Cross Cultures

I chanced upon some Naga dancers recently at Hyderabad's film city. A few moments of conversation with them took me down memory lane. Over a decade ago, my craving for out-of-the-world experiences led me to Nagaland, with its green valleys and blue mountains.

I managed to get a teaching job in the valley of Mount Saramati. Thus started my exploration of villages shrouded by dense forests and their strange conventions and folklore. This small hilly region had more than 22 tribes with as many dialects. Ao, Angami, Injungar, Naga, Kuki, Zeliang... Innumerable too were the costumes and traditions. It was an unreal world.

In the initial days, I was told that the tribals were very aggressive. I was even told that they wouldn't mind butchering the tall, hairy people from "India"! Although I didn't believe it completely, there was always fear lurking in my mind as I strolled past groups of tough-looking youth.

Once I was back from the Kachar hills in Assam and on my way to Peren, a village bordering the Peleki forests. There was just one bus to Peren from Dimapur in a week and, after a wait of 24 hours, I managed to catch it. The rickety bus started its journey. I was the only passenger who was not a Naga. After the usual checking of I-cards at the Chemakkudima check-post, the bus resumed its journey. Darkness began creeping up. And, lo and behold, the bus suddenly turned turtle to the combined screams of its passengers. No one was seriously hurt but the journey came to a grinding halt.

I was trapped. Everyone started walking and I followed. I tried not to be noticed but in vain. Women in "mekalas" cast looks at me, the youth appeared extremely curious about my origins. Thankfully, a truck belonging to the GREF, a paramilitary company operating in the region, stopped on its way to Peren and I, too, managed to get in. But fear still dogged me.

I stood among the women. An elderly man was squatting beside me, clad in the red shawl that indicated that he was a "gaunbura" or village chief. Though I was an ardent atheist then, I began to chant all the names of the gods my mother taught me. Suddenly I felt something on my ankle. Looking down, I found the "gaunbura" feeling my ankle. "Tu ki manu asede (what man are you)?" he asked. My relief was instant. "Amoi Kerala manu asede (I'm a man from Kerala)," I answered and explained that I was a teacher. "Iman lambu asede (how tall you are)!" remarked the "gaunbura", amidst laughter from the maidens around.

That was it. My fear was unfounded. Later, when I got closer to these innocent people in faraway hamlets, I realised what a decent sort they were. To this day, whenever I meet a Naga, I still feel a sharp pang of nostalgia.