The Chinese are coming

Yesterday marked the 50th anniversary of the start of the 1962 Sino-Indian War, which saw fighting between India and China over two disputed border territories in the Western and Eastern parts of the Himalayans. There was probably more to the war than the border dispute (Tibet had been annexed, the Dalai Lama had also recently been granted asylum by India) - the Wikipedia page has a list of references about the war.

The conflict was never actually resolved, and Arunachal Pradesh / South Tibet just to the north of Assam is still claimed by both India and China. Even today, while other NE Indian states have removed the need for foreigners to obtain Restricted Area Permits (RAPs) or Protected Area Permits (PAPs), visitors to Arunachal still need a permit.

Here're some articles about the 50th anniversary:

50 Years Since Sino-Indian Battle: War Never Begets Peace (International Business Times)

Half a Century ago - October 20, 1962 (Times of Assam)

Lessons of the Sino-Indian War (Japan Times)

The other night I was sitting in a friend's house in Guwahati listening to her friend, a former DCO (district coordination officer) who'd worked all over Assam. He was telling a little joke / anecdote (of dubious historical authenticity) about the war. 

The story went like this. A Marwari (Rajasthani) trader had a business in a town near the border between Assam and Arunachal. One day, on the eve of the war, he caused a massive panic in town when he was heard saying, "Chini ahise." Everyone thought he'd meant 'The Chinese are coming.' or 'The Chinese have come.'

Of course, he just meant that the 'sugar' had arrived.

Responsibility, Racism and Recharging a prepaid SIM card

As you can guess from the title, this post is about responsibility, racism and trying to recharge a prepaid SIM card (with a phone company whose name starts with 'R' incidentally).

It happened about 2 weeks ago at a little shop in Paltan Bazar. The credit on the SIM card that I use for my 3G mobile internet had expired after just one month and I needed to buy more credit. Now, this wasn't the first time I've had to recharge a SIM card - it's something I have to do constantly when I'm here, especially since I'm only ever here for a few months at a time and don't have a fixed address in India.

The shop I had gone to previously wasn't opened, since it was still 9am, so when I walked past an open shop, I asked the guy there (in Assamese and English) if he could recharge my SIM. He said he could, so I thought, why not. As is common practice here, I gave him the number to recharge, he paid the phone company using the credit on his phone as a dealer, and he got a reply message saying the amount I'd asked for had been credited. So I handed over the Rs 1,099/- (which is not a small sum for monthly internet) plus his service charge / fee.

The only problem: I didn't get a confirmation message immediately, and couldn't get connected to the internet. I told the guy, and he said it would take 15 minutes, which in my experience, shouldn't have been the case. I sat there next to the shop and waited 15 minutes, and still nothing. He then said it was a 'system error' and would take half an hour.

Yeah right, I thought. But I needed breakfast, so I went to get something to eat.

Half an hour later, still nothing. So I went back.

I told him I still hadn't received a message and that my internet still wasn't reconnected. He checked the number of the SIM on my computer, and the number I had given him was correct.

He said he'd done the top-up and that "This is not my problem". I told him that he needed to call customer care to find out what went wrong, but he kept repeating that this was no longer his problem. I told him in my best Assamese (with bits of English thrown in) that I was supposed to receive a message, and that I didn't. I'd given him my money, but received nothing. He insisted that he had done the top-up, then started speaking to me in Hindi.

At this point, I raised my voice and said in broken Hindi that I didn't understand Hindi, which is true - I'd only done a few classes of Hindi with tutor about 4 years ago. He grumbled, saying something about how I could speak Assamese, but not Hindi.

Eventually, I dialed the customer care service number and got him to speak to them. He started speaking to the lady on the phone in Hindi. I heard the word 'tribal', followed by 'doesn't understand Hindi', said in Hindi, which ironically I could understand, because that's one of the first phrases I learn in any language. He hung up shortly after, with absolutely nothing resolved.

