ManiPurv

by Nic Olson

I change my mind more than a teenaged girl that loves rap and goes to church.

Manipur. Look it up on a map. Chances are good that you don’t know where it is. I was there and I barely know. When i first arrived, i was quite upset. It wasn’t at all India, not the India I love. But at the same time, it wasn’t at all Mizoram, not the Mizoram I love. It was like an unhappy medium, where everyone had guns and split-up churches.

The place seemed to have heavy christian influence, but disturbances causing murders and strict curfews were still in effect. It’ll make you wonder. It really will. Will it?

I only get really sick when I eat at friend’s houses. Street food doesn’t phase me, but when Indians make Indian food in a way that regular Canadians can eat, then it just rips me apart. They call it ‘loose motions’. Sounds like a Holly Springs song. I am dizzy writing this, pinching off a steady liquidy stream for the past hour. And my $2.50 hotel last night didn’t offer very luxurious toilet systems (it seemed to flush what I dispensed into it…)

I love it. I dread settling down and staying somewhere for more than a week, but that’s life. But not mine. But is it?

Aizawl is nice. Not as nice as I remember it, but still, nice. A second home just isn’t the same when you are alone and as weak as my bowels.

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