Strolling down the memory lane,
Counting down micro-seconds of my life,
Tracing down the fragments of existence,
It is far too late, too late.
And these words will echo for years.
My body rusting in the rain,
in the rain of bullets.
Some will cry foul over it,
Some will blissfully appreciate it,
For I had lost my memory.
Something scuffling inside my brain,
Something horrible, murky and moldy.
For, I had lost my memory.
I had lost my memory
incessantly, insidiously,
scary rhythm of the pendulum
of the memory lane.
When………………...?
Sanamacha was picked-up from home?
Bijoy lost his way home?
State terror in Langjing, April 1980?
Heiranggoi Thong massacre, March 1984?
Oinam village’s massacre, July 1987?
Kachai, whole village tortured, April 1991?
Tera keithel, August 1993?
Ukhrul bazaar, Makui village, Nungkao,
RMC, Bashikhong, Tabokpi Khong,
Nungleiban, Kwakeithel, Churachandpur,
Tonsen lamkhai, Malom…
Bishnupur, the day Chitaranjan burnt…
I really don’t remember,
When did I lost my memory?
Ask me no question,
I will tell no lie.
But I had lost it.
Did I cook with ngari?
Or had I fried with potato?
Or had I forgotten in my classroom?
Or had I lost in the argument with my professors?
When…? When…?
Strolling down the memory lane,
where I and the light fade.
Sing the hi-fi song,
up the volume,
the memory swallows the pain.
Somewhere, somehow
I had lost my memory.
Is it when I got shocked
when nine Imas stripped off their clothes?
Is it on the day I read news of
a mother being raped by Indian Army
in front of her five years old son?
Or is it when it swept with flooding,
When the rain is running,
With the tears of blood crying.
Or had I lost it just today,
In the tight Delhi Blue line bus
Bus no. 534,
May be,
Pickpocket might have stolen it?
Rojio Usham
16-07-2010
