Sohra

                                                     

 Sohra is a place that will play peekaboo  as you drive along the road ribboning down Shillong for almost 60 kms. The hills will ensconce you now or suddenly disappear behind a thick layered veil of clouds and tease with just a portion of the road visible ahead. But you know you are on safe grounds because the journey is through a table top and the edges are way off the road. Snaking through the  meadows in multiple shades of green, the clouds welcomed us into their folds and showered us with rains. In any case this was what I had come for, chasing the rains. 

Through the rain washed window panes, blurred landscape rushed by. I could make out a stream flowing or jumping off a rocky ledge in the meadows. A settlement passed by, people moving around unhurriedly with colourful umbrellas, an integral part of their existence. The rains had stopped as suddenly as it had begun as if to let us have a good look around. We passed  pretty Khasi homes with just one or two little windows on either side of the front door. No matter how humble the home was, there were no compromises on two aspects. Cleanliness and curtains. Every window, whether it was of a roadside kiosk, a shack, or a home had pretty curtains on their windows. And cleanliness? There was not a piece of wrapper within sight even within the compounds of their homes. Woven baskets hung from tree trunks or placed by the road was a common sight. And the roads forever had a washed look.  A string of laundry was staked up on a bamboo pole, left to dry in the breeze. Even from the distance I could make out they had been scrubbed clean. I wonder how do they dry the clothes with rain pouring in every now and then? And then I see some women attired in Jainsen  walking down to a stream with yet another pail of clothes. 

The owner of the resort we stayed in, claimed that entire Sohra once had an abundance of fruit trees and probably that's where the name came from "Soh" meaning fruits. And then came the British who couldn't quite get it right ( as is evident from the spate of renaming them throughout the country) and referred to it as Churra. The Bengali babus who assisted the British in administration further added 'punjo' to indicate a cluster. The local name Sohra changed to Cherrapunjee. The slopes of the south Khasi hills looks out at the vast watery Bangladesh. For the people of the adjoining Bangladesh plains, it made sense to   turn this side rather than trudge a long way to the nearest city. Sohra was a hub of fruits market and the local people  had trade relations with  neighbouring Bangladesh. "People here flourished then. But now they have left for distant places in search of livelihood" she claims. Tracks that connected the hills with the plains are overgrown with years of disuse. Strangely even the fruit trees started disappearing and the locals were looking at a grim future.

For all its lush greenery and rainfall, Sohra doesn't yield itself to cultivation. The traditional practice of jhum cultivation has robbed the land of its green cover. The incessant rains have added to the woes by washing away the precious top soil. A dark rocky surface juts out in many places from the greenery, lending a heightened contrast to the verdant cover. 

This region stands on a rich deposit of limestone. And soon cement factories sprung up to extract and utilize this resource. It provided respite to the locals in terms of employment and stable livelihood. Although, there are many who continue to sell off the produce from their homestead to supplement the wages earned here or at distant land. I crossed a cement factory and on the other side was a small wooden bridge that led to a row of buildings in the distance. The sky was overcast taking a respite before the next downpour. The undulating landscape was lush and fresh as only the rains can bestow. And for an instant, I wondered if the women were going to step out of their homes and wait for the men to return from the factory shift. would they hand over their earnings to the women before walking in to take a bath and sit down to a hot meal? Strangely,  Richard Llewyllen's How Green Was My Valley surfaced. But that was South Wales and the coal mines. This is Sohra and cement factory. And yet there is an echo. Probably my imagination of a Welsh countryside coincided with what stretched before me. 

Sohra continued to charm me  with it's quietude and clean air. The only sounds were that of the breeze rustling the leaves, bird songs or the rain falling in a steady pour. When the shower stopped for a while, I sat on the bamboo bench and looked out at the ridge opposite. Wisps of tinged low clouds hovered over the valley. 

"They have taken away our title" the owner of the resort had said. The ridge on the other side under the clouds was Mawsynram, wearing the crown of being the wettest place on earth. Did it make Sohra any less beautiful? Did it rob it of its quiet charm? Did it make the numerous waterfalls plunging down the cliffs any less majestic? 

I made a promise to myself, I shall return to Sohra once again and again. For that is what it does to you. Seeps into your heart with all its simplicity and stays on as a warm thought.


                                                 

This post was written for TWTFOW#5

                                   

A Letter From A Chinki

                                                         

Dear People Of Mainland

     Let's have a heart to heart talk. Honestly and sincerely unless you want to continue living in a vicious environment where each act of aggression provokes retaliation. This is not going to let anyone exist peacefully let alone co-exist amicably. 

