in legal and political arenas means that minority groups have less access to political discourse and decision-making processes. This disenfranchisement perpetuates their marginalisation and inhibits their ability to advocate for their rights.

Long Story Short

Linguistic hegemony in conflict zones exacerbates the challenges faced by minority communities, creating a dual setback of cultural and economic marginalisation. By understanding the dynamics of linguistic hegemony through the lens of Gramsci’s theory of cultural hegemony, we can better appreciate the profound impact of language politics on these vulnerable populations. Addressing linguistic hegemony requires concerted efforts to promote multilingualism, recognize minority languages officially, and support cultural preservation. Only through such comprehensive strategies can we hope to mitigate the adverse effects of linguistic hegemony and empower minority communities in conflict zones.

It will be no surprise if critics see any sort of irrationality in arguing how Hindi is problematic for Meiteilon speakers while writing in English. Nobody can deny the bias, howsoever badly hidden, towards what North Indians have always wanted call as the national language; but it is more about concepts and constructs today. A more impartial approach lies in the language-in-use than in Meiteilon that will only drown us further within the state and without it is in already. Besides, to cite another example, Tamil and Malayalam will never have this sort of issue for the simple reason that there is no Hindi dominance over these South Indian languages.

Cultural homogenisation can result in the annihilation of local cultures and languages on one hand. On the other hand, minorities can help build innovation and diversity in addition to fighting off dependency and vulnerability. When you speak Hindi like a gentle people in this corner of the world, there is nothing gentle about it. More importantly, I say, Manipur must learn this language of politics.

Drift Away

2024-06-27T11:36:00.001+05:30

Do all the people you love in this life,

All the people you cherish through strife,

All the people you want and need,

Have to be near, your heart to feed?

Near as in space, a tangible tie,

It’s been so long, so long gone by,

So many faces, so many days,

Stretching through time in endless haze.

I don’t know what to make of this maze,

Of people, their questions, their puzzling ways.

I don’t know what to say or do,

With futile words that feel untrue.

Drift away, drift away slow,

Like rivers to seas, where none can know.

And all of us, in time, will fade,

Hopefully, gently, in peace, we’ll wade,

Into some fine day, where dreams are laid.

Experiment 1.0: Woke and Worried – The Truth about Trigger Warnings

2024-06-26T16:53:00.002+05:30

Attention all humans! We are pleased to announce that the world has now been officially sanitised for your protection. Each word, phrase, and thought will be preceded by a trigger warning to ensure no one is ever discomforted by the unpredictable nature of reality. Enjoy the new, hyper-vigilant, padded experience where nothing ever challenges or surprises you. Remember, life is best lived wrapped in bubble wrap, with a healthy dose of disclaimers. Safety first, folks!

Once a rare sighting, not different from Narendra Modi being humble, trigger warnings have now proliferated faster than cat videos on the internet. They pop up everywhere, from the ominous depths of academic literature to the wild jungles of social media. The debate rages on, with proponents championing the noble cause of mental safety nets for the trauma-informed, while critics argue we might be nurturing a culture more delicate than a house of cards in a hurricane. Some researchers suggest that trigger warnings might be the emotional equivalent of bubble wrap, inadvertently cranking up anxiety levels instead of dialing them down.

Are we fostering a generation of informed, empowered individuals, or are we tiptoeing around an ever-expanding minefield of potential psychological perils? As we navigate this tricky terrain, it's essential to strike a balance between sensitivity and resilience. After all, life doesn't come with trigger warnings.

Yes, in the wild world of trigger warnings, we see those little heads-ups we see everywhere these days. They’re like the signposts on a road trip saying, “Careful, there might be some bumpy terrain ahead!” Initially, they were a way to protect folks with past trauma from stumbling into content that could bring back bad memories. But now, it seems like we’re throwing these warnings around like confetti at a parade. And guess what? It’s stirring up quite the debate. Critics are saying this trend is making us all a bunch of overly sensitive worrywarts, thanks to what’s known as woke culture. Let’s take a closer look at how these trigger warnings are cranking up our collective hypersensitivity and why it’s all part of this woke wave.

Trigger warnings first popped up in online communities to help people with PTSD avoid unpleasant surprises. But oh boy, did they spread! Now, you’ll find them in schools, social media, TV shows—basically everywhere. Professors are giving warnings for classic literature, historical events, and even class discussions that might ruffle some feathers. Social media platforms and entertainment outlets aren’t far behind, making sure we’re always prepared for the next potentially distressing piece of content.

Education should be about challenging our minds, debating ideas, and grappling with different viewpoints—even the uncomfortable ones.

Enter woke culture, stage left. This is all about being super aware of social injustices and fighting the good fight. Sounds noble, right? But sometimes, in our quest to be ultra-compassionate, we go a bit overboard, turning into the emotional equivalent of bubble wrap. We start overemphasizing emotional safety to the point of censoring or slapping warnings on anything that might cause a flutter of discomfort. And that, my friends, is where the trouble begins.

