Building a character, a microscopic inspection/representation of the political and cultural dysfunctions in the country I live in. A result of the home and the ongoing.
Je m’adresse la/ma narcissisme. C’est une monstre / ma monstre qui veut tous; elle a faim. Elle crie pour l’attention, pour l’amour, pour le pouvoir - lequel qui ne porte pas de corps ; elle a besoin d’expression. Les enfants qui sont nées dans un traumatisme. Je ne peux pas écrire ceux-ci en anglais parce que c’est tabou encore; cet article est exposé au public indien. Moins d’espace.
I’m addressing Kung-ba, my perfectionist. She’s a necessary conflict, or maybe not.
I’m addressing Lil Ish. My inner child, she really likes children’s books and gentle instruction. She likes playing games she is good at. She likes learning through play.
Manipur is a state ignored by the Centre, albeit pumped with tons of money usually dissipating into the pockets of the selfish and stoned. Kind of like me. I’ve been growing up around the middle-class Indian man sentiment of ‘sorting’ things out, sorting people out as if they were things. Ignoring sentiments, expecting results. It’s a hard world and power is a real dynamic. Everyone wants peace; no one wants emotional labour. Everyone wants profit, no one wants the physical labour behind it. And you’d pursue the path of least resistance.
The patriarch decides the policies of the house.
The struggle for power and influence, appropriation. A lack of dialogue. Love wins. Aggression turns all progress to rubble. It’s important for the patriarch to listen, to unblock, to not encourage this ongoing.
‘Mainland India’ and the ‘North-East’ were better off separate from the years 1991-2002. They brought out the worst in each other. The fascist vs the militant. The Oppressor vs the aggressor. Insults - a lack of cultural ties. We live differently, we love differently. Truly foreign in sentiment and absolutely no interest to adopt, accept, understand, partake, dilute, cavort, or elevate.
No joy, no presence, no harmony, no understanding.
The only common denominator is the desire for a better life.
We don’t even like each other.
The patriarch not understanding, rather not accepting a better way to communicate, to wield peace and prosperity, to yield. Strong arming, sealing boxes, packing them away into madhouses and quiet forests, disturbed and brooding in unassuming quarters. An iron fist have at it. Block out the screams. Everything is fine.
The matriarch not understanding, rather not accepting the power dynamic at play, to yield. Drawing blood, drenched in victimhood, knees eroding, forgiving the many deaths in her wake, standing sturdy like the mountain, planting trees and hiding, heart weary, eyes hot.
