What’s in an outfit?
Skirts, shirts, tops, trousers’, coats, scarves and many
more; every article of clothing has a name, or multiple names, different
countries may call the same article of clothing by different names. Then
there’s the eternal debate of British vs. American English, sweater vs. jumper.
Coming from a mixed tribe family, Namely Angami and
Chakhesang, the sweater vs. jumper debate has often made its way into my
vocabulary. Some may argue, that both tribes coming from the same Tenyimia
conundrum; share many cultural and linguistic similarities. And they are
absolutely right, both the chakhesangs and Angamis do originate from the same
branch, in fact the Chakhesangs were once known as the Eastern Angamis.
The split came and that itself is a long long story. As a
result of the split a new tribe, the chakhesang's came into being. The tribe
itself was unique as it was a collaboration of three linguistic groups- chokri,
Khezha and sangtam, hence the name chakhesang; cha for chokri.
Khe for Khezha and sang for sangtam. It was also one
of the first and only collaboration known to the state Nagaland. The collaboration split again ,with the
sangtam choosing to stand as an independent entity. But Even with the split the
name chakhesang stuck, and no changes have been made till date.
So where does the
sweater vs. jumper debate come into this truckload of information? Many places surprisingly. Especially if you
compare angami to the chokri of the chakhesang, the language sounds similar and
to someone like me, who speaks both its almost identical save for a few words.
Though friends who speak only angami claim that chokri sounds ineligible and
vice versa. To put it simply angami is the British English to the American
chokri, at least in my household. This is not to claim one is more superior to
the other, both have very similar structure but vary in tone and articulation.
The reason why I call angami British English is because of the formal education
institution in India, which is largely based of British English and my own education
at home, where we siblings primarily spoke angami among ourselves because
our mother was angami. Chokri on the
other hand was like American English, always around, but we only used it
casually to address our friends, and more formally to converse with our father.
So it became natural to mix the two in my household,
sometimes I would start a sentence in angami and end it with chokri. Other
times the exchange was more subtle and most times such instances went
unnoticed. Our mistakes would usually come to light when we spoke with a pure
angami or chokri speaker, or if the bi lingual person had an awareness of the
difference between the two. But most times these two languages blended in
pretty well, despite some differences.
I remember an incident about an aunt who spoke a little
angami, and made up the rest with chokri. They say she was shopping at kohima
bazaar,
KOHIMA BAZAAR
and she approached an angami vegetable vendor and spoke in perfect angami
“Chüvino ga hau kediki ga?”
“How much do these chüvino ga cost”
And before I proceed, forgive me because I don’t know the
scientific name of the vegetable .and despite looking through multiple flora
and fauna journals on Nagaland ,I never found the English name of the green,
slippery and slightly bitter tasting vegetable. But going back to the incident
I had to mention, because it was and is still the perfect example of things
being lost in translation.
She asked for chüvino ga,
Chüvino literally translates to tasty leaves, if
taken into context it means something like tender or soft.
Ga- means vegetable
Hau- this
Kediki ga- how much is it, or what does it cost.
So no problems there, the sentence following the name of the
vegetable is also formal and very correct, and in chokri the vegetable is
called tiveno ga- meaning tender leaves. But the correct way of saying
the sentence in angami would be.
“Lievino ga hau kediki ga”
The words chüvino is replaced by lievino,
which also means tender or soft leaves but from a different context, hence it
cannot be called chüvino ga because that would mean something else.
As confusing as it sounds, this is me during a family
meeting being corrected by elders and cousins.
Other times I throw words around
for years, never knowing it’s not supposed to be spoken that way. Most end in a
discreet rebuke by an aunt, in the corner of the kitchen .sometimes I’m not so
lucky and it ends in public embarrassment. Who knows at this very moment
someone might be narrating the story of the cousin who got the context of
“cough “wrong creating a hilarious misunderstanding. The positive thing is my
uncle always remembers me whenever someone says “cough” in angami.
So it’s pretty much the American vs. British English
debacle in my perspective. and it doesn’t stop with language; sure the Americans and the
British also have their own cultural politics going on, but I will stick to my
own context, that is the naga chakhesang- chokri- angami context, and the
context in which i was born and raised.
