In a busy market in Imphal, I catch a strong gaze on me. We lock eyes, raise our eyebrows, exchange smiles, and within five minutes, I’m hauled on the platform by two pairs of athletic but graceful arms and plonked in between three women, an array of smelly fish stacked for sale in front of us. For the next half hour, I prattle with the Manipuri ladies like old friends, haggling with consumers on their behalf for larks, and watch them deftly chop heavy carps with ease. There are no men in this all women’s market. And that is what Manipur is—perhaps troubled but an equal society.
Over two hours from Imphal is Moirang, where Netaji’s INA hoisted the tricolour for the first time on Indian soil. A fierce battle was fought close by at Red Hill between the Allied forces and the Japanese, and around Imphal. We owe a lot to Manipur, many of whose forgotten heroes lie resting at the beautifully laid out World War II cemetery in the capital.
The bus to Moirang is stopped mid-way by armed policemen who barge in for a random security check. It’s pretty much the norm in AFSPA-ruled Manipur; men open their bags nonchalantly, women stare back defiantly.
Buses better
A lot of people, even those who own cars, take the public transport these days. The recently lifted 139-day-long economic blockade imposed by assertive neighbour Nagaland shot the price of petrol to a steep Rs. 250 per litre, making driving around a very costly affair. While things will take a while to normalise, a lot of locals are still doing day trips to tank up vehicles in Tamu across the border in Myanmar, where again, women rule the roost, taking charge of not just local markets, restaurants and bars, but also petrol pumps.
From Moirang, I continue to Loktak, where I receive a traditional welcome by Maipakchow Oinam’s family into their simple Meitei household. Oinam is president of Loktak Ecotourism Development Organisation, a small, self-sustaining effort. The Loktak lake is the northeast’s largest freshwater lake with a unique ecosystem that not only supports an interesting biodiversity, but also fishing communities.
Women in Oinam’s family weave fishing nets (his wife also makes a succulent chutney from fresh, home-grown local olives that is to die for), while he tries to raise awareness about the lake and thrash out a sustainable tourism business at the same time, much like another Manipuri friend Rajib who is also trying to sustain a small tourism business here.
During times when the biggest question on the traveller’s mind is safety, it is a pity that tourism in one of India’s culturally richest states bears the brunt of regional politics. Few states have the distinction of having their own classical dance form or their own martial arts, the way Manipur does. It is also home to the sangai or the brow-antlered deer, only found here on the planet at the Keibul Lamjao national park.
Row, row
On my last day at Loktak, Oinam organises a day out on the lake for me. I assume I’m going with him alone, but am pleasantly surprised to be greeted by his young daughter and her bunch of friends. I tail the excited team of girls, ready for the outing with their bamboo sun hats firmly planted on their heads.
As I carefully step into the handmade canoe and look around to spot the boatman, the girls pick up the oars and take their seats. Halfway through the lake with the heavy oars neatly slicing the still waters, I feel sheepish for having doubted their capability.
We dock into a little island made of the floating biomass of Loktak, and I see the vast, traditional fishing nets cast around.
The girls immediately get to work, and whip up a meal of smoked fish, singju (a preparation of lake greens), fermented fish salad, and my favourite olive chutney. We finish off with an amazing kheer or pudding made from naturally sweet black rice, indigenous to the region.
We kickback and laze in the tiny solar-powered hut there, laugh and joke even though we don’t understand each other. And the beauty of Manipur lies in just that; its simplicity, its strong, unpretentious women, and how much it makes you feel at ease, despite what the world says about it.
Born and brought up in the Himalayas, the writer is an adventurer who gets great joy in napping under the mountain sun, and in not being a blogger.
