Nagalim Voice September 2026
AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP, A LASTING INFLUENCE – REMEMBERING UNCLE NIKETU IRALU JULY 12, 1935 — AUGUST 18, 2026
– Theophilus Rangmathat
Some people enter our lives for a particular season, while a very few become part of our journey in a way that we only fully understand when they are gone. For me, Uncle Niketu Iralu was one such person. My first rendezvous with him was at the Naga Students’ Confluence in New Delhi in October, 2011. I was much younger, and he was already an established elder whose name carried immense respect among Nagas and far beyond. Yet, from our very first interaction, I never felt that I was speaking to someone separated from me by generations. There was an ease, warmth and open-ness in him that made the age difference almost irrelevant.
Uncle Niketu was much more than the titles by which he was known—a peace activist, peacebuilder, writer, educator, social reformer and respected elder. While each of these rightly reflects a part of his remarkable life, none quite captures the depth of the person he was. At the heart of his life’s work was a profound commitment to reconciliation, non-violence and dialogue, and to the often difficult but essential task of healing wounds, rebuilding trust and bringing people together. But what I remember most about him was not his resume. It was the way he listened.
For a young person like me, accustomed to elders giving advice before fully hearing what you had to say, Uncle Niketu was different. When you spoke to him, he genuinely listened. He did not listen merely to find an opportunity to respond; he listened to understand. Whether the subject was personal, social or political, he gave you his time and attention. And when he finally spoke, his words carried the weight of a lifetime of experience.
He had an extraordinary ability to look beyond the immediate argument and search for what lay underneath it—the fear, hurt, insecurity, pride or misunderstanding that often drives human conflict. His insights were never merely intellectual. They were genuinely true to his heart. He could tell a young person something difficult without making him feel small, and he could disagree with you without making you feel rejected and despite the seriousness of the issues he dealt with, Uncle had a wonderful sense of humour and a playful warmth that made conversations with him incredibly enjoyable. He could break the tension with a simple joke, a mischievous smile or a light-hearted remark, reminding you that wisdom and seriousness need not come at the expense of joy and laughter.
Our association continued after that first meeting in New Delhi. What began as a meeting between a young Naga and a respected elder gradually became something much closer. I could approach him, speak freely with him, share my thoughts and ask questions. The relationship was not simply that of an admirer and a celebrated elder. In many ways, it felt like a friendship—an unusual friendship separated by a considerable age gap, but made possible by his remarkable ability to connect with younger people. His home, Kerunyu Ki – “The House of Listening,” was perhaps the truest reflection of who Uncle Niketu was—a welcoming space where we could always come back to share our thoughts, be heard without judgment, reflect deeply, and find wisdom and perspective through conversation.
Looking back as a young person, I realise that one of the greatest gifts Uncle Niketu gave me was not any particular piece of advice. It was a way of seeing people. He taught me, largely through his example, that being passionate about one’s people does not require hatred of another. That standing firmly for one’s convictions does not require closing one’s ears. That disagreement does not have to become hostility. And that reconciliation is not weakness—it requires tremendous courage.
His life also taught me that an elder does not become relevant to the younger generation by trying to become young. He becomes relevant by respecting the young enough to hear them.
One of the things I valued most in my conversations with Uncle Niketu was his emphasis on the inner voice. He often made me think about the importance of becoming quite enough to hear what is within us before we react to what is happening around us. For him, the inner voice was not simply a feeling or an impulse. It was that deeper place within a person where conscience, truth and conviction speak—often more quietly than anger, fear, ambition or the opinions of others.
I remember how this perspective influenced the way I looked at conflicts. Whether it was a personal disagreement, a social issue or a political question. Perhaps this was also why he was such a good listener and he could hear strong opinions, opposing political positions and even criticism without allowing them to disturb his fundamental humanity.
As a young person, I found this particularly powerful. In a world where everyone is encouraged to speak, react and take sides quickly, he reminded me of the value of pausing, listening inwardly and then responding with conviction and compassion. His understanding was that peace does not begin at the negotiating table; it begins within the human heart. And perhaps, for Uncle, listening to one’s inner voice was one of the first steps towards finding that peace.
For me, what began as a simple meeting grew into a meaningful relationship that continued until his passing. When the news of Uncle Niketu’s death on 18 August 2026, at the age of 91, reached me, the loss felt deeply personal. It was not merely the passing of a renowned peace activist, a respected Naga elder, or a man of great wisdom; it was the loss of someone we could still reach out to, talk with openly, and turn to whenever we needed perspective, counsel or simply the reassurance of being heard.
His generation gave us many things, but perhaps his greatest gift was the reminder that the future of our people will depend not only on what we fight for, but on how we learn to listen to one another.