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Bipin

A Love Letter to the Misings




Dear Mising Tribe, 


I pen down these words today, after having lived with you for almost eight years, with a heart full of love, gratitude and admiration. As I delve deeper into my thoughts and memories, I can't help but feel a warm embrace from the loving soul that you all carry. 


One of the most striking aspects of your life that I admire the most is your ability to navigate the annual floods. The floods, a tragic frightful natural phenomenon for some, do not deter you. Instead, you dive deep into the floodwaters to cut grass for your cows. Then you load this grass onto your boats, travel several kilometers over the flood to reach your home and feed your cows. When others see the river as an unpredictable, tremendous force you see it as a harbinger of fertility. The ingenious banana stem boats, or 'Dengor’ that you craft so easily help you slip over the water. Watching children hop from one house to another  effortlessly on these buoyant vessels can make anyone forget that these are the flood waters they are gliding over. 


I still remember my first rendezvous with the floods. I had slept carefree after noting the water which was a kilometer away. When I woke up, water was already in my room, almost touching my bed. My body felt a primal fear that I had never felt before. My heart just sank to the depths seeing everything under water, the unbearable vastness and my fragile minisculity in the center of it. But then I saw a boat approaching filled with smiles, your unwavering smiles, that took me in and filled me with effervescent spirit. What does it take to smile in the midst of this? This echoed in my mind. The answer to this question is what I have learned from all of you over the years.


When the floodwaters encroach upon your homes, which are built on bamboo stilts known as 'Chang,' you respond with remarkable adaptability. Instead of resisting the forces of nature, you choose to live alongside them. You embrace change not as an enemy but as a part of life's ebb and flow. When the floodwaters rise, you simply build another bamboo chang above the waterline. The bamboo changs, standing tall amidst the water symbolizes your way of life; letting the flood water flow freely beneath you instead of resisting it. This resilience, a deep strength in face of adversity, a way of life to live alongside the challenges not in opposition to it, I have distilled some of it in me.


The resilience within you is not merely a reaction to external forces; it is a way of life, a philosophy that guides your actions. It has inspired me to face challenges in my own life with a similar spirit—to see them not as insurmountable obstacles but as opportunities for growth and transformation. As I reflect on your resilience, I am reminded of a quote by the American poet Maya Angelou: "You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them." Your ability to rise above the floodwaters, to build anew when the waters recede, and to embrace change with grace is a living example of the same. 

 

I have learnt the art of patience from you. The calmness that your face dissipates even when the ‘Ghatoi’ takes half an hour to hour to bring the boat to this side at a leisurely pace. My frustration and anxiety against the serenity of nature. Yet, your faces show no such agitation. Instead, there is a peaceful acceptance, an understanding that time flows differently here along the riverbanks. It seems as if nature has trickled its way into all of you like dewdrops rolling down the leaves. As a river you flow with your life, tranquil, serene, unhurried. 


One of the most profound experiences I've had with you is when we venture out for night fishing. In those moments, you become one with the night. There are no anxious tweaks, no restless jerks, and no unnecessary noise. It's just you, the dark waters, and the quiet symphony of the night. As we sit in the boat, the moonlight dancing on the surface of the Brahmaputra, I've come to understand that patience isn't merely the absence of restlessness; it's a deep sense of being present in the moment. You've shown me that the act of waiting can be a meditation, a time to reflect, to connect with nature, and to appreciate the subtle beauty that surrounds us. I am forever grateful for the serenity you've brought into my life, reminding me to cherish the moments, to be still, and to listen to the whispers of nature.


Life itself is a celebration and so is Death. Your unperturbed, and on the same hand vivacious connection with life reminds me constantly to take life one day at a time with love and grace. I love how you celebrate everything in your life - everything that enables your life. You celebrate the river that is your lifeline, you celebrate the harvests, you celebrate nature in all her glory and fury. Celebrating Ali Aye Ligang with you is a journey of gratitude to everything from the seeds, the ants and the earthworms, to the rains and the heaven above. I see you celebrate death with equal nonchalance and gratitude. Death is just one of the many parts and truths of being. You send your loved ones away with a grand celebration of their full life, with their favorite belongings, and a feast of all their favorite things. You dance and sing to the beats of the drums of their memory. Through dance, you tell stories of harvests, of love, of nature's beauty, and of the challenges you face. It's a living history that is passed down from generation to generation. Music flows through your veins like the river flows through your land. That traditionally, you have an assigned role of ‘Tinibora’ in the community who looks after ‘music and dance’ of the village, shows how much you value these aspects.  


To love is to take responsibility. And the love you all hold for each other, I see it come alive in your sense of community. I remember the time, when something unthinkable happened to a community member - a fire that burned down an entire home, and you all gathered in Rigbo and a new home was erected on the spot with basic essentials in a matter of two or three days. And another time when a friend’s mother had died, the whole village had collected in his house bringing Apong, rice and many other things. There were many playing cards, talking, laughing, and discussing what to do next. But the grieving family was not left alone in their grief. This was so overwhelming for me to see that you are together not only in joy and celebration but also in grief. 


Some of my most cherished moments with you have been over Apong—the traditional rice beer that brings people together in laughter and joy. It's a symbol of the warmth and hospitality that I've experienced as a guest in your community. I've had the privilege of sitting around a fire, surrounded by members of your community, as the night came alive with the melodies of your songs.  And in those moments when I've joined in the dance, I've felt an unspoken bond, a connection that transcends language and cultural differences.


Your home that is your heart is always open, transparent in literal terms and at metaphorical level. The wind that blows so freely to the bamboo walls must have taught you this openness. To be on the outside that what you are on the inside. When I first entered your home, I was shocked to see how uncluttered your house was. Over years, I have come to appreciate your minimalist lifestyle, with a focus on essentials, which stands in stark contrast to the materialistic world we often find ourselves in. The self-sufficiency in your way of life inspires me tremendously. The most you eat has either been grown by you or caught by you. The most you wear has been weaved by you. When I first saw butterflies in a friend's house, I thought about them being kept for decoration. But when I learned that those were kept for the next batch of silkworms who will provide silk for the clothes that you will weave, just astounded me. And yet, paradoxically, you are some of the most generous and giving people I've had the privilege to know. I have yet to enter a home who has not offered me Apong, tea or something to eat. The ‘Gamuchas’, ‘Erpobs’ and ‘Mibu Galukhs’ that you so lovingly gift your guests are a sign of your generosity. Or even when I said yes to starting The Hummingbird School, there was still a part of me who was scared, confused and unsure if I was up to the task. But you came together, donated your land, donated precious wood and bamboo, and built the school with your own hands.  


As I reflect upon my time with you, I am acutely aware of the need to preserve and protect indigenous cultures like yours. Your way of life is a beacon of hope in a world facing environmental challenges, cultural homogenization, and social discord. It is my hope that your traditions and values will endure for generations to come.


In conclusion, dear Mising Tribe, may my words of love, the feelings within, reach you in the same way the mustard blooms in your fields, slowly and then all at once. The depth of admiration and respect I hold for your community has enriched my life beyond measure. Your unwavering spirit, resilience, and profound connection with nature have left an indelible mark on my soul. As I continue this journey alongside you, I am reminded that my soul remains forever intertwined with yours. 


To end with Emily Bronte "Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same."


With ‘Ayang’,  

Bipin


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