“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, an what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. ”
~ J. D. Salinger, The Catcher In The Rye
I recently have this novel intention of putting whatever worthwhile happenings happened to me into words and I decided that there’s no safer place to keep them than the Internet-shelf in this world; on account of fire nor time can destroy it. Therefore, you turtlely-read this.
Oh-slowturtle-kay,
Who am I?
I don’t know. Really. And, I’m that sort of… ah! forget it.
No, at least I should tell you when and where I was born. But then again like aforequoted Holden Caulfield I don’t feel like going in details, if you want to know the truth. Besides, I’m sure nobody want to read this kind of snobby baby-born-crap affairs. And if they incidentally do, let me tell you, they’re a slob. Therefore, I’m a slob.
Anyway, I was born in the last decade of the 20th Century A.D, somewhere in India. To be specific, in a state named Manipur. In Manipur a district named Churachandpur. In Churachandpur a sub-district named Tipaimukh.
Now, a sub-district named Tipaimukh is a place, almost unknown to the world, where mountains are rolling practically everywhere. And beautiful little clear rivulets are flowing through thick wild forests. Countless wild birds are flying everywhere, in the sky and above the rolling hills. Animals hoot. And wildflowers simply bloom in abundant beauty when ever and where ever they happen to sprout. Therefore, this mean that I was a hilly tarzan-baby when I was born. And when I was born the 1990s was going to end soon and a new millennium was looming over a new horizon.
And then I turtle-walzing my way through the 2000s.
And,
Where in the world am I now?
The year is 2018. Somewhere in Shillong, getting an introduction to ancient people like Plato and and their criticism and all. Reading the writings of all those old & dead great writers & dramatists and procuring, practically every day, a headache in trying to figure out exactly what they exactly meant by when they meaningfully said something. And listening to some tantalising lectures and not so tantalising sleep-inducing lectures as well.
And I’m swell and happy.
How about you?
Hosea Khawbung 