Here’s the kicker: throwing around trigger warnings like they’re pineapples at Kanglen can actually make us more anxious. Imagine every time you sit down to watch a movie, someone says, “This might scare you!” Eventually, even a rom-com could start to feel like a horror flick. Research shows that these warnings might not even reduce distress—in some cases, they ramp up our anxiety. It’s like constantly yelling, “Watch out!” People start seeing danger everywhere.

Moreover, normalizing trigger warnings can lead to a culture of avoidance. Instead of learning to handle tough situations, we start dodging them. Think about it: if every little bump in the road had a sign, wouldn’t we all be too scared to drive? This kind of avoidance can stunt personal growth and rob us of diverse experiences and perspectives, which are crucial for our intellectual and emotional development.

In schools, trigger warnings are throwing a wrench in the gears of free expression and open dialogue. Education should be about challenging our minds, debating ideas, and grappling with different viewpoints—even the uncomfortable ones. But when professors feel the need to tiptoe around every potentially upsetting topic, it can lead to a watered-down education. Just imagine the effects of all these restrictions. There is no way that people will be able to confront challenging content and develop critical thinking skills. These are not theoretical concepts but real-world skills that we need to navigate our complex world.

The overuse of trigger warnings reflects a trend towards hypersensitivity and emotional protectionism linked to woke culture.

The overuse of trigger warnings is part of a bigger shift towards prioritizing emotional safety above all else. Woke culture, with its noble aim of protecting people, sometimes equates discomfort with danger. While we should be sensitive to those with trauma, treating normal emotional reactions as something to be avoided at all costs can promote a victim mentality.

This shift is evident on social media, where platforms are quick to slap warnings or bans on content that might offend someone. The intention is to create a safer space, but it often ends up as an echo chamber where people are shielded from differing opinions. This stifles meaningful dialogue and the ability to engage with opposing viewpoints, which are essential for a healthy, democratic society.

Trigger warnings aren’t inherently bad, but like with anything, balance is key. They have their place, but overuse can backfire. We need an approach that respects trauma and sensitivity while also fostering resilience and encouraging engagement with tough material.

Educational institutions should aim to support both emotional well-being and intellectual rigor. This means providing resources for students who might be affected by distressing content while also promoting exposure to a wide range of ideas and experiences. By doing so, they can help students build the resilience and critical thinking skills they need to tackle life’s challenges.

So, there you have it: the overuse of trigger warnings reflects a trend towards hypersensitivity and emotional protectionism linked to woke culture. While the intention is to protect and comfort, this approach can lead to unintended consequences like heightened anxiety, stifled academic freedom, and a society that prioritizes emotional safety over resilience and free expression. We need a balanced approach that supports emotional well-being while promoting resilience and critical engagement with challenging material. By fostering an environment that values both, we can better prepare individuals to navigate the ups and downs of life. And maybe, just maybe, we can pop a few of those bubble wrap bubbles along the way.

Almost done we are.

No trigger warning here; this is just a final note.

Just a heads up that the write-up you just read and the image you’re seeing have been created by AI. Text from ChatGPT and image from Ideogram though, for the text I have added a few real-life examples to trigger a bit further and the image, it has been finetuned with a bit of halftones, blended off and on, and completed with a few textual information. Yep, robots did it! This blog post, put together by an AI language model, dives into the whole deal about trigger warnings, hypersensitivity and woke culture.

Meiteilon Newspapers: A Daily Affair

2024-06-03T22:30:00.063+05:30

★ The following piece is a translation of Thangjam Ibopishak’s essay Meiteilongi Pao-che (Meiteilon Newspaper/s) written originally in his trademark narrative style. The essay is taken from Sajibu (pp 53–57) that was published in 2015 by Imphal-based Yaibiren Communications. The anthology comprising 62 essays is the first collection of prose from this acclaimed Manipuri writer. Ojha Ibopishak (b. 1948) has published ten books of poetry, and a dozen of his poems have been translated on/for this blog: Hit to read here.

Once a protagonist in one of GC Tongbra’s plays asserted, “Those who don’t read newspapers or listen to the radio are uncivilized!” Whether it was serious or sarcastic, knowing Tongbra’s style, it’s likely a bit of both. Today, it’s hard to imagine life without our morning papers and evening news on radio and TV. Newspapers fill in any gaps left by other media.

Reading the newspaper is as essential as eating and maintaining daily hygiene. On less busy days, I spend about an hour with the paper and my morning cup of tea. I start with the front page, move to the inside pages, and then devour the classifieds: on, for and about lost wallets, missing phones, and thank-yous to Ojha Kumar for curing illnesses and distresses—I read them all. I never skip the obits and funeral notices for people in and around Imphal. Sometimes, I find out about the passing of old, long-lost college friends this way.

Life feels tough without newspapers. When I’m out of town without them, I often worry when I contemplate about friends and family in this godforsaken land called Manipur. Once I’m back home, I catch up by reading all the newspapers in order of their publication dates. I usually complete the routine by cutting out and keeping the most important clippings for my collection.

