Al Ngullie
It’s really true an organic-diet can have you shed excess weight. We took a trip in an algae-friendly, noise-happy old bus to Medziphema for the inauguration of the Medziphema Horticulture Institute. By the time we reached the place, my colleagues and I already looked thinner than TV antennas and scrawnier than Canadian Egrets that just survived a chronic bout of bird flu. Schumacher-happy bus drivers should be awarded forced pension.
For us journalists, the NE Agri-Expo served in more ways than just provide news to justify being paid our salaries –It also forced excess weight off our glorious posteriors. But like every health initiative, it had its side effects too: in return for transforming us into slim and …er…sexy media professionals, we were given huge owlish bloodshot eyes with spacious bags underneath, thanks to getting spooked out of our beds early in the morning. Admitted, these eye-bags served as biological wallets to hold small coins in case hectic reporting on the Expo puts us in a position to scavenge for fast-food. Here are some of the events that forced kilos of fat off us.
Come March 31 and Agri-Expo woke me up – at 7:00 am. A colossal nerve-stretching load of reluctant patience and controlled temper kept me inches away from gifting away the alarm clock to the Sisters of Charity in Kolkata…or to the neighborhood loha-tinna shouter. Mom’s breakfast of scrambled eggs was a battle – my system was busy pushing “sleep, sleep and sleep!” while my stomach fought another battle egging me “eat, eat and eat!” Too much violence in this world. Anyway, I rushed downtown to the DIPR office where a bus was waiting for press people to travel up to Medziphema for the inauguration of the Horticulture Institute and thereafter, the formal inauguration of the mother of all organic indulgence in Nagaland, the North East Expo 2006. Yippeee. Clap, clap and clap.
Anyway, I met up with my colleagues Peter and Thanthan. Hallelujah! A huge wave of relief washed over me when I noticed that they too had eyes that would have made Steven Spielberg’s ET super proud. A-ha! Now three sleep-deprived journalists can combine their collective ET eyes to pack a real horror-film punch and, hopefully, scuttle every one at the function. That way we can return home early na! Or maybe the chief guest Union Agriculture Minister Sharad Pawar, might even use his power to land us roles in some ‘horticulture’ horror flick like Children of the Corn-II: The Harvest (watched the movie? It’s about a boy-sorcerer who plants maize of death and destruction to control humankind. But, it’s ok –Nagaland’s maize is safe for consumption).
Anyhow, by 9:00am we, seven of us in the bus, left for Med. On the windshield of the bus was pasted a leaf printed with the can-get-you-anywhere-except-your-girlfriend’s-father badge “PRESS & MEDIA.” So we faced no problems in navigating the chaotic traffic. Dimapur looked like a huge mechanical carnival that Expo morning. VIP vehicles and escorts zoomed to and fro alongside eager farmers with their ginger and likened organic merchandise on spluttering trucks and auto rickshaws. (I believe the state government should hold the Expo every year; that way at least, the hectic activities that come with the expo can diminish the harsh reality of Nagaland as being one of the States in India with the highest number of unemployed people; at least we can pretend no Naga is milking his parents dry, thanks to unemployment).
Further on, lined in smart uniforms along the highway till Patkai Bridge, were schoolchildren ready to cheer and flag Sharad Pawar. But of course with the Sun in bad mood that day, the heat must disorient the poor school children –they cheered us so loud you’d think the bus was the union minister himself. For once we felt like Rock stars. BON JOVI, possibly? Na, na. None of us inside the bus are anywhere near the star himself; except, maybe caveman hair-stylewise. But we were grateful that the children honored us with their sincerely ear-blasting cheer. I just hope that next time around, their school principals go for a second, and a third, thought before lining them up in the heat to cheer some minister they would not even see other than the police escort and his cool car.
Finally we passed the Chumukedima check post. The gate that morning looked nothing short of a giant vegetable processing depot – rickety old jeeps and spluttering, roaring trucks laden with organic produce jostled to get to the expo site. The countryside was breathtaking – the driver drove…um…flew so fast that it took our collective breath away. The beautiful scenery, full of God’s signature was…er…beautiful, I think. I mean with the Schumacher-crazy driver burning tyres throughout, we had little time to indulge in aesthetic breakfasts. No wonder we emerged from the bus looking like Calvin Klein’s supermodel-Zombies that just survived a particularly spicy South Indian Raja-Mircha dish.
Ah! A forest of vehicles, from malaria-ish police trucks to sleek VIPs imported cars, all jammed the parkground of the function’s site at the Medziphema campus. Scores of pretty university girls, each as gorgeous as the next, could be seen taking turns at walloping the smitten guys dizzy. Ray-Banned state officials with their ready-to-pounce-if-you-come-near bodyguards sat grandiosely at the front. My wearied colleagues and I were shown by a volunteer to the front where the press was. Ah! At last we heaved a collective sigh of relief. Then, of all tragedies in this world, we began the wait for the chief guest to arrive. The waiting put us in a strange mode which had some of us drawing up plans to celebrate Golden Jubilee anniversary of the Wait. Of course, we concluded that even Pawar had started using Naga-time: 10:00 Am sharp for us usually means 2:00Pm.
Thankfully, delivering us from further torment, Pawar arrived. Every camera available flashed to life as he stepped off the car and every leg with pants stood up. At last the function began. Then before we knew what was happening, strange noises began to fill the entire function ground. Most of the guys at the Press section had left for zzzzz land. One zzzzzed here and another zzzzzed there. Some snored and oinked somewhere in the crowd while many more farted and snorted like satisfied Australian pigs. Suddenly the air was filled with zzzz…um…Snort, zrrzzzz, and snort! Krock, zzzzzzzz fart! Weee…… Weeeee…zzzz… Snore! ZBVSGXRRRSOOORXVAGVDGC! Snort! Lovely orchestral symphony. Lovely, soothing music to the wearied.
When we woke refreshed for the speech, Pawar was already getting into his car to leave.
