By Bobo Khuraijam
Little Abemma has just started to scribble the first letter of the English alphabet – A; holding the pencil with her tiny hand and trying to join the two slanted lines in the middle. Simple, it would look, but a momentous beginning for her into the world of formal education. You would notice her coy face of happiness when you praise her for her effort. She would immediately start to show another sample of her accomplishment: A new ‘A’ in her same style. That is what children are. They love to be appreciated. And that is exactly what we are. No wonder, human of any age loves to be appreciated. Please do not expect us to answer the question as to why we love to be appreciated. We are ill equipped in that.
PRAISE GALORE: in recent times we are witness to words of praises in our mediascape. Appreciating someone is a good gesture. No doubt about it. Who started it, we do not know. Vote of thanks is an important part of any function. Who is going to give the vote of thanks? Is the person prepared? These are concerns the organizers has in the event of organizing a function. But do we really practice this gesture in our Manipuri life, leave aside the formal function? We feel we need not muse on the superficiality of formal functions. In a way, perhaps, the most wonderful part of our life is that our life has got no correspondence with what happens on the stage of a formal function. Words that come out from the microphone of a formal function are not less decorated than the stage itself. Everybody talks in a decorated manner. Each one of the speaker is concern of carrying forward the burden of civilization. No matter what goes on behind the stage, no matter what nonsense a part of the audience are indulged in, no matter you are flooded with watery filths from the Lamphel, you talk and talk as if the existence of a thing called flood, or water, for that matter is a mythical rumor. Can you imagine our lives if the words on the stage are translated into deeds? We believed, words on the stage, of any function, of any kind (you name it), are as redundant as any election manifestos of any political crowd.