This of course led to more yelling on my part. I was furious. He said I had to go to the customer office myself. I told him I didn't have time for that - I was going to be late for a meeting at the university. I started to blame him - I mean, I've given him all that money and got nothing in return. It was his job to top up my credit, and that job hadn't been done. What's worse, as a foreigner here, it's much harder for me to locate offices and other addresses here (given the lack of a proper address system) and there's the language barrier to consider when I'm trying to ask people on the street for directions.

Eventually, I left the guy and made it to the customer service office, which was in the opposite direction from where I was meant to be heading, but at least I knew where it was because I had previously spent half a day looking for it a month and a half before. When I got there, I explained that the top-up had been successful. The problem was that the first shop where I'd purchased the SIM card out in Adabari hadn't submitted my documents to the main office. I told them I'd already managed to recharge the card successfully at another shop in Paltan Bazar a month before, and didn't see why it should fail now. They said that it sometimes happened when the documentation wasn't submitted.

I didn't quite see the logic, but after a second trip to the office they managed to get me reconnected within two days. Given the amount of time I had to spend at the office (which only opened at 10am), and the distance to the university, I pretty much had to write off those two days.


Now looking back at the situation, I knew it wasn't the guy at the shop's fault - the amount I'd paid him had been deducted from his phone and he received the confirmation message from the company. But what else could I do? And let''s not forget that he just kept making stupid excuses at the start, then chose to shirk all responsibility afterwards, while referring to me as a 'tribal'.

And that's the first thing I want to examine: responsibility. So many things are mired in bureaucracy here, that it's so easy to push the responsibility to someone else. From his perspective of the shopkeeper, he'd done his job - it was now the phone company's problem. From my perspective, it's like I've paid a waiter to take my order to the cook, who is supposed to deliver the food to a window where I can collect it myself, but fails to deliver the order. The waiter says he's done his job, but I'm still waiting hungrily by the window. The only way I can get my food, is to go straight into kitchen. So what's the point of having the waiter in the first place?

And it's so easy to shirk responsibility, the more layers of bureaucracy you have, and the more middlemen you have. It's one reason why so much public funding can get siphoned off here to personal accounts. It's one reason why security forces here are so ineffectual. To take a slightly different example, I told my brother that I found it ridiculous that at Kathmandu Airport, they would do a baggage scan at the entrance, then before the departure gate, and finally on the runway just before you board the plane (for Jet Airways flights at least). He pointed out that that was a terrible security set-up, because the guards at the start would feel like they could slack off, since they think the guards after them will catch whatever they miss. But then the guards at the end would also feel like they could slack off since they think that the guards before them would have caught anything worth catching.

But moving on from the issue of responsibility (or lack thereof) there's the use of the word 'tribal' here. Some might argue that terms like 'tribal' and 'backward caste' are simply appellations for different groups of people, but this context, it was absolutely derogatory.

Most people assume I'm from this area, but I can see the change in the way I'm treated once they realise I'm actually a foreigner. Suddenly, I'm judged on a whole different set of criteria, whether justifiably or not.

The other day, this article by Walter Fernandes, former director of the North Eastern Social Research Centre in Guwahati, appeared in the Seven Sisters Post: The Idea of India. One quote that stuck out was:

"A major cause of division is the feeling in much of India that the Northeast is different from the “mainstream” and should merge with the “mainland” on the terms of the “mainstream”."

There's a sense of cultural superiority here, with the 'tribals' still needing to be civilised by the 'mainstream', which is an Aryan-Dravidian culture that I would say is primarily Hindu.

The irony here is that back home, a lot of 'mainstream' Hindu culture is seen as antiquated, like women needing to be accompanied by a male companion when they travel, or at best, 'quaint' or 'charming', when looking at the constant stream of religious festivals. In comparison, a lot more of my 'tribal' friends are much more well-versed (for better or worse) in Western culture.