Unlike the garment sweater or jumper, which can mean
something you pull over your head, something without buttons, or something
whose meaning changes with context ; but at the end both words means a garment . That is not exactly the case for
the Naga traditional attire, each item carries a name and the designs vary
according to tribe, and sometimes according to village. The angami and
chakhesangs have similar color schemes because they come from the same
Tenyimia range, but no two are exactly alike. Aside from the multiple garments,
men and women have very different jewelry, and each carries meaning, there’s
also a time and place to wear such jewelry
A simple line can become a marker of your tribe and your village. And it’s no joke to say a single line and color matters, because everything carriers meaning and a simple line may just carve out your place in society.
The story goes that my
father, a newly married young man attended a church meeting at a small village.
Throughout the service he felt the gaze of a middle aged woman on him, and when
the service ended the lady approached him asking if he was someone from
Khonoma. Turns out my father was wearing the shawl my aunt, his sister-in- law
had gifted him; a shawl which marked its origins because of one single line on
the border. And the eagle eyed lady later explained that only those from
Khonoma or with relatives (wife is from Khonoma) from Khonoma would wear the
shawl.
Incidents like these are not rare and every once in a while
people would use shawls to start conversations, maybe discover you’re
related or make lifelong friends. It is a marker of identity, that’s why the
aunt in kohima knew the vendor was angami, because of the mekhala she wore or perhaps it was the orange beaded necklace ;or it might also be because kohima is predominately angami.
Today’s generation are sadly not so eagle eyed, even so
mothers make sure daughters and sons stick to age appropriate wear. This point
is very important, because it explained your stance in the society, your age
and your achievements. If the wrong person wore the wrong shawl, it would be
like me wearing Mary kom’s multiple gold medals around my neck, claiming them
to be my achievement.
Seriousness aside, with the coming of Christianity and the
end of head hunting, hosting a feast of merit to gain the honour of wearing a particular
shawl no longer applies. Nowadays, honor and achievement is measure in
different degrees and presenting of shawls also follows these new guidelines.
The rules are more lax now and people tend to mix and match, there are even
websites which sells the shawls of honour for the right price.
But things have not changed too much in the village; in my
chakhesang village we still adhere to the right place and time to wear a shawl
or jewelry. Sure one can break the rules and wear one the NSUD night in
Delhi, and no one will say anything. Rumors may float but it tends to die down
when people find new things to talk about.
But does it feel ethically wrong? Yes I does.
Of course no one
knows what the vague guidelines for achievements even mean, villages may
interpret it differently, but one line sticks
“You have to earn the
honour”
This sounds like moral policing and to a point it is, but if
you are someone from the village like me, people are going to gossip when you
step out with a thupikhü; especially if you are deemed unworthy or have not done enough
to warrant the honor. and personally i would like the be formally presented a shawl by the elders, just because it saves the cost of buying your own shawl.
Unlike the other traditional items the thüpikhü is one of its
kind, though designs may vary it is considered the highest grade of honor in
most chakhesang villages. Other tribes like the angami, sumi, lotha, Ao, etc.
have their own shawls of honor but the thüpikhü is unique to the chakhesang.
The story goes that a
sister came up with this elaborate design in honor of her brother, when he
first hosted a feast of merit. There is also a legend that the all embroidery
must be done before sundown.
The shawl which symbolizes, prosperity and generosity was
presented to a couple who had performed a feast of merit, though it was
primarily designed for men; the female design came much later. And the shawl is
very colorful, with each pattern standing for something.
The series of pictures will elaborate how much embroidery it
requires.
PATTERNS ON THE THUPIKHU
While elephants, mithuns and animal heads were used for men, the
female motif included. Cowry shells, bathsü, Baskets and more.
It is also as
expensive as it is beautiful, especially because it is painfully hand woven and
embroidered. Today cotton yarn is not hard to find but about sixty years back,
most people had to pick cotton by hand and spin it into yarn and then dye it.
This process took days and even months, the ceremonies attached to it didn’t
make it easy either. There is a story to illustrate the value of cotton,
something an aunt once told me in the passing.
The story
is very similar to Romeo and Juliet, or jina and etiben.
They say, a man of lower standing fell in love
with the daughter of a rich warrior with many sons. The lovers wanted to marry
but couldn’t because of their different financial standing. The man decided to
earn and expand his cattle, so he may be worthy enough to ask for her hand in
marriage. But it was taking time and taking a toll on his poor body; the girl
wanted to help so when they went to collect vegetables in the forest, she
slipped her armlets into his basket. When her brothers asked she said she lost
it.
Many
months later the man invited the girl and her brothers, to collect cotton in
his forest garden. When they arrived he filled his loves basket to the brim,
they say it was so heavy she found it hard to walk.
