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The sun peeped through the slits of my grandma’s weathered curtains. “Ata Yari, kiije insa!” (Sister Yari, let’s go!). Cousin Hagio’s voice exuded with excitement. He was up and ready for our bug hunt. As I clambered down the cramped wooden stairs, I saw him looking up at me with his doe eyes, hair combed
In the heart of Ziro is a place called Khotiir, once an ancient route for commuters. With modernization, asphalt roads began to replace the narrow winding paths. Despite this, pine trees, bamboo groves, and rice fields still cloak most of the area. Occasionally, news of night travellers assaulted by uyi (spirits) in Khotiir would surface
It was late Autumn in 1987, as far as Tubing could recall. The rice fields in Ziro had turned brown and withered down to their roots. The sun was setting, casting an orange hue across the sky, and everyone was returning home. The only sounds reverberating in the quite, parched air, were the laughter of
“Ugh! Jonk!(Leech)” I hear this frequently these days. Leech is everywhere. Those icky creatures inching up every direction they smell humans, not even shoes can shield us from them. Every morning, as students glide their way up the steep stairs to the school, they would invariably make their way to the school kitchen, requesting, “Aunty
Prose comes from the Latin word “prosa oratio” which means “straightforward”. When you pen down your feelings or thoughts as they come, is prose. Now, what makes it different from a poem and a story? A poem is defined by a structure. It has lines, stanzas, and has certain rhythm or rhyme. A story is