In the end, I was furious at the shopkeer. But at least at the end of the day I can assert my foreigner status when I'm here. Most of my 'tribal' friends in other parts of India have to deal with this sort of racism for as long as they have to live there.

The Mighty Brahmaputra

While many parts of Northern Britain have also been hit by severe weather and flooding, the headlines of all the local papers here in Assam have been about one thing the past week: the massive flooding happening all over the Brahmaputra valley which has displaced thousands and killed more than a dozen people.

Floods sweep more areas (Seven Sisters Post, 24/09/2012)

Flood scene worsens in State, 18 dead  (The Assam Tribune, 25/09/2012)

Note that severe flooding in July already displaced more than a million people and killed more than 100 people (as mentioned in this BBC article about the current flooding situation ). Most of Majuli Island, the world's largest 'river island' (which used to have an area almost twice that of Singapore) is underwater as well.

Up till the past few days, the situation was mostly in Upper Assam, but now the flood waters have started to enter parts of Guwahati:

Flood situation turns critical in central, lower Assam (The Hindu, 25/09/2012)

Brahmaputra crosses danger mark, situation in Guwahati grim (The Sentinel, 25/09/2012)

I'm thankful that the part of town I'm staying at isn't at immediate risk of flooding, although I will have trouble commuting to the university if water levels don't recede soon. The part of town I took these photos just a month ago is also underwater, with houses in nearby Pandu inundated and people not wanting to leave their homes for fear that thieves will enter in their absence.





Not surprisingly here, one of the first things that came to mind for many local people is that China is somehow responsible, what with the construction of the Zangmu Dam further upstream. The papers immediately addressed this with articles like this one:
Water from China not to blame (The Assam Tribune, 23/09/2012)

Of course, the conspiracy theorists will still believe what they want to believe.

What we do know is that in spite of everything, the Chief Minister of Assam still decided it was important to leave the state to go to Japan to "study Goods and Services Tax (GST) and related matters."

A short trip to Varanasi

Apologies if posting hasn't been very frequent. I just spent the week in the Varanasi attending the 18th Himalayan Languages Symposium which was hosted by Banaras Hindu University.



 And here are some obligatory shots of the Ganges.

And more photos from the obligatory boat ride on the Ganges.




Popping over to Varanasi from Assam presented a mild cultural shock to me. While in Assam, I can usually go about my day-to-day activities generally unnoticed (people do look at me, but they just assume I'm from somewhere in NE India like Nagaland), the instant I arrived in Varanasi, I was instantly given the 'foreigner treatment'. Everywhere I went, people would say, "Hello!" or  "How are you?" or "Where are you from?" as I walked past them, and I'd get touts and beggars coming up to me.

The other thing I had to get used to, was that when I'm in Assam and show any trouble understanding Assamese, almost everyone immediately swaps to Hindi, which other people from India are more likely to understand, but which I have even more difficulty understanding because I've had more exposure to Assamese. It's similar to how Sumi speakers often switch to Nagamese when I look like I'm having trouble, even though I understand more Sumi than Nagamese. Of course, in Varanasi, people usually just spoke to me in English from the outset (if they could), since they assumed that as a foreigner I would know English.

Now,  if I was actually from NE India, this sort of treatment would be supremely annoying and probably insulting, being treated -and charged prices- like a foreigner in my own country. It's no wonder everyone here calls the rest of India 'the mainland'.

Hiyo Cafe, Dimapur

(I was meant to post this months ago, but only just remembered to do it after my weekend in Dimapur.)

One of my favourite places to hang out at when I'm in Dimapur is Hiyo Cafe. I like it because it's pretty quiet (being separated from the main road by a building), it's close to the hotel I usually stay at, and it's run by Sumis.


In case you can't see, the name Hiyo (hi: yɔ - someone's even written it in IPA) is a "versatile Sumi word that is usually associated with the Satakha Region of the Zunheboto District in Nagaland, India." According to the explanation, it can be used an adjective, an exclamation or a pronoun. As an adjective, it expresses "satisfaction or fulfillment", but it does seem to have a wider range of meanings which aren't listed here (more linguistic investigation needed!).