On the Record

I started reading newspapers as soon as I learned Meiteilon, spelling out each letter and word. Back then, we learned Meiteilon before English, so by 1957–58, I was fluent in the language and reading newspapers. At home, we had several dailies my father subscribed to, such as Ngasi, Prajatantra, Simant Patrika and Anouba Samaj. They were all two-page, one-side, tabloid-sized papers. If I remember right, a paper cost four paise and most were pretty much mouthpieces for political parties. The Congress had Simant Patrika, the Communists Khollao, and the Socialists had Anouba Samaj.

Things were a bit different back then. In winter, for instance, hawkers on the payroll of each respective newspaper would deliver the papers around 9 or 10 am. You could read the whole paper, top to bottom, in 10 to 15 minutes. People with piles could get through three issues in one bathroom visit! These small newspapers had some ads, a few government tender notices and a horoscope section. They were full of typos and hard-to-read prints. In those days without radio, newspapers were our only source of news on politics, governance and administration. Where else could we get the “real news” instead of town rumors and gossip? [Blogger’s note: The All India Radio (AIR) was established in 1936 and the station in Imphal in 1963; albeit earlier, news bulletins were relayed from Guwahati starting in 1957.]

Soon, two-page, double-sided papers came into existence along with hazy, smudgy photos printed every now and then. These photos always had the tiny attribution: Photo: Government of India. Let me share a funny story from those days. Some English newspapers reported on a storm with the phrase, “It was raining cats and dogs.” One local paper took it literally and published: “Hui houdong faoba yaona akanba nongju chukhre,” which loosely means, “Even cats and dogs were falling during the torrential downpour.” (A bit lost in translation here.)

Notwithstanding this long-running joke in the Manipuri news industry, we should not criticise the media folks from back then. Even today, many English-speaking media professionals struggle with the native language, and you can see it in their news stories sometimes.

A society without newspapers will merely be as good as dead.

Set the Story Straight

For those who love newspapers, something truly amazing happened in the world of Meiteilon dailies when offset printing machines and desktop publishing, also known as DTP, were introduced for the first time. The transformation was nothing short of a miracle. Similarly, the construction of the Kangla moat, the facelift of Kangjeibung into a mini stadium, the installation of the Sahid Minar, the building of Khuman Lampak Main Stadium and its sports complex, and the relocation of Assam Rifles are all miraculous. And let’s not forget the Bir Tikendrajit flyover, which went from being almost abandoned looking like a dilapidated citadel to fully functional—a miracle in its own right. (Blogger’s note: The author is, here, referring to the late 1990s and early 2000s. The construction of BT Flyover started in summer 2003 and the bridge took four years for completion. Length: 623 metres!)

The way printing has evolved is again nothing short of a miracle. In the past, letterpress printing was messy with ink blotches everywhere. Using a treadle-powered jobbing press was physically demanding, but it got the job done without electricity, and it became even more efficient with bigger cylinders. Then came offset printing, which was adopted quickly and made newspapers look almost picture perfect with multi-color (or technically, the four-color) printing process. It has been, so to speak, a dream come true for both professionals who have dedicated their lives to the profession and the people who are passionate about all things pao-che. I’ve seen this firsthand with my own companions.

Back in the days of old-school printing in Imphal, there was this one evening when a Japanese tourist visited a printing press. I heard he was visibly surprised and felt sorry seeing compositors working on archaic cylinder machines way into the late 20th century. He said something like, “We had these machines back in Japan. These are making me nostalgic now.” No surprise but the whole setup must have appeared like museum artefacts to him.

Read:

Today’s Morning News

Some of the Meiteilon newspapers are doing really well these days. It’s amazing to see how skilled printing professionals in town are raising the bar with their work. Unlike English newspapers from outside the state, which arrive only in the evening, Meiteilon dailies have news from all over the world thanks to technology and subscriptions to agencies. Many readers here have apparently ditched papers from outside the state altogether. They prefer reading these dailies in the morning and catching some news on TV or radio. It’s a trend that’s catching on fast. (Blogger’s note: Check the post On Reading National Evening Newspapers, which focuses on, amongst other things, how all the metro newspapers are no less than an eveninger in Manipur.)

Plus, in the editorial pages, the dailies feature articles written by well-informed contributors with impressive academic backgrounds. They excel in various fields like politics, economics, science, medicine, and more, both nationally and internationally. It’s great to see experts sharing their opinions regularly.

These days, we’re fortunate to see what’s going on around us quickly and clearly: how many people have drawn their last breath, where a gunfight has taken place, who has hurled the bombs, where a joint action committee (just JAC in local parlance) has been formed, when a bandh or blockade is due, which minister has been garlanded—we hear about it all. We also stay updated on lighter topics like sports, culture, movies, music, and more. The papers are printed late at night, so we wake up to fresh news every morning, even if it has happened late the night before.

