We Nagas are a curious people. Of the many gifts that we have been fabled to be blessed with, the most interesting one it would seem is our ability to say, well…interesting things. On Monday morning, there was a parents’ day function at a school in Dimapur where – as is the norm – one of the parents was asked to speak on behalf of them all. It was midway into his speech when things got really interesting.
In swashbuckling Nagamese, he ventured: “Ami laga bacha toh dimak eman bhal nai.” In front of the entire school! He did suffix it with the punchline that his son took after him. With the privilege of hindsight, it is little (just a little) easier to understand why he said what he said. He was thanking the school for taking good care of his son. That despite his son being not bright enough, he was still making the grades because of the quality of the school faculty. The intent was perhaps novel. But the delivery was unapologetically classic Naga.
But thankfully there was a light in the dark. Among the crowd at the same function was a certain guy named Nise Meruno. Yes, that Nise Meruno of globe-trotting fame.
After belting out his original Light your world, Nise was asked by one of the students why he had chosen to be a musician. “Because I have no other talents, honestly. I failed in my Class X selection exam. I was not the brightest student,” came the prompt reply. And the punchline: “But at least, I did not have to wear (school) uniforms.” It doesn’t matter if the retort was intentional or not. The only thing that mattered was that it was also unapologetically Naga.
At the back end of the crowd where some reporters were seated, while Nise was lighting the world on the stage, an Ao lady was busy explaining to her Muslim friend the philosophy behind Naga cultural festivals. Even now, from the safe distance of the newsroom, the word shouting seems more appropriate than explaining. It was an extremely loud philosophy, you see.
Somewhere in the middle of her discourse on Naga cultural festivals, all of a sudden, she shut shop. Just like that.
Then it became clear. The light was finally shining through. Up on the stage, Nise was creating magic with his second song Kelhoukevira – another one of his originals, in Angami. For the entire length of the song – Nise performed its English version as well – our neighbourhood philosopher did not utter a single word. It was only when Nise ended his singing that she turned to one of her friend and said in Ao: “Alima nung kotak ji ya adi.” Which roughly means: if there really is a heaven on earth, then this is it.
It was then that I turned towards her. She was on her feet. Clapping like she has never clapped before in her entire life. Nagas. A curious people, indeed.