The cafe has a nice interior with comfortable couches and tables, far nicer than most places you'd find in Dimapur. They serve mostly drinks here: coffee, tea, juices and cocktails too. My friends enjoy the cocktails here while I enjoy the coffee. They also have snacks like french fries and chicken fry.

It's a nice place if you're catching up with friends, or if you need a place to sit and work on a laptop.

Also, you might catch a glimpse of Alobo Naga & the Band whenever they're in town.

Hiyo Cafe is located at 1, Basement, Aiko Building, Opp Town Hall, Dimapur Nagaland.
(If you're coming on the road from the Railway Station heading towards Supermarket, it's on the left side. Look out for Furtado's Music Store, the cafe's right behind it.)

Assam Conflict: Not Against Muslims

Just saw this making the rounds on Facebook.

As I mentioned in my last post, the current conflict between Bodos and Bengalis isn't about religion, but it's being perceived by Muslims in other parts of the country as that. (Note that I'm not a supporter of xenophobia or the discourse that's currently surrounding Bengalis, but I do understand the anxieties people in this state have and continue to have about immigrants, and that little is being done by the government to manage those anxieties.) 

4,000 people returning to NE India?

Assam's been making the news for the past few weeks, and I suppose I should add my two cents.

It's not unusual to see conflict in this restive part of India (I might have to dedicate another post to my penchant for choosing 'restive' parts of the world to visit.). This time, it's a conflict between Bodos (pronounced 'Boros') and Muslim Bengalis in the district of Kokrajhar, to the west of Guwahati. The BBC gives an explanation for the violence here: What lies behind Assam violence?

The Bodos themselves have been fighting for a separate state, called 'Bodoland' which includes Kokrajhar district and a few neighbouring districts. One of my Bodo friends said that some people feel the need for statehood because to give them greater autonomy to protect their language and culture from such 'invaders'. The problem is, while there are many recent migrants coming from Bangladesh, there are also many of these so-called 'invaders' are actually Bengalis who've lived for generations in Assam. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if there are any official figures.

From the perspective of the Bodos though, there is much anxiety over the loss of their own cultural identity. They feel like the Indian (and state) government has failed and continues to fail to provide adequate protection. This has then led to a call, certainly by more extreme separatists, for a state that is ethnically (and linguistically) 'pure'. Their attacks on Muslim Bangladeshis is seen simply asserting ownership over their own 'land'. This is not an uncommon phenomenon among ethnic groups in NE India, and inter-ethnic conflict abounds: just last January there were major clashes between Garos and Rabhas on the Assam-Meghalaya border.

The situation in Kokrajhar is still pretty tense, and my Bodo friends say there's still a curfew being imposed there. New clashes in Northeast India as tension mounts


However, what I find remarkable about this latest conflict is that the violence has 'spilled over' into other parts of India. But rather than an inter-ethnic conflict, it's been transformed into an inter-religious one. Last week in Mumbai, there were protests by Muslims who view the attacks as targeting Muslims. Unfortunately these protests turned violent, and 2 people died: 23 people booked for Mumbai violence

Now, there's reports of a mass exodus of North-easterners from Bangalore, with people receiving text messages saying that people from NE India (especially people who look more East Asian / 'Mongolian', although 'ethnic Assamese' look like most other mainland Indians to me) are being targeted and attacked.

Amid attack fears, people from NE flee Bangalore
Thousands flee violence threats in Indian city of Bangalore

One story that has emerged is that of a Tibetan student was attacked in Mysore, though it's unclear if this has anything to do with the violence in NE India. It just seems like madness right now, with 4,000 people just uprooting themselves from Bangalore to come back to Assam overnight.