Stop Press

Despite the progress, press freedom in Manipur faces constant threats. The occurrence of one organisation or another interfering with daily news production processes, and physically shutting down outlets has become more of a norm than an exception. We are forced to go without newspapers for a good number of days each year. It is difficult to determine whether or if other areas affected by insurgencies, such as Kashmir, Assam, and Nagaland, also face the same kind of adversities. The government have told the newspaper offices not to print press releases from armed organisations, and that that it will censor the press, or the latter must do it on its own. Insiders reveal that they have already received strictures from the authority on the issue.

On the flip side, some folks are strongly against the government’s actions. They will also intimidate media houses to publish their press statement by any means. It’s gotten to a point where we’re worried about the future of newspapers. There might come a day when we don’t have them at all, and a society without newspapers is pretty much dead in the water. Even under dictatorial regimes, newspapers manage to stick around in some places, but what about Manipur? It’s part of India, the world’s largest democracy. Will there ever be a time when newspapers would vanish from our world?

- Concluded.

Translation Note:

Unlike in the Meiteilon essay, I have inserted subheaders in the above translation for design aesthetics and to give the above blog page more room to breathe with white space.
The original Meiteilon essay, as mentioned in the postscript of the piece in the book, was written in August 2008.
Meiteilon is spoken predominantly in Manipur, while sparsely in mainland India and the western part of Southeast Asia. In the 2011 census, 1.76 million people use the language as their native tongue in India.
In the state, the Directorate of Information and Public Relations, Government of Manipur mentions there are 34 newspapers, and out of which 16 are in Meiteilon. The list of media houses and journalists accredited by the directorate—which was last updated in June 2018 as per the timestamp of the post on its website—is either incorrect or incomplete. It does not mention The Morning Bell daily (Is it not recognised?), Elite TV, and SKTV in the list; and Pradip Phanjoubam is still credited as the editor of Imphal Free Press on the directorate’s website, and so on.
It is ironic but the official website of the DIPR that is responsible for dissemination of information to the public was launched for the first time only in 2016. A chunk of the website is still filled with 400 Bad Request errors in June 2024. The Japanese tourist mentioned in the essay will definitely faint if he hears about this DIPR miracle. See below the names of the dailies:

The list includes 34 newspapers mentioned on the DIPR website plus The Morning Bell; and the languages (and timing for some) of the publications are mentioned in parentheses. Just amongst the Meiteilon dailies—based on perception and available data on circulation—the more popular Poknapham, the Sangai Express and Hueiyen Lanpao can be grouped under Category 1, while Naharolgi Thoudang, Sanaleibak, Ichel Express and Ireibak can be placed in Category 2 and so forth.

Is Hodophobia Prevailing in the Town?

2024-05-27T12:33:00.019+05:30

Hodophobia is the fear of travelling. Any phobia is irrational, yet it is a different kind today. We have been experiencing it in our town in Imphal in the heart of Manipur; because, if you are a Meitei, you cannot go to any Kuki area; and it is the same the other way around.

In our neighbourhoods, some people would consider that it is a nasty political-conflict situation and not prefer it calling hodophobia. Regardless, people are reluctant to venture beyond the valley and by people, it includes even those in the government and its institutions. The present conflict between the Meitei and Kuki ethnic groups in Manipur has manifested into a reality that has hardly ever been witnessed anywhere else in the world.

More than the usage of hodophobia, the balkanisation is so deep that observers maintain it is worse than those days following the partition of British India in the late 1940s. The Indian nation-state is another party deeply involved albeit conveniently detached from the issues affecting several ethnic groups living in its territory and neighbouring Burma. The causes and reasons of the conflict that exploded in May 2023 will depend on who you ask.

Still, politics is all about taking sides—for one, it is the Indian chicanery to engage with militant organisations belonging to specific ethnic groups in the name of national security and fighting insurgency; and two, the exclusivist ethnonationalist projects of several groups in the region match the Indian vibes at the same frequency. Where do you stand when the supreme nation-state is at a crossroad itself? Clearly what we have been experiencing is an ethnic clash while both physical and nonphysical agencies are instigating the gory divide for all the questionable motives.

If we take a couple of steps back, it is not difficult to see the big picture. How will people feel a sense of safety and security when the State is covertly sponsoring a proxy war? Any kind of war results in death and destruction. This is also the reason why it is exactly why the onus is on the State of India, and no other agency, for the latest violent shitstorm.

