TANGKHUL MEIPHUNG -THE WOUNDS OF TIME
– Thotdharmi Shimrang Shimray
Meiphung- the sacred hearth of my people,
a bridge of soul-strings, tethering melancholy sounds- souls of the gathering united under one sky, dancing, tuning, feasting on the fire’s warmth.
It was never just a fireplace: it was identity, it was love, the pulse of Tangkhul ipseity beating softly beneath every flame.
Around it, grandparents whispered folktales, wove words like weaving shawls, sang “Hao Laa” into the smoke, letting memory rise with each crackle- like incense curling toward the stars.
Those nights weren’t mere moments; they were inheritance.
In the wounds of time, a fire still burns, the flame that time could never kill.
We gathered there- youth with laughter leaping from our eyes, villagers, families, friends, speaking softly of harvests and hardships, of everything and nothing, under the moon’s magnanimous gaze.
The meiphung taught us humility, to listen before we speak, to care before we judge.
It was our compass, our glowing guide in the dark, an indelible ember, indomitable and bright.
Even shy bachelors would sit by the fire outside a girl’s house- silent, hopeful- carving memories into midnight; their hearts flickering like timid flames.
Even that was sacred.
But now …rooms are cold with screens,
a symphony of phubbing faces bamboozled by blue light.
We scroll, we drift, we disappear,
our hubris feeding the detachment that ostracizes every quiet voice.
We no longer visit or speak like before; everyone’s busy being elsewhere while the fire waits-lonely and loyal, its glow grown faint beneath electric glare.
Where is the unity we once held dear, the idyllic circle of magnanimous hearts?
Where are the voices that once sang through the fire, indelible as stars in a charcoal sky?
I cry in hollowed space, grasping at desiderium-a longing for moments that once were.
Yet even here, the ember glows: a soft, steadfast promise that what was loved is never lost.
Oh Tangkhulnao!! listen- this is our call, a cry from the coals: let us not let the meiphung fade.
Remember- real happiness is not in lights or noise, but in small, sacred corners where stories were born and no one ever sat alone.
No matter how far we travel, no matter how modern we become, the ember still warms our marrow- and that ember is home.
So let us return, not to the past, but to the warmth-to love, to oneness, to truth- for the meiphung is not just where we came from; it is where we still belong.
Thotdharmi Shimrang Shimray wrote “Tangkhul Meiphung” as a historical and cultural poem that explores the traditions and way of life of the Tangkhul tribe from Ukhrul district in Manipur. The poem is written in free verse, as she believe poetry should not be restricted by rigid forms but should flow naturally with emotion and meaning.
As someone in the late stage of adolescence, this poem is deeply personal to her. It is a call to the youth to reconnect with their identity and remember their roots-where they come from and what shaped them. Thotdharmi Shimrang Shimray stated “growing up in a small rural town in Manipur, many of us lived in simple wooden houses with mud structures. While some may see this as a sign of poverty or modest living, to us it represented something far richer-our culture, traditions, and inherited way of life passed down through generations
“Our homes were adorned with animal heads and bones, symbolizing the courage and strength of our forefathers, who were once headhunters. At the heart of every home was the meiphung-a fireplace made from local stones, mud, and cow dung, carefully maintained and cleaned daily by the women of the household. This fireplace was not just a place for warmth or cooking; it was the center of life and community.
“Around the meiphung, people of all ages gathered-children, youth, and elders. We shared meals, sang hao laa songs, listened to folklore narrated by our grandparents, and built bonds that defined our sense of belonging. It was also a space where young people formed connections, where conversations flowed late into the night over simple cups of tea. There was unity, peace, mutual respect, and a deep sense of community.”
Thotdharmi Shimrang Shimray further added ‘however, with time, much of this essence has faded. Today’s younger generation, including myself, is increasingly distanced from these values. We are absorbed in our phones, living in isolated comfort, eating alone, and slowly losing the connection with our families, elders, and community. The pursuit of modern lifestyles and higher standards has, in many ways, overshadowed humility, humanity, and togetherness.”
“Through this poem, I aim to remind and inspire the youth-not to reject progress or modernity-but to hold onto the beauty of our roots. It is a reflection and a call to remember the simple, humble way of life that once taught us the true essence of living” added thotdharmi Shimrang Shimray
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: 19 years old Thotdharmi Shimrang Shimray, hailing from Peh Village (Paoyi) aspired to be a psychologist. She is a second-year undergraduate at Mount Carmel College, Bangalore, pursuing Psychology, Economics and Literature.