I can understand people want to come back to their families, but I hope that the panic dies down soon and people are able to return to Bangalore and other parts of India, especially if they have friends and work to go back to.

(Disclaimer: This post is based on information I have read and heard, and is certainly imperfect as it is. Any other opinions and comments are more than welcome.)

Getting from Dimapur to Kohima / Getting around Dimapur

I have to admit, it's been almost two weeks since my last post and I'm currently in Singapore. The thing is, I lost internet connectivity my last few days in Nagaland because the top-up I paid for at the Reliance office the week before never went through *grrrr* (I paid for it, but my credit was never topped up). I then had an extremely full-on week in Guwahati at the NEILS 7 conference, which I will blog about soon.

What I was wanted to talk about in my last post before leaving Nagaland was how one gets around Dimapur.

Here's the exit from the Dimapur Railway station, as seen from the opposite side of the car park. Anyone entering the state by train will come out from this exit.


If you're looking to go to Kohima, walk straight out the exit. Close to the other side of the car park, you should see a stand for shared taxis to your left. There's a counter with a sign that reads 'All Nagaland Taxi Association' (or something like that) that sells tickets up for Rs 200 a person. You'll get a seat number assigned to you. If it's seat no. 1, you're next to the driver. The other three numbers mean the back row.

Whether you look local or not, if you're carrying luggage, you're sure to be approached by touts offering rides to Kohima for the same price or slightly less. They're not usually too dodgy - the main reason these guys don't go through the ticket counter is because there's a limit of 4 passengers if they go through the ticket counter. Otherwise, they can squeeze in a 5th person in the front row next to the driver. And maybe even a 6th person at the back... That's probably why I prefer buying a ticket at the counter, because I know I'll have more space.

If you're staying in Dimapur and need to get to your hotel, your best bet is to catch an auto rickshaw, or 'auto' as they are commonly known in this part of the world. You can see a few of them parked outside the station in the photo above. Just tell the driver where you're going and ask for the fare. The word for 'fare' is bhara or bara (since most people don't produce the breathy stop) and 'how much' is kiman. I tend to say Bara kiman?, though I don't know if that's good Nagamese or not.

One convenient thing about Nagaland (and in other parts of the NE) is that the drivers will often respond with the English numbers. Most locals would also struggle to count in Hindi or Assamese, except maybe in multiples of 5 or 10.

What I notice about Dimapur as well, is the lack of big buses, which you see all over in Kohima. Instead, you see autos plying up and down fixed routes, often with signs showing the areas they are allowed to travel in.

From the railway station, you will see autos with the sign 'TOWN AREA', which is pretty straight forward, except if you're like me and haven't quite figured out what the town boundaries are. I expect Hong Kong market and City Tower would fall under this category. Another sign you might find on an auto around the railway station is 'RLY GATE TO CMD' (see the photo in this Nagaland Post article). It took me a while to figure this one out, but it stands for 'Railway (Station) to Chumukedima' - Chumukedima is the last little village before the checkpoint if you're heading from Dimapur to Kohima.

If you want an auto all to yourself, tell the driver 'hire', state your destination and ask for the fare. You don't always have to say 'hire' - for instance, it should be obvious if you're coming out of the railway station with all your luggage that you want the auto all to yourself.

Finally, if you're travelling around in a shared auto, don't forget the magic word to make the driver stop and let you down: 'SIDE!'

Bandhs

For many people in South Asia, bandhs are a part of life. The first time I heard the word, I thought it was just the local pronunciation for 'ban'. I soon found out what a bandh really was. In fact, I'm living through another one right now.

The word is sometimes translated as a 'strike', but it's different to the kind of labour union strike one might experience in the West. The word bandh comes from Hindi बंद which means 'closed' (pronounced like 'bund', but with a longer vowel sound, i.e. 'bahnd', but my friends in Nepal say it's pronounced more like 'bahn-duh' over there). Unsurprisingly, the main feature of a bandh is the forced closure of private businesses. Shopkeepers who dare open their doors are subjected to violence and arson by the party or organisation who called for the bandh.