Roadblocks

Refer to a few recent media reports:

The National Investigation Agency has said in a chargesheet that the “China-Myanmar module” of the Isak-Muivah faction of the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN-IM) supported the cadres of two banned Meitei outfits to infiltrate India in order to exploit the current ethnic unrest in Manipur with a larger goal to destabilise the State and wage a war against the Government of India. (China-Myanmar module of NSCN-IM helped banned outfits in Manipur: NIA China-Myanmar module of NSCN-IM helped banned outfits in Manipur: NIA, The Hindu, 15 May 2024)

The next day:

The National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN)...accused the Indian security forces of helping the Kuki militant groups to wage war against the Meitei revolutionary groups in Myanmar. (Indian forces helping Kuki militants to wage war against Meitei groups in Myanmar: NSCN, The Hindu, 16 May 2024)

A few days later, an Imphal-based People’s Chronicle daily also reported on the press statement released by the NSCN (IM):

The statement...claimed that the central forces are collaborating with Kuki National Army (KNA-B) and Chin People’s Defence Force (PDF) to fuel the ongoing conflict in the region. According to NSCN, Central security forces supplied combat materials and GI pipes for bomb-making to KNA (B) and Chin PDF. The Naga rebel group alleged that a bomb-making factory in Phaiyang village, run by KNA (B), received training and operational support from Indian forces, including on usage of drones. (CFs trained KNA (B) in bomb making: NSCN, People’s Chronicle, 23 May 2024)

A section from Sudip Chakravarti’s The Eastern Gate: War and Peace in Nagaland, Manipur and India’s Far East (p 73). Published in 2022 by Simon and Schuster.

It is another farce how the Indian State started domesticating the Kuki insurgents with the controversial suspension-of-operations agreement in 2005. That was a different era. In the valley, Imphal was knee deep in shit over well-documented State terrorism and the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act; and in some parts of the hills, the Kuki people were recovering from the 90s genocidal clash with the Nagas.

Nonetheless, the Indian military does not have any prior military operations or any related clash with the Kuki insurgents. It has been with not one, not two, not five or even ten, but along with an amazing number of 25 rebel groups in the first place. Somehow, they started the SoO... Many people are still wondering over this kind of sorcery. Regardless, it would be sheer stupidity if that has been conceived as a plan to contain insurgency in this ethnically diverse and politically volatile region.

Geopolitics, the other factor, is such a disgrace for people who cannot venture beyond 20 kilometers. It is a bit embarrassing to also note that we have a roof over our head, at least, when more than 60,000 people, in a land of approximately 3.5 million people, are living as refugees in their homeland.

And conveniently, two parties are indulging in a mud-slinging campaign but what can private individuals do when both of them have ulterior motives? Please remember that NSCN IM and the Govt of India are legal entities of a peace agreement that started in 1997. It is an eyesore that both of them are attempting to kick each other’s bums. Nobody can beat the military absurdity of India, and its Bollywood-defying melodrama in the borderlands. Now and then, its Necklace of Diamonds Strategy sounds realistic....but again, at what cost? It is so completely meaningless just to be a peripheral wasteland in the Indian nation-state for Manipur that was forcefully merged to be a part of. That’s not the issue, though, today.

How deadly is it to travel beyond Sekmai? Beyond Keithelmanbi? Beyond Kwakta? For Kukis, it is the opposite direction.You might get shot in the face. You might disappear without a trace. You might reappear on social media the next day, but as a corpse kicked into a ditch by people in military fatigues. So, it is pretty rational. The fear has reasons; and perhaps, this is not hodophobia, which some people also refer to it as stadephobia, to mean it as a fear of distance rather than travelling. Again, apparently, it is none of them! It is just obnoxious politics.

Trips and Travelling

In my school and college days in the late 90s and 2000s, Imphal was never a safe place to go out, particularly in the evenings. Then it was known for random killings and fake encounters, which are well publicised in the public domain, thanks to the government of those days, trigger-happy and obedient cops, and acts like the AFSPA. Although, those did not deter me to hang out with friends and come back home only in the midnight hours—all around the town—yet the point is, things have changed. Today, you just cannot step your foot beyond the valley unlike anytime before.

A few days ago (20 May), three Kukis were killed and from social media reports, they were shot dead in the act while they were attempting to invade the Tronglaobi village in Bishnupur, which is one of the so-called valley districts inhabited by the Meiteis. The Kukis are in the southern and south-western hills, with many of them allegedly freeloaded into this nation-state from Burma. This is not without a reason. They claim they share the same ethnicity, and that is why they have no issues with the Mizos in further south in Mizoram. However, their arguments rip the reasons out of what citizenship is in a modern nation-state. It is in this context that the 2024 Indian general elections have been conducted!

On the other hand, there is also a war in Burma. However, today, if you ask anyone in Imphal, who cannot go beyond the valley, they will tell you the same thing: it is their problem. Only a person succumbed to that kind of literal existential state can only understand what it means to show reluctance in a humanitarian crisis.

Forget about making any plan for a trip or travelling, just see that the capable yet clueless military establishment of the Indian nation-state is occupied with the nation-building project over there, when it is clearly an issue that needs to be resolved more discretely. What kind of cruel English-cold irony is that the idea of India has remained incomplete even after achieving independence for 76 years? How can you call yourself a complete country when parts of the body politic is ripped off relentlessly? And this is important because the Indian State is one of the parties to all the conflicts, and this will not change despite the number of times it gatecrashes to play a negotiator’s role.

