I had never been to Mizoram before and when an invitation came from the English department of the Mizoram University, I responded with an eager yes. There were emails back and forth between me and Dr Lalteii Cherrie to figure out the logistics of getting from Dimapur to Aizawl, which is not a great distance at all, but mysteriously unconnected by flights. Finally I settled for a roundabout flight of Dimapur to Kolkata and Kolkata to Aizawl.
Not knowing what to expect is a delightful state of mind. At Kolkata airport there was a terrific storm an hour and a half before the flight. The storm was so heavy that thunder was literally pounding the roof of the new terminal. The gate information on my boarding pass said gate 24, and the screen registered gate 24 for the Aizawl flight, so I waited at the said gate and made enquiries of my fellow passengers. A man assured me that the Agartala flight would soon finish boarding and after that they would board the Aizawl flight. However, at some point of time, the gate was surreptitiously changed to gate 04, and to my complete horror, I discovered it when I had less than 25 minutes in hand. I dashed to the sign that said 04 and sped off taking the stairs two at a time, until I reached the empty gate. An official was screaming, “Switch off mobile!” in the typical loud-mouthed manner that is such a characteristic of Kolkata’s airport personnel. I ignored him and waved my boarding pass at the lady at the gate. She in turn, hurriedly ushered me into a bus where I was the lone passenger. It took me to the waiting airplane and as soon as I sat down, they closed the doors and the aircraft started to move.
The relief that washed over me was indescribable. I felt grateful and finally greatly at peace all at the same time. The miracle had happened – I was on my way to Mizoram, and nothing short of a hijacking could stop it.
The airport in Aizawl was a scooped out runway in the middle of sloping hills. The drive from the airport was long but restful. On either side of the narrow tarmac, bamboos, teak, and native trees grew abundantly. We left the small settlement of Lenpui (where the airport is situated) behind, and soon became ensconced in the dense vegetation that dominated the Mizo landscape. The road snaked its way through the bamboos and the short trees like a stubborn alien.
The rain had followed us from Kolkata to Mizoram’s borders so that the road at one point was quite slippery, and threatened to disgorge us into the cliffs below. It took quite a bit of manoeuvring skill on the part of our driver to avoid premature immortality, and once he had extricated us out of that unpleasant encounter, it was smooth riding the rest of the way. My first sight of Aizawl city has been forever etched into my memory. The sun had come out after the rain and it shone on the roofs and windows of the city’s houses. The city was sparkling like a diamond necklace and looked positively enchanting. An imposing white structure with its wings stretching heavenward caught my attention.
“What is that building?” I had to ask my young guide.
“It’s Solomon’s temple,” came the nonchalant reply.
“What exactly is that?” I asked in astonishment. My guide explained that it was a temple being built according to the specifications given in the Bible. I’m sure I am not the only visitor who could not take their eyes off that magnificent structure, a testament to what heights one’s faith can take one!
The Mizoram University Guest house, our destination, had spacious rooms and a regular supply of water and power, a reality in the Mizo world. A stone’s throw from the guest house, different species of birds could be heard roosting. A frog chorus punctuated the night insect sounds as darkness settled into the evening. Call it perfect timing or what you will, but the moon was hours away from turning full on my first night on campus. Of course it was magical.
I could not get over the 24 hours water supply and electricity. To think that there was one place in the Northeast where the neo-colonial infrastructure was functioning was a reality hard to absorb. My taxi driver explained the reason as the correction of certain past irregularities. The concerned departments made the effort to issue bills in time and people responded by paying their bills punctually. I was told this was the reason behind the excellent services where electricity and water were concerned. (We also pay our bills in time where I come from, I muttered under my breath).
“Madam, nobody indulges in cheating here. Everyone is so clean here,” explained my driver. He was a non-local but having lived here close to 30 years, he was convinced that Mizoram was the best place to live on earth. Indeed the steady, hard working and basically honest nature of the Mizo people seemed to have paid off in the visible structure of the city where there was very little sign of corruption. The roads were good and received maintenance, the house owners were learning to be innovative while coping with the paucity of space in the urban areas. Rina, a house owner, told me that it had been his late father’s dream to convert the basement of their future house into a two-wheeler and four-wheeler parking space. Kohima can copy this! Especially considering that Kohima and other Naga towns suffer the same problem of parking space.
“When we built our new house, we fulfilled Dad’s dream. I now look after this business,” Rina added. In the crowded cityscape, rooftops become spaces where poetry readings can happen spontaneously, and creative ways of using space are always welcome.
Aizawl city does not seem to ever sleep. When we were returning home after dinner in the city, we turned a corner and heard a loud clack-clack-clack. It was teenage boys and girls practising a bamboo dance for the upcoming festival. The famous bamboo dance of the Mizos features some men clapping the bamboos together in unison and a group of dancers trying to step in rhythm, while avoiding getting their feet caught between the bamboos. It was the perfect metaphor for Mizo life. They had had choices; but unlike many other states around them, they chose the path of non-violence, and they chose to stay on a steady unwavering course of progress.
Aizawl is a successful place today because of the exercised wisdom of its elders. The oldest church with its pretty diamond shaped window frames, has been preserved by unanimous consent. The heart of the city is fast-paced as any city will be. But there is also a part of the city that is laid back and offers a good ambience for jazz and poetry. And that is just what happened!
No, Aizawl is not perfect, but it has so many good things going for it. An outstanding university, students who are more than eager to absorb learning, a social infrastructure that works for all, what’s not to like about Mizoram? Without hesitation and without exaggeration I would call it the jewel in the Northeast crown. Other states should forget about spending huge amounts on sending their leaders abroad for training. Just come to Mizoram and emulate the Mizo example! After seeing how things function there, one cannot help thinking aloud, “Something good happened here years ago. Something is happening the right way here. I’d like to take that back with me.” That is what Mizoram has to offer, if we are willing to be taught.