In addition, public transport is not allowed on the road but in some instances, all vehicular traffic is banned. Of course, with everything shut, it's not as if most people have anywhere to go.

There are exemptions granted to certain groups: pharmacies and hospitals are allowed to remain open. Autos on 'hospital duty' and 'school duty' are allowed to ply the roads (or autos with signs that read 'hospital duty').

Bandhs can last a few hours to a few days. They are usually announced a few days before by the group calling it, typically in protest of the government, or a perceived grievance caused by the government. They can also be limited to a particular town or district, or they can be state-wide.

Last Tuesday there was a 24 hour state-wide bandh in Nagaland, but the announcement came pretty late. It was mainly in protest of the army because it wouldn't let one of the leader of one of the main Underground factions go to Zunheboto (which I'm told has since been surrounded by army personnel who are intent on keeping out the two other main factions who've been fighting for weeks). Autos were still plying the main routes in Dimapur, but all the shops were closed.

My friend Lauren tells me there's a transport bandha in Kathmandu today because of the rising price of fuel.

Over here in Nagaland, we're having a 36 hour bandh that started at 6am today and will end tomorrow at 6pm. it seems to be for the same reason as last Tuesday's bandh.

It's not a particularly dangerous situation, but it's a huge disruption to everyday life. It's not as if shopkeepers want to close their businesses, though to government workers, it probably doesn't make much of a difference as long as they still get their salary. In any case, I'm not planning to leave the hotel today and tomorrow. Given that tomorrow's Republic Day, I wasn't planning on heading out anyway.

At least there's still room service.

Airport security in India

If you're ever had to enter an airport in India, you'll probably know that you need a print-out of your boarding pass just to enter the airport (though I wonder if they've started accepting screen displays on people's smart phones). No boarding pass, no entry.

But if you're seeing friends off and really want to get inside the terminal, there's usually a booth where you can purchase an entry ticket to get into the airport. I assume the entry fee is mostly to keep 'undesirables' out of the actual terminal, forcing them to congregate right outside the exit to the airport.

A few days ago I was seeing off some friends at Dimapur Airport, Nagaland's only airport. Unlike most airports in India, there aren't hoards of people waiting outside for arriving passengers. The reason is that there aren't that many flights into Dimapur, and many scheduled flights, especially the Indian Airlines ones, get cancelled - I see cancellation announcements most days in the Nagaland Post.



It was therefore no surprise that when my friends entered the terminal, walking past the non-working scanners, I was told by the soldier at the door that I couldn't follow them without a boarding pass. So I asked if I could buy an entry ticket.

The flat answer was: No.

Why?

I didn't expect the soldier to answer my question, but there was a helpful notice at the window where entry tickets are usually sold.

"SELLING OF ENTRY TICKET HAS BEEN BANNED W.E.F. 15TH JAN 2012 TO 31ST JAN 2012 DUE SECURITY CONCERN AT DIMAPUR AIRPORT ON EVE OF REPUBLIC DAY"

Oh, Republic Day. Not the happiest day if you're living in NE India.

I might stay in my hotel room the rest of the week watching the Australian Open.

Dimapur Supermarket

Any visitor to Dimapur should know where 'Supermarket' is. It's close to the Railway Station and there're a few hotels around, including the Hotel Saramati (really not worth it for the price) and the De Oriental Dream hotel, and the Kachari ruins are right around the corner. Locals will know when you tell them you're going to 'Supermarket'.

But don't expect an air-conditioned shop selling groceries. The place is more a complex than an actual supermarket. The signs all seem to suggest it should be rightfully known as the 'Naga Shopping Arcade' and to me, it's definitely more a 'shopping arcade' than 'supermarket'. The whole place certainly looks past its prime, but there are a few shops selling traditional 'tribal' clothes and items.



There are also lots of shops selling more modern clothes.