Finally, several commentators in mainland India who are as overbearing as always, have been stating that the present conflict is a legacy issue, implying as though the region is alien to multiculturalism. They ignore the fact that the friction between ethnic groups had appeared with the onset of colonial rule in contemporary history and only exacerbated with postcolonial India. If the State is a bit more transparent and non-deceiving, in any case, the animosity can be reduced to a human-tolerable level. The freedom to travel in a hinterland is now a test for the building of a fragmented nation, and Imphal is a trial room with not much sight in sight.

★

Also on this blog:

The Indian Connection with Manipur Riots
A Short Note on Ethnonationalism in and around Manipur
More Blog Posts on India and Manipur

The Unexpected Existential Crisis

2024-05-07T21:12:00.005+05:30

Two things that conclude a semester, an end-semester examination and then grading the papers, are triggering an unexpected existential crisis. I have some reasons albeit logical or not, I cannot tell anymore.

This May, India will be completing the 10th year of the present right-wing regime, and nobody has to look far to see how bad things are already. It is also May, and we do not even have to try see anything, especially for us in an undergraduate college. It is one of the even end-semester seasons as batches of students will be preparing to go to the next year: the first to the second, and those from the second to third year, and there will be a fresh batch of the proverbial curious and hyperactive first-year students. We really do not have to see anything now, because we have already reached the point!

Towards the end of a semester—not just even ones for that matter, for tonight—there are two occasions that stand out the most. First, the system of formative evaluation that culminates in the eponymous end-semester examination that arrives soon after the extraterrestrial rush for practical exams and, amongst other things, issues relating mostly to shortage of attendance and missing assignments; and second, the excruciating pain of/during invigilation.

Of course, I’m not ignoring the plight of the students. And I don’t deny all of their issues are an existential pain on a different level altogether: Classes that are scheduled at an inhumanely 8 in the morning; boring lectures that make them even sleepier; unnecessary assignments that add no Snapchat-or-Instagram-value whatsoever; annoying group projects that tell more of independence than team work; the never-ending preaching of what to eat, and what not to, and what to wear and what not to; and so on.

However, before I proceed, let me quote Adam Smith:

‘It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker, that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self-love, and never talk to them of our own necessities but of their advantages.’

Read:
The Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith
ASIN ‏ : ‎ 9387779467 | Publisher ‏ : ‎ Fingerprint! | Paperback ‏ : ‎ 1,144 pages | ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 9387779467 | ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-9387779464

Personally, I have so many nothings to do, so many readings to complete for my research, so many YouTube Shorts to watch...so many preparations for seminars and conferences, so many worries for wars that are intermittently happening in my hometown in Manipur, and so many things for very little less. And I'll still repeat that these two things that conclude a semester, an end-semester examination and the evaluation, are triggering an existential crisis.

The right-wing regime, in its desperation to change the previous long-serving centrist regime, had introduced the so-called National Education Policy, which resulted in the shortening of the exams and course works. Although it is a different tale together now after the introduction of the NEP that the incumbent government has decided to change not only the policy but the system altogether, while reducing the value of a student to that of a guinea pig all over again.

Again, the NEP that we still follow is not helping. Just as contrast to one of my senior colleagues had suggested, meditation does NOT help during the long hours of invigilation, no matter how much it has been reduced. Mathematically, according to the NEP, it is by half an hour, but physically it is no different. I can tell it from experience. Then it was the sheer ennui of doing nothing for three-odd hours and now it is the external factors too! When the city is reeling under one of the worst heat waves, so to speak, it is even worse to tolerate. (Read: Bengaluru sizzles, records highest temperature of 41.8 degree celsius (sic). Source: The New Indian Express)

Staying in New Delhi for 12 years had taught me how to survive in 40+ degree ovens, because at the end of the day, at least, we can resort to an AC room. Yet, when the grading process starts, it is so surrealistic. Imagine you have bags of bananas and you have shared generously with a bunch of monkeys. They can take multiple pieces of the fruit, or berry whatever, but for all the reasons they are quite satisfied with just half a piece or a piece at most. And that’s exactly how they write in an exam.

That is not grace or discretion. If they were really a monkey, it is understandable—because that’s what makes the animal kingdom, sans human beings, so enviable. They will not harm or kill others once they are fed for the day, unlike humans who know no limit. The Indian Father in General, Mahatma Gandhi also used to say that the Earth has enough for everyone’s need but not for everyone’s greed. That's a thought for the day but that’s not the point though. The learning and comprehension that the students need to acquire are not bananas. In simple words, to through the exams, while Socrates messes with the very meaning of why we are in this universe, and then before we know it, we get to see what the students have written while grading the papers. That’s worth one whole semester!

Who is going to understand this crisis? Where do we even begin from?

Perhaps, it will be the toil of Sisyphus all over again the next semester. Perhaps, it’s my shortcoming that there has been insufficient learning and comprehension. Perhaps, the education system is created like this, and this is how governments have also been taking political mileage out of. Perhaps, it’s wrong to expect so much from the people. Perhaps, this is how people are. Perhaps, a higher-paying job can get rid of all of these crises. Perhaps, there is no meaning in life at all. Perhaps, all I need are a rum punch and a holiday to Francey Pondicherry.

