Vibeituonuo Kuotsu Solo
Pen Thrill, 2025
This book is, first of all, an easy read. I took less than one and a half hours to read. Next, it is captivating. Because you are very aware that this is not fiction. These are not made up characters. They are real people living real lives and the honesty of their lives draws you in. A beautiful debut book. Vibeituonuo Kuotsu Solo opens up her part of Kohima village to us and we can smell the food, recognize the sounds of village life, and fall into the rhythm that is at once familiar and welcoming. She writes about her mother and we know that we instantly feel we know that woman. Sometime in life, we have even been that woman. Because of the deep sisterhood of Naga women, we can say we know her. Long-suffering, lovingly bringing up her many children and always self sacrificing, the Naga mother is the real hero of our stories.
It is not what many would expect to find from a divorcee. There is little bitterness when narrating her story of a broken marriage and failed reconciliation. Her razor mind is detached, and it helps her shine a light on the so called traditions of our society that keep women bound and victim shame, instead of helping the wounded to recover. This dissection is much needed. May more of such enlightening books come from Vibeituonuo.
Beyond that, the reader will surely enjoy the neighbourhood where families encroach upon each other’s privacy, eavesdropping when a family quarrel is going on next door. Delightful is the description of Mose’s favourite hobby: ‘Our younger brother Mose, the quiet Burmese boy who lived with us, was nowhere to be found. After three desperate calls, my sister emerged in a flurry, a damp towel clutched around her, droplets from her hair marking her frantic path across the creaky verandah. That was when she saw him. There, silhouetted against the crimson twilight, Mose was practically hanging over the railing, his whole body angled toward the Abos courtyard like a sunflower chasing the last light. The fight had him mesmerized.’
Brilliantly captured. It is descriptions like this that endears the characters in the book to the reader and you want to find out more about what happens to Mose and, of course, to the fascinating Abos who had so captured his attention that he forgot his cooking. Equally delightful is Uncle Thino who dashes onto the scene, begging them to hide him from his irate wife. Both males get together to watch the other drama unveiling next door which was the neighbor couple fighting. Kuotsu calls it, ‘Village life in its rawest form’ where ‘every shouted insult, every drunken confession, every scolding about failed exams became communal property.’ Life in the village, indeed has its own charm, and when it comes to a failed marriage, which is the crux of the book, it becomes everybody’s business. Almost every member of the community, especially the women, have an opinion on it and a remedy to offer. Tradition comes to the forefront, not as a conflict solver, but really as a whip to further harass women. Somehow, everything falls upon the woman. She has to bear the burden of a mate gone astray, but if there is a whiff of a possibility of reconciliation, it becomes the woman’s responsibility to forgive and forget and try again. It makes us understand the relevance of the title of the book. The Light After The Storm. She ends with the words, ‘I will never again retreat into that suffocating darkness where light cannot reach.’
The back cover illustration is a mother with a son clinging to her form. And a reminder, ‘Remember, in Angami tradition, the husband’s family always claims the son.’ Chilling words. Perhaps it is time for our societies to take a long look at child custody issues, and the long term damage caused to young minds, Kuotsu calls it ‘the unspoken terror that kept countless Naga women in hollow marriages.’ A searchlight is being shined into dark places of our communal heart and soul. It is certainly time to explore, analyse and work on them.
