Usually a taxi ride with male strangers on the Dimapur-Kohima stretch tends to be a monotonous two hour agony for me. But that day I was thoroughly entertained by the live Naga sense of humor. Our taxi stopped in the middle of the road and I thought there might have been an accident or a land slide. Instead, there was a huge, about 7-feet long snake on the side. A man was thrashing it with a stick but it continued to wriggle. Someone ran with a metal rod and BANG, broke its vertebra. Another man, obviously from the same gang, picked up the lifeless creature and thrust it eagerly on to the waiting truck. ZOOM they sped off with the booty, clearing the traffic.
The anonymous men in my taxi could not stop chatting all the way to Kohima after witnessing that incident. A kind of easy camaraderie grew, leaving me, the lone female in the front, as an eaves-dropper. The excerpts of the conversation went something like this: “aji to lifu poora ekta khotom koribo nishina ase;” “ki ja ne zutho syntex ekta bhi khotom hobo pa re;” “theek se pakai kena mangso groom groom khabo;” “bara khana! raat bhor moja koribo;” “neesa la ge ke na bera bo le bhi napari bo de, hahhaaha;” “ini ka mangso aro kut para pabo na, bishi gopal bhal hoishe aji to tai khan.” A sissy Ao-accented voice squeaked, “Ayah, itu laka mangso khai sabo mon jai ho. Huna para to murgi mangso para bhi bhal ase, hosa na nohoi?” I couldn’t see their faces, but the accents were a dead give-away, belonging to a Sema, an Ao and a Chakhesang! Hearing them rattle and hum away mindlessly, I couldn’t help grinning like a moron all the way to Kohima.
It also brought to mind a wacky incident. Some head-banging punks from Delhi who came to participate in the Hornbill National Rock Contest expressed their keen desire to taste “snake meat.” The local boys took them to Kohima supermarket and showed them the eel (or kungshia, as called in Ao dialect). Pulling out those long, slippery creatures, they took them home and fed them to their heart’s content. Those head bangers left ecstatically, presuming that they had “dared” to eat snake meat; something to pompously brag about back home. Later I was told by one friend, “Tai khan ki jani bo na. Saap(snake) ase phabi ke na mon khushi para khai le hoi shae ho!”
At Kisama a friend and I bought a packet of dry fried locusts to taste. It was very delicious and we tried offering them to our guests. One of them was simply terrified just by the look of those dark stiff insects. He put one close to his mouth but just could not get himself to munch it. He cringed like a terrified puppy and returned the thing. So we, first rate bullies as we were, challenged his elder brother to try some. He closed his eyes and without going through the torture of chewing that thing, he simply swallowed it. Then he needed a drink, and desperately so. The best thing on offer at Kisama on a cold winter’s night was the local rice beer, the zutho. Strangely he got obsessed with its taste. We had a hard time managing the group because he would disappear each time into a zutho joint to sample all kinds; and we would be frantically searching for him everywhere. He wanted to carry back the drink to Chandigarh but since it was impossible, he hydrated his tank like there was no tomorrow.
Talking about obsession, who can beat this person! She chomps hands-full of dry axonie like they were almonds or raisins. One day I received a parcel of Fab India garments from her, and wishing to repay the favor, I asked her what she wanted from Nagaland. Actually she intended that parcel to be a kind of bribe! Not to be surprised, she chirped back merrily, “Just parcel me axonie that’s all.” But to parcel axonie to Mumbai through DTDC…I’ve not got around to doing something outrageous like that till now. Each time I’m reminded of her words, “The mystery of this thing is that it stinks of septic tank, especially the cooked one, but why is the taste sooooo goooood!”
One day I had 12 missed calls from an acquaintance in Kolkata. When I called back I was bombarded with such words: “What the heck. Why aren’t you picking up my calls? Don’t you realize it could be a desperate emergency?” “Sorry, I was in a meeting.” “See, my guests are arriving in one hour. I have a pen and paper ready. Now tell me step by step, how do you make pork in anishi?” “What?” “Pork in anishi, pork in anishi!” “You’re crazy!” “So?” “Do you have anishi with you?” “Of course! You think only you people can own that dish? Come on, don’t be so secretive. GIVE me the recipe NOW!” I was not so amused by that kind of “desperate emergency” but was nevertheless obliged to dictate the recipe any way. Later I was told it was a “hit” with the Bongs.
But the most interesting Naga food fanatic I ever met till date is a man from Nagpur. He was in Nagaland for a year’s assignment and got a chance to thoroughly adapt to Naga cuisine. When he went back home, he could no longer adjust to his regular “dal, roti, sabzi” because he had become addicted to “bangs tenga, axonie, yongchak and sukha mangs!” His wife had to rehabilitate him back to their own food; but each time he paid a flying visit to Nagaland, he would become a relapse case, over and over again.
That notoriously dictatorial and controversial “handbook” for north-easterners in Delhi (and other Indian metros) maintained that they should avoid “stinky” food like axonie, bamboo shoot, fermented dry fish, yongchak etc. because they create a “ruckus” in the neighborhood. It’s true, food is culture-defined. And it’s funny it has the potential to stir up deep-rooted (but alarmingly trivial) prejudices and all kinds of racial/social, even political discrimination between different people groups. It’s implicit, Naga food does not appeal to many people at first encounter. Some are downright revolted by its taste, appearance and unusual aroma; and quite understandably so. But it’s very bizarre that once people acquire even a mild liking to it, they eventually become “hooked” to it. The taste for Naga food is definitely an “acquired” one, a “learned” one through repeated exposure to it and nobody can contradict that. Meanwhile, the situation is such that Naga cuisine has either “die-hard-fans” or “disgusted opponents” – no one can remain neutral or indifferent to it. Everyone has an opinion about it, and who can prevent that engaging entitlement?
Written by: Susan waten, HAWA,
Dimapur (susanwaten@gmail.com)