Bharot

2024-04-21T10:50:00.004+05:30

As was Godot, so is this land,

Ever waiting, a fate unplanned.

Just as Pakistan, just as China,

The rhyme dissolves in lost patina.

They said, post demonetisation’s glare,

India rose as Bharot, laid bare.

The name my grandmother softly spoke,

With a Bengali lilt, a memory woke.

She, at eighty, frail yet wise,

Saw beyond her failing eyes.

Knew Bharot’s truth, as war reveals,

In hunter green and cold, hard steel.

In the foothills, lives untold are lost,

Peace a dream, at what a cost.

No settlement, no soothing word,

Silence echoes—nothing heard.

Yet this tale twists, a bitter refrain:

Bharot knows not impotence nor shame.

Empires crumbled, as they must,

And still, we rise from ancient dust.

No hope but the absurd remains,

Politics woven in cynical chains.

Microscopes nor telescopes need we,

To see this India and Bharot thingy.

A monkey shares the chapati’s crust,

India the monkey, Bharot the trust.

From England, they say, came this divide,

A colonial whisper we cannot hide.

Our race carved deep upon our face,

Yet no ear hears the hills’ disgrace.

Through valleys, wails like winds go by,

While hearts stay deaf, blind to the cry.

So tell me now, are you India or Bharot?

And still we wait, as we have, for what?

A Note on Bharot: Bharot is simply Bharat, a name many believe should replace India as the country’s official name, rather than being limited to an endonym. Let’s ignore the ongoing debates regarding the promotion of Hindutva agenda these days, but cut to the chase, Bengali culture—especially during our grandparents’ generations—heavily influenced the local way of life, leading to the adoption of names like Bimol and not Vimal and Sanjoy instead of Sanjay. This is due to, among other reasons, Bengali phonology and the default inherent vowel, where a often becomes o.

Goats, Bulls, Pigs, Other Sacrificial Animals and Human Beings

2023-12-13T16:01:00.004+05:30

Religion, Politics, and All the State Chicanery

Above: The Sacrifice by Leonardo Bistolfi (Image: Nancy Cantwell/Unsplash)

An Introduction to Conventional Sacrifice

We usually refer to holocaust to mean only the WWII tragedy. All of us picture the Nazi brutality and Jews screaming and running helter-skelter, and dying, when we hear this word. However, particularly in the Greek and Jewish cultures of yore, it refers to a ritual sacrifice. Perhaps, the Nazis were impudent, and they started using the term, which is literally a burnt offering among the Jews. We can save the story about the genocide for some other time and now, we can go back to the world of religious sacrifice. Closer home, for us from a Hindu background, animal sacrifice is followed during the Durga Puja festival. For more Hindu families and the lack of goats, people also use ash gourds for the sacrifice.

In Islam, people also observe aqeeqah, in which an animal is sacrificed on the occasion of a child’s birth. Usually, one goat is killed for a female child and two for a male child, albeit it depends on an individual to offer more animal sacrifices if they so choose. It is performed on the seventh day following a child's birth and in exceptional case, it is also observed on the 14th or 21st day, or sometimes even later. There are also other forms of sacrifices such as Bakar Id and Reraya Qurben that are mostly celebrated in Indian subcontinent and Indonesia respectively.

In a nutshell, the practice of animal sacrifice is present transcending every faith and belief systems including Abrahamic (comprising Judaism, Christianity, and Islam), Dharmic (Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism), and East Asian religions (Confucianism, Taoism and Shinto).

The Context

Animal sacrifice is frequently considered as a means of gaining the favour or blessing of gods or spirits by appeasing or praising them. The sacrificer shows their commitment and willingness to part with something valuable in order to obtain heavenly favour by surrendering their life. One technique to create or preserve a positive relationship with the supernatural entities thought to have an impact on people’s life is through this act of surrender.

The ritual sacrifice is often associated with acts of appeasement and communion with the divine. Its significance varies depending on the particular tradition and beliefs, but some common themes emerge.

Offering an animal as a sacrifice, many people believe that it might help one atone for their sins and misdeeds. It is seen as a means of divine contact. It is also linked by certain cultures to the preservation of cosmic order and fertility. With the animal’s death and resurrection, the cyclical aspect of sacrifice can be understood as a mirror of the seasons and crop growth, two other examples of nature’s cyclical rhythms. The animal used for sacrifice frequently has symbolic meaning within the specific culture. For example, in certain cultures, the goat is a sign of sin and purification, whereas the ox is a symbol of power and fertility.

The Circumstances

We can dive into the point now. Just as religion is, according to Marx, an opium of the masses, politics is one way that the so-called political class use the citizens as a sacrificial animal. This might sound contradictory because they swear by the expression that they exist for serving the people. Sometimes, we cannot ignore how so cute all of them are. However, in the last few centuries, ever since the Westphalian era, they have reincarnated as the ruler of the people under the ethos of We, the People. This will be clearer if we see some of the cases cutting across all kinds of nations and their politics.