   So what is it about  us that intimidates you? What is it that puts the fear of such magnitude that it compels you to take an offensive? Is it merely our 'different looks' or our liberal upbringing and culture that benumbs you with shock that there could be a possibility of a society where boys and girls are treated equally? That it challenges your sole chauvinistic prerogative? Or our 'looks' remind you of those ruthless raiders across the mountains ages ago and whose fear is ingrained in you?

    We are a people who have always been gentle and content, for our land and forests had given us enough. Down the ages we have never really had to till the land like most of you have had to struggle with the impregnable soil and harsh climate. Is this frustration and fear so deep rooted  in you that it brings out the aggressor  to see a 'threat' where there is none? Of an 'outsider' appearing to take your share. No, seriously I am trying to understand the cause of your vitriolic attacks on us because there has to be solution. 

    It is human instinct to be wary of strangers. Granted. But does it justify your pathetically juvenile prank of tying the leash around a girl's boot? So you got the kicks watching those helpless girls screaming their guts out with terror while you guffawed on the sides? Have you tried the same stunt on yourself ? How many Nidos have you ridiculed, taunted and then beaten them into submission or worse still, death? How many Reingamphys are yet to be molested, raped and killed before you understand that they are all humans just like the your mas and behens? But is there any point in recalling these horrendous incidents? I guess not, for you don't leave alone a Nirbhaya or the Dutch tourist and the countless others who forever live in the dark constricting shadows of your lust.

    Let me tell you why the Reingamphys and Nidos come out of their once content regions. It is for the very same reason that your ancestors pitched their tent here in Delhi many years ago. For a better livelihood. The Nidos. Reingamphys and the women like those, to whose boots you tied that damn leash with a dog at the end of it, have stepped out because there are no more opportunities and growth in their regions. Because they also aspire for and deserve a chance to a better life. Because there are not many decent educational and professional education institutes that can nurture their dreams. And also there are not many industries and employment opportunities that can provide for a decent life.

       Is it our fault that the Center decided to have the best of everything in the Mainland? The beleaguered people of this region are caught between a militancy gone awry, formidable military and corrupt politicians. Decades of insurgency that took its roots from the Center's apathy to the region's issues which are peculiar and bear no resemblance to those of the mainland, have left the people disillusioned.

   Do you know what AFSPA is? Have you ever lived in an atmosphere of fear and scrutiny 24x7 for the last 56 years? Do you know what it means to pass through manned barricades day in and day out to reach your own home? How could a mother sleep fitfully at night after a hard day's work knowing anyone can barge into her home to take her son or daughter away for "questioning"? Many times never to return. Do you know what it takes to breathe the air of this draconian, out-dated law that the British brought up to squash the Quit India Movement? It has no place in a democracy.

   And I am not blaming the Armed Forces. How can I, having seen the other side of the fence too? They did not bring the AFSPA into existence. They follow orders that come from the top.  Or else India would have been another Pakistan.They are the favourite punching bags or heroes whenever there is a natural or an internal crisis. But the stories of rape, violation of modesty, assault and plain simple gunning down abounds. Despite all this, we do send our boys and men into the Forces just like you do to guard the nation. But has the nation or it's people stood by us? They don't even know us. Majority of them still believes we live in forests and bamboo houses with wild beast for company, if not in China and Burma. Not that we mind living in these eco-friendly abodes. It is just that the inference drawn thereafter is laced with contempt and derision.

   Tossed between all this, is the youth of our region. Their mothers have fought many bitter battles relentlessly to salvage the next generation from being misguided and spiraling into the abyss of despair. Have you heard of the Meira Paibee or the Naga Mother's Association or Manipur Women Gun Survivor Network? You must listen to their heart rending stories. It is a mother's anguish and fear forming a gritty resolution to take the shaping of the future in her hands. Can you feel this painful desperation? It is the same as your mother's when she sees you being dragged away (maybe she never saw this happening to you), going wayward or not given a deserving chance and being wasted. It is the hope of a better future that drives these young men and women away from their homes.

    And it is these young men and women, sons and daughters whose dreams you trample upon and whose body you violate. Only because they are different from you.

   Can you, once and for all understand and get it in you that Meghalaya, Manipur, Mizoram, Arunachal Pradesh, Nagaland, Tripura and Sikkim are a part of India? Delhi belongs to all. We have as much right to it as you do. So stop this singling out and violence once and for all.

                                                                                                                  from
                                                                                                          A Proud Chinki