But what seems to define the place (and my friends use them as a landmarks) are the coffin shops available.






I think I saw two of the coffin shops open the other day during the state-wide bandh. Curious...

On the importance of tones

Even though I've looked at Sumi tone for years (and I can speak another tone language, Mandarin), I still feel like I'm tone-deaf when I listen to the language. Fortunately, I've been getting a lot of help with Sumi tones thanks to my friend Cana, who apart from being a gifted artist, is also a gifted musician.

Sumi has 3 contrastive tones: low, mid and high, all of which are fairly level (except when there's intonation involved). This means that there is a change in pitch height results in a new word, e.g.

apuh [à.pù] ‘father’
apu [a.pu] ‘water scoop’
appu [à.pú] ‘son’

So apuh with low tone means 'father' and appu with high tone means 'son'. The change in spelling is a fairly recent one, which hasn't been universally adopted. But the main thing is, when you say the words out, the consonants and vowels are all the same, the only difference is pitch.

I find the high tone easiest to perceive, but I often get the low and mid tones mixed up. I was actually pretty amazed (I suppose I shouldn't have been, but I still was) when Cana told me that the low and mid tones are closer together in pitch than the high. That was something I'd demonstrated in an acoustic instrumental study of the language a few years ago.

The other problem I have is, when I speak Sumi, I have a tendency to put a slightly higher pitch on the last syllable of a word that I try to stress. As an example, the word ana [ànà] with low tones on both syllables means 'rice'.

But every time I answer the question "Ana chu va chu mphi?" 'Have you eaten yet?' (lit. "Have you eaten rice yet or not?"), I end up saying "Ana chu va." 'I've eaten' (lit. 'I've eaten rice'), pronouncing ana as what speakers perceive as [àná], with high tone on the second syllable. I know it should be low tone, but somehow part of me just wants to stress the whole word, and I end up using a higher pitch to do so.

At least ana [àná] with high tone doesn't mean anything in Sumi, but speakers can still tell it's wrong.

In a similar vein, when I was staying with friends in Kohima a few weeks ago, I was trying to learn a few phrases in Kohima Angami / Tenyidie. In contrast to Sumi, Tenyidie has 5 tones, all of which are fairly level as far as I can tell, and I still can't tell the difference between most of the tones. Anyway, it didn't stop me from learning a few key phrases.

One evening, when asked if I was hungry, I replied with A merü mo. I thought I was saying "I'm not hungry." The verb merü means 'to be hungry' when there's low tone on the final syllable.

Without realising it again, I'd said merü with a high tone on the second syllable.

My friends all burst into laughter immediately. It turns out I'd said "I haven't vomitted."

Climbing Mount Japfü

Over the weekend, I was in Kohima, where a friend had invited me to come on a trip up to the summit of Mount Japfü. A friend of his was organising the climb. At 3044m, it's Nagaland's second highest peak (after Saramati). The starting point was Dimori Cover, which I estimate is about 1500m above sea level (Kohima is about 1400m).



I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I wasn't particularly fit, especially having spent the past 2 months with barely any exercise and putting on weight from eating loads of pork fat. I realised the day before that it was also a climbing competition. Given my history of back and knee problems, I thought getting to the top would be competition enough for me.

The winner of the competition, who happened to come from my friend's village Khuzama, made it to the summit in a time of only 1h 22min.

In contrast, it took us (well me, mostly) 5 hours.

I was definitely not ready for the climb. The first part was easy enough.


We then walked past jhum fields owned by the nearby village of Kigwema before we entered the forest. But the going got a bit tougher as the gradient got steeper. The path was also pretty slippery with mud from all the melted frost on the ground.

And once we got high enough, most of the terrain was covered in snow. It was pretty, and my friend was thrilled to see snow, but it didn't make the trail any less treacherous. Especially when most of the path was already pretty steep.


At some points, ropes had been laid because the path was practically vertical.