If they cannot stop a crisis, the public is responsible for the problem in the first place. For whatever reasons why they are clueless, they can always find a sacrificial group of people. If you refer to the ongoing conflict in Manipur, in the hinterlands of India, this will become obvious. Several of them are directly involved in poppy plantation and heroin production (per available records in public domain), while the people who are dying in the skirmish are only the citizens. For many career politicians, it is their expertise to use the anxieties, biases, or fears of the populace to further their own ideological goals. What works better than divisive rhetoric against specific groups?! Offering sacrificial lambs apparently help atone the leaders for their obvious sins. When it is the valley people, it is a sign of sin and purification; and hill people, that of power and fertility.

In the larger Indian context, politicians would privatise public services or reduce social welfare programmes in order to put corporate interests ahead of the interests of the general public. This has the potential to worsen social inequality and disproportionately affect vulnerable populations. Even the names rhyme: Modi, Ambani and Adani. Further, in order to stay in power and avoid taking responsibility, politicians also utilise their power to stifle dissenting opinions or restrict the flow of information. Many people might blame only Modi and his crony capitalist friends, but as we can see, it is just not them. It is a ritual of the entire political class.

Politicians are effectively using the public as a means to an end in each of these situations, putting their own interests and well-being at risk in order to further their own political agendas or personal goals. This is a textbook example of power abuse and exploitation that could have a significant impact on society. It is imperative that citizens can make informed decisions by understanding these strategies and hold their representatives responsible for their deeds.

The Conclusion

To summarise, politicians use the people as sacrificial lambs by playing on people’s fears, putting corporate profits ahead of the general good, starting needless wars, and stifling dissent. In religion, people have faith and the rituals. But for us, these strategies are based on not only the sheer self-interest of the representatives but the potential also to damage democracy. And if it is a real and ideal democracy, the idea of We, The People cannot be based on this charade.

Beyond the blog:
How Science Is Helping Us Understand Human Sacrifice
The Wall Street Journal: Human sapiens in nearly every part of the world has practiced human sacrifice at some point over at five millennia, often killing females in fertility rites or for burial alongside powerful males.

Films & Fonts: Typography in Hollywood Films

2023-12-05T15:15:00.008+05:30

Typography can make or break your design. This series is based on some of the Hollywood films from the 1940s onwards (Casablanca et al), which are as easily recognisable as Nike’s swoosh, thanks to their unique typefaces, customisation, and above all design aesthetics.

Typography in films is like the style of writing you see on screen. It’s not just about words; it’s about how those words look and feel. Here’s why it matters:

Different fonts, colours, and sizes of letters help create the right mood for a movie. They can make you feel excited, romantic, scared, or anything else the filmmakers want you to feel. The style of writing can also tell you when or where the story is happening. Old-fashioned fonts might show it’s a story from the past, while futuristic letters can tell you it’s a story from the future. Sometimes, each character has their own special writing style. It shows their personality or role in the story, especially in cartoons or movies with lots of animation.

Words on screen, like titles or subtitles, are easier to understand when they’re written in a clear and cool way. Typography helps make sure you get the message without any confusion. Similarly, fancy writing can make certain words or phrases stand out, making sure you notice the most important parts of the story. The way words look in a movie can make it different from others. It’s like the movie’s special style that helps people remember it.

Cool writing and designs make a movie more beautiful and interesting to watch. They add to the movie’s overall look and feel. Typography isn’t just about words; it can help tell the story better. The way words move or appear on the screen can add extra meaning to what’s happening in the movie. In simple words, typography in films isn’t just about putting words on the screen. It’s a way to make the movie more exciting, understandable, and beautiful, adding to the whole movie-watching experience.

#typography #titlesequence #movies #minimalism #hollywood #filmsandfonts

It’s Hard to Get Back, Man

2023-12-02T22:53:00.002+05:30

My hometown is not what it used to be anymore

That doesn’t matter as long as I get back there

Of course, it’s never the old place, the old time anymore

And it’s ever in small proxies of vicissitude and vacation

And always it’s hard to get back to places I have left

And I keep moving from one place to the other.

Then I have moved to new towns for new things

People say it’s how life is, and it’s how living is

These don’t really matter as long as the old wisdom says:

Changes are how we are built to be steady,

Tho’ always it’s hard to get back to places I have left.

I want to, man, but it’s damn hard!

I’m on the road again

I have met people that I want to get back to

I have seen places that I want to go back to

But, man, it’s hard to get back to people I have left

It’s always hard to get back to places I have left

In their memories I travel and tell stories now.

Alternative Perspectives: A Visual Design Approach

2023-10-06T10:11:00.002+05:30

You always have multiple angles to look at things; and you can check those from informed, independent, and sometimes, alternative perspectives. You can as well do it like a real troglodyte that you are—and, again, from much-more-many vantage points. #fuckthehashtags