When it pours down on Kohima in October,
You fetch your sweater or a light shawl,
Your feet are cold but just slightly.
Your Mom takes out her knitting set and wool,
And you sit by the fire and warm your toes.
The aromatic rice in the cooker is alluring,
The *akhuni makes your stomach rumble,
But it’s just five in the evening.
The gutters are overworking,
All tanks and buckets are filled,
You listen to the drumming on the roof
And feel happy you are home.
You pity those caught outside and
Dread the thought of muddy and wet shoes.
You think who would be foolish enough
To not carry an umbrella in Kohima,
As your Mom knits and hums a song.
*Fermented soya beans