The scariest portion was this set of 'steps' cut into the rock. This was a practically vertical climb, with no safety equipment at all (apart from having a person below to cushion one's fall, which is not ideal). I suggested that the organisers could have set up a rope here, or better yet, a step ladder.


But with a lot of help from my friend, I somehow made it to the top.








And it was definitely worth it for the view (as well as the bragging rights, and the little certificate they gave us at the top).

There's a little cross at the top, which I assume marks the peak.


I was told you could see the Dzükou Valley from the peak, though I'm not quite sure if this photo shows the side of the mountain where the valley is located - I was way too tired when people were pointing it out to me.


But I did note that we could see Kohima in the distance.


Coming down was another ordeal. After negotiating the near-vertical sections, I had trouble with the muddy path and kept slipping. I'm definitely not as surefooted as most people I know here and needed my friend's help a lot coming back down.

Thankfully we made it safely back down the mount. And the return journey only took us 3.5 hours!

Picnic in the rain

Last week I was invited to a family picnic at Khükiye Lukhai. I was looking forward to it. I didn't know whether it would be next to a stream, but I was told fish was on the menu. It turned out to be right next to my friend's uncle's akhabo 'fish pond' right next to their fields.





The only downer was that after weeks of sunshine, it rained the entire day. The remnants of Cyclone Thane which hit Tamil Nadu had made their way up to the Northeast.



Thankfully there was the field hut / house - a little resting shed next to the field where people can rest.


And prepare food if necessary.


Given that there were more than 10 of us, they also set up a tarpaulin shelter next to the house.


And my friends and their cousins all ate from a big banana leaf.

As promised, there was fish caught that morning from the akhabo.


Which my friends wrapped in banana leaves and grilled with a little bit of organic lemon.

Not the best weather for a picnic, but the food and company definitely made up for it!

Nagaland village focus: Khükiye Lukhai

Even though I'm currently in Dimapur and am off to Kohima soon for the weekend, I thought I'd do a quick post about another village where I've spent a bit of time on this trip. I'm not sure how well-known it is even in the district - I met a girl who had only recently heard about it despite living in the district most of her life.

The name of the village is Khükiye Lukhai. It's special because it's the home village of the friends I stay with when I'm in Zunheboto. It's a Sumi vilalge, located right next to the town of Satakha in Zunheboto district. In fact, I'm told that parts of Satakha actually belong to the village.

Khükiye Lukhai was actually two villages that merged into one. The two villages were founded by two brothers, Khükiye and Lukhai - it's pretty common for Sumi villages to be named after their founders.

The entrance to the village

The church - having seen other churches around here, I reckon it's in need of some renovation work soon


View from the church


Views around the village




Here are some terraced fields just below the village that my friends' uncle's family looks after.

Pretty isn't it?

Cute animals

(I was originally going to title this post "Cute animals that don't always end up on people's menus", but thought it was a bit too long and a little unappealing.)

Chinese people are often said to eat anything. I'm sure many people in India probably have a similar impression of the Nagas (if they've even heard about them). The thing is, most animals in Nagaland are eaten, but there're always a few creatures that don't quite make it to the menu.

One animal that doesn't typically feature in people's cooking here is cat meat (akhosa shi), although there are certainly people who do eat cat. Hutton (1921) noted that cats were not eaten among the Semas due to a number of superstitions associated with them.



Dog meat (atsü shi) is much more commonly eaten in Nagaland, as in many parts of China and SE Asia. However, even here, not all people will willingly consume dog. I have many friends here who steer clear of dog meat. There's also a common belief here that dogs will know if you're a 'dog eater' and will not like you. (That's why I tell people I'm waiting for my dog in Singapore to pass on before I try dog meat.)


Of course, chickens are eaten, but people wouldn't think to eat the cute little chicks. But I'm sure it's not because they're cute...


Alright, you got me. This post was just an excuse to post pictures I took of cute animals over Christmas.