BASKET( MEKHO)
In the evening when she
rolled out the content of her basket on the straw mat her armlets rolled out.
My aunt never told me how the story ended ,or if the lovers even end up together. she had more important things to do;like interpreting the actions of the man. according to her,
that the man wanted to ask for her hand in honesty; with no help from her
family’s wealth.
I looked more at the heavy
basket, today if a couple worked in the same orchard or field, the man would
ensure her basket was the lightest or even help her carry it. Well I’m
referring to the more stereotypical romance situation, but that aside, should
we call what the man did cruel?
“They say
it was so heavy she found it hard to walk”.
Not really, his action, as my aunt puts it was very romantic. It
was an act of love; because cotton was very difficult to harvest at the time.
To collect enough cotton for one shawl was a mammoth task, so the man wanted to
make sure she had more than enough.
Though I never found out what happened in the end, I got to watch
what happened to the cotton.
During my trip to the village I was lucky enough
to watch my aunt prepare a shawl. Though I didn’t get to witness the first
stages of its production, I was lucky enough to witness her neighbor roll out
the wool and arrange patterns, allowing my aunt to take on the last steps of
weaving and embroidery.
CHAKHESANG WOMAN WEAVING
( ps. not my aunt, had a video of her weaving but could upload it due to the size and format)
The whole process is back breaking and my aunt saved time by using
ready-made wool, but in the chakhesang region where my father is from, people
still dye their wool by hand and they use a very unique ingredient, the nettle.( both plant and tree is used)
The process is long and laborious and requires certain ceremonies.
It starts with the nettle harvesting;
the nettle is boiled to separate it from the thin layer of bark. The raw
material is cooked for no less than a day.
In the next step the yarn is removed from the pot and beaten with
a wooden block to soften the yarn. The yarn is then rinsed thoroughly and
soaked in hot water for another three to four hours. It is further rinsed with
clean rice flour broth in a betükhu (wooden basin). The rice flower also acts
as a dyeing agent, turning the yarn whitish. Sorting is done following the
rinsing of the yarn and the flour bits that fall from it are eaten by young
girls. After this step the yarn is
coiled into a ball and is ready for meandering, which is used with the shuttle
for weaving.
Because it was considered taboo for the thebvo to be bitten by
tooth, so it was separated from the drinking water at home and even eating
before its preparation, was a ceremony in itself. It was also considered taboo for young boys to
consume the bake cakes from the rice flour which had been used for dyeing the
yarn. And it was customary to offer rice beer after the boiling of the thebvo (nettle).
With all the taboos and tradition in place it was mostly customary for the yarn
to be prepared in the forest under flowing water.Because of this practice I always missed the preparation part, and
yes times have changed but most times people stick to the forest because of the
abundance of freshwater.
So throughout the text I mentioned being from the village, so as a
person from the village did I ever learn how to weave? The answer is yes and
no, yes because I had a weaving stint and no because I never managed to
complete a shawl. All I have to show for is the weaving materials and the
pinkish muffler, collaboration between a neighbor and me, an item I see in pictures
but can never seem to find.
Today if someone in the big towns wanted a shawl they could got
the nearest handloom store and buy a ready-made, machine made shawl this was
cheaper and faster, but in villages it’s a little more personal. If my family
wanted a shawl we would go to the store buy the shade of cotton yarn we wanted,
meet the artisan, make mild length adjustments if needed but we mostly stick to
the standard size. After that its communication, my mother usually visits the
artisan twice a month to check the progress and this exchange goes on till the
shawl is done and the payments is complete.
That is not to say people in big towns only buy machine made goods,
most people in big town place order through relatives or when they visit the
village. But making friends with a good artisan definitely pays off, regularly
checking and communicating makes it more personal. At the end if one says that
the shawls looks the same, you can say ‘yes they do’; but there is a story
behind my shawl.
And that is the story I hope
to tell when I earn the rights to wear a thüpikhü, a shawl which has long
captured my imagination ever since witnessing the colorful ensemble cover my grandfather’s
body nineteen years back. The shawl is not yet a part of my possession and
perhaps it never will be, but if does fall on my shoulders I’m sure the shawl
will be a maker of my achievements, the shawl of stories, the history of my life.
On the day I die the shawl will be buried with me, just like it did with my grandfather
and many others, the thüpikhü’s journey will end with one generation, till the
next earns the right to wear it. Until then I’ll stick to the lovely shawls my
mother approves for me.
