Richard and Richard

My name is Richard. No, no, I am not Richard Loitham, the 19-year-old Manipuri teenager who died recently in Bangalore under mysterious circumstances. But we both share many things in common besides our first name. The slain architecture student was not just my namesake and I discovered the similarities in the past few weeks. Mysteriously, just like his death, all these things were previously unknown to me and came out in the open recently. But sadly, he is no more alive to discover the similarities. Or, may be I should say fortunately? I don’t know. I’m in a state of daze, actually. Like Richard, I, too, was born in Imphal. Like Richard, I am also a 19-year-old. Again, like Richard, I, too, am a student in Bangalore. The commonalities are growing in number each day, as I am discovering new aspects about Richard, the one who was hitherto unknown to me. However, the only striking dissimilarity in our existence (his tragic non-existence) is that he is dead, and I am alive. The thought simply sends chill down my spines. What if I (Richard) were dead, instead of him (Richard)? I have reflected on the same question again and again, but failed to get any answer so far. With so many questions remaining unanswered, I am hugely shaken by his death. I am yet to overcome my fear that Richard is dead. Probably that Richard could have been me. I cannot imagine my dead body with scars and blood marks all over it lying abandoned in a little corner of a hospital awaiting dissection. I never met Richard in my life. Neither was I aware that a person by the name of Richard Loitham existed in this world. I came to know about him only after he was dead. News reports flashed everywhere acquainted me with him. Initially, it saddened me. A fellow Manipuri allegedly killed by students of his own college was something hard for me to swallow down. As days passed by and I followed my genuine intrigue to find out more about my namesake, I slowly developed a strange connection with him. These days, I often think “I and Richard are alike, like twin brothers, living similar lives but different fates”. In fact, I was flooded with phone calls and text messages from friends, family and acquaintances to inquire about my well-being since most mistook me to be the slain Richard. That is when my fear turned into a reality of grotesque proportions. The monster of fear buried deep inside came out into the open and started having regular conversations with me. “So, I was not wrong. Your near and dear ones are also worried about your well-being. That means your fear is not at all unsubstantiated. Richard it could have been you — dead and mourned by all,” my fear would softly whisper into my ears. I would listen to my fear for a while. Then scream. “Go away, go away… leave me alone.” Fear, so much internalised by now, would resurface again with a vengeance, more fearsome than ever. “So my dear Richard, what would have happened to your parents learning about your brutal end?” my fear would tease me. In those long conversations, I had completely lost myself. I had stopped interacting with the outside world. For several days, I kept myself locked in my one bedroom flat. No college, no friends, no outing, I was consumed by the Richard phenomena. I would ask myself. “Why was he killed? Why is it taking so long to establish the exact cause of his dead? Was he killed because he belonged to the alienated land of northeast India?” I know, in the Northeast, especially in Manipur, mysterious death of young people is as common as having three meals a day. So, people back home consume such news just like any routine event in a day. In Manipur, we have almost as many insurgent (outlawed) groups as the combined age of Richard and Richard — the number of outfits is 30, to be precise, and our combined age 38. So, all young men and women in Manipur (the entire northeast for that matter) are prospective terrorists, especially when “special laws” like Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act (AFPSA) makes a mockery of living in a ‘free country’. The shroud of “disturbed area” tag engulfs the entire northeast India, almost since the Indian republic got its independence. On mere suspicion, people are arrested and killed at point blank by the law enforcing agencies in our region. Please, don’t think I am cribbing. I’m just wondering (aloud) how did the Central government, which is always short of time and concern when it comes to affairs related to the Northeast, manage to formulate such great a law (AFPSA) to rule and govern only the Northeast, though later on extended to Jammu and Kashmir. It is true Northeast is hit by militancy, but tell me about one place in India where crime and killings don’t take place. You can’t. But I can tell you that nowhere else in India, common citizens have to prove themselves to be law-abiding citizens of the nation every day. Survival for the northeastern people, unlike others from the rest of the country, is not a mere permutation and combination of earning and spending. Our struggle is deep-rooted in myriad complexities, not even easy for us to understand, forget about explaining it to the rest of the world. Our helplessness has taken the form of silence and now we all are dumbfounded. A few who want to break the shackles of the age-old silence at times drift to the wrong side of the law. They pick up the guns, as you know free-flow of blood in the northeast is not a new revelation. However, there are a few who are still hopeful and that hope helps cross many hurdles at times. Perhaps, that is one of the reasons why thousands of youngsters move out to mainland India in search of education and livelihood every year. And in this mass migration from the far-flung areas, a couple of years back two Richards had left their homes as well with dreams of a rosy future. Future is a tricky anticipation, forget good or bad. When our very identity and idea of existence is questioned frequently, present becomes more important, especially when it turns unbearable. At a time when one Richard is dead, the other Richard is mulling about his existence. Is it worth taking the risk to leave our families and homes for a future beyond our control? “Better to die in our homeland, then to travel thousands of kilometres to get ourselves killed,” I fret sitting in my bed, staring endlessly at the ceiling, whose colour has given way to dark semi-circular structures left by incessant rain. Once in a while I stand in front of the looking glass and examine myself minutely. My eyes are small, and turn smaller, whenever I try to smile. But trust me, I don’t suffer from myopia. I can see my world clearly. And it the same pair of eyes which draws criticism. People who don’t look like me facially think they can see clearer. They feel I can’t see most of the things happening around me, but strangely it’s their parochial view that is blinding. During such moments, I see things my way. “Why don’t we have the courage to accept diversity?” Anyway, I cannot help it if they want to see only faces who represent them. I cannot turn into a clown or clone myself. Here I bask in my ‘different appearance’, even if that attracts scorn from others. With these thoughts flooding my mind every day, I decided to take a break. “Let me not think for a while. Let me be myself.” I took a walk in the narrow lanes of my neighbourhood. As I stepped ahead, I crossed my neighbourhood and went further and further. For almost two hours I walked endlessly in various corners of the city. Seeing what I mostly miss, soaking myself in the summer heat and almost assimilating in a crowd which is as mixed and strikingly different as colours of a rainbow. “Yes, I am a part of the rainbow crowd.” My next destination was the newly opened Bangalore metro. I hopped onto it. From hundreds of metres above the ground, I saw the city in a different perspective. Everything looked strangely beautiful and scenic. I tried to savour the goodness unfolding right in front of me. I know once I get down from my elevated status, reality would greet me again. I would be Richard again, not Richard Loitham, but the Richard who is somewhere deeply hurt and feels alienated.