By: Akendra Sana
It is difficult not to think about roads whenever Manipur is mentioned in recent times. It is a difficult terrain in the best of times. Landslides and mudslides on the arterial highways are most common in the long rainy season the region experiences. It has thus always been man with nature, with nature asserting itself of its dynamics on many a rainy season. The difficulties have therefore been seasonal. But for more than a decade now difficulties have been more manmade and adding to the already known hardships caused by nature. And they have become more unpredictable for most road-users. The difficulties can no longer be said to be seasonal. Geo-politics have now taken over.
“Build a road to get rich”, Chinese leader Deng Xiao Ping had said. For China however to grow and get rich from the very depressed and impoverished China when Deng was rehabilitated in 1977 and subsequently rose to the supreme power a lot more than roads must have been needed. And indeed, roads and other infrastructure developments are some of the things for which Deng is remembered. The economic growth of present-day China owes a lot to this leader, the 1989 Tianniamen Square crackdown notwithstanding. However, the most significant contribution of Deng can be said to be of lifting more people out of poverty than any other world leader anytime, anywhere.
We, in our circumstances certainly as well know that roads mean much more. So what are roads after all? Should they not lead to destinations? And does not one destination lead to another? For the British Raj, the railway was the unifier in India. For landlocked Manipur and no railways, only roads connect its various parts. And as of now the roads between Imphal and Dimapur and Guwahati, Imphal and Moreh and Imphal and Silchar are there as effectively physically connecting to the outside world, although airlink is the other means.
Even though many roads, including sections of our highways are little more than flattened dirt tracks which turn into mud after heavy rain and to dust clouds in the dry season, all the stakeholders, the road-users and the habitats along them know what they can deliver.
Driving a car from Imphal to Mao or from Imphal to Moreh is common for many. But rarely anyone must have driven from Mao to Moreh at a stretch, a distance of a little over two hundred kilometers via Imphal unless one is a commercial vehicle driver and in very compelling circumstances. This drive is bound to enrich any sensitive person and would enable one to experience better the cultural mosaic that is Manipur. Imagine the sheer number of communities you are likely to come across on this route. There are the Maos, Poumais, Marams, Thangals, Kukis, Meiteis, Monsangs, Marings among many others on the way until you reach Moreh filled with Tamils, Kukis and Meiteis among several others.
And is it not ironical that while very few must have done the shorter Mao-Moreh stretch, many of us have driven the Imphal Guwahati road of about six hundred kilometers at a stretch in a day passing through Mao in Manipur, Kohima and Dimapur in Nagaland, Shilonijan, Numaligarh, Bokakhat, Nagaon in Assam among many other townships before reaching Guwahati?
A straight drive from Mao to Moreh, starting at about five o’clock in the morning at Mao can mean morning tea at Lairou Ching. You can get the best tea, made with the very fresh milk here. Breakfast, or should we call it the first meal, can be at Pallel and then on to reach Moreh at about noon. From there on you may enter Tamu for a good Chinese lunch. But unfortunately you cannot think of all these possibilities together in these parts of the world. This is because the two hundred odd kilometers drive from Mao to Moreh can never be made at the time of your choosing, what with checks and convoy formation at Pallel, and can therefore not be made in six to seven hours, even if you do not think of all the other possible disturbances, sometimes of the most heinous kind on this highway.
Road travel has its own magic. It always conjures up images- both the pleasant and the ugly. One now wonders what kind of images the highway from Mao to Moreh in Manipur brings to a road traveller. The Imphal-Mao section saw a lot of action in the past during the Second World War. And then of the present whether it is on the Imphal Mao section or the Imphal Moreh portion we are all too familiar of the difficulties, both seasonal and non seasonal. The images unfortunately are largely of these difficulties.
And as we traverse our roads, we also need to remind ourselves that there are other infrastructure matters we need to take equal care – the airport(s), the communication channels, the telephone lines, the transmission towers to open ourselves for freer flow of goods and information and above all to be able to share our concerns with others. These are as important as much as opening roads because they will help us at opening minds to get rich and much more as much as the Chinese wanted under Deng.
About Me
- Tanya Sana Rajkumari
- New Delhi / Imphal / Kolkata, Delhi / Manipur/ West Bengal, India
- Contains my writings as well as my father's.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Who are the Nagas
By: Akendra Sana
There was little Kevichituo in 1966 in Class Two. He had a bigger brother named Ahu who was a good footballer as seen through our small eyes then. They were Sakhrie and Angami from Kohima, we later learnt. I cannot remember how we communicated to one another. It must have been some smiles, some Manipuri, a little English if at all. Life was simple then.Then there was stong Thoiba Maram, who later became Thoiba Angelus. Maram Khunjao and Khunou meant something to us later because of him. I can also recall Borpha , Dearson Moyon, Indrajit Moyon and Daso Mao and Ngale Mao in that Class. Dearson later preferred the complete name Dearson David Chara and Indrajit became Michale, Komlathabi and Chandel became familiar because of Borpha, Dearson and Michale. Daso was the delight of the Class. He could draw well from a very young age and could keep everyone happy with his wit and drawings. Friendship with Tillwealth Jajo began in Class Three and continued till his death in very unfortunate circumstances in Class Eight in 1972. He always had Athem and Grinder, the well behaved Muivah cousins for company on his way to and from school during those years. Adin Panmei completed the foursome in their walk to and from the school. And Somipam Lungleng was always alive with his pranks. And there was small Shangreihao, ever the willing friend. Stylish Daniel Jajo added colour to our lives. He was into long hair, boots and bell bottoms long before anyone of us had long hairs and bell bottoms. There were also Shymyo Shaiza and Maranchan Luikham, the quiet cousins who used to come to school together.There was also Pelevituo Francis Solo from Kohima Village. It was a delight to renew old ties in Kohima many years later. I also recall Vikui Emerson, the ever-practical fellow patrol leader in our Boy Scout days who now runs a school in Senapati.Pius, Titus and John Murray Lotha made all the way from Wokha in Nagaland to join the boarding school in Imphal. John is better remembered amongst many of his schoolmates for his skills on the guitar and as a vocalist. Small boys that they were then probably did not comprehend how far they had come for schooling. But then those were innocent days. Dr. John Murray is today a leading light in the Naga Hoho after a stint as a Nagaland Government doctor.One of my best friends in those formative years was Lorho Mao who is now Dr. Lorho Pfozhe. He along with his wife, Apinao is doing wonderful work in the field of rural healthcare in the Mao area of Manipur bordering Nagaland after working as a Manipur Government doctor and as an entrepreneur for some years. Incidentally, I may add that Lorho speaks better Manipuri than most whose mother tongue is Manipuri.And there was Sokho Mao who is today Sokho George who we later were told is a Poumai and not Mao. After college at IIT Delhi, Sokho has been an Assistant Engineer with the Manipur Government for more than twenty years now. This is a situation he appears uncomfortable to be in because of the sheer length of service in one rank. But then we all know him for his other skills and talents. A passionate and brilliant speaker, there will definitely be better things in store for him.I am happy to treasure their friendships in our growing years and later. I am happy to have known them well.Imphal must be a distant past for many of these friends today.And I am today happy that I do not have to know instead those individuals who obstruct traffic in our highways. How unfortunate that obstructing traffic on the highways has been developed into something of an advanced form of a performing art.Victim of the innocent sounding “Economic Blockade” is not the economy but the society itself, the social fabric that binds us all, irrespective of what names the ethnic groups address themselves. Whenever I used to drive between Imphal and Dimapur, I would always imagine that I would meet some old friend on the way. And indeed on many occasions, I would invariably come across at least one of them particularly in the Senapati - Mao stretch on such drives. On many occasions, I would train my eyes towards the door at that bend at Mao whenever I cross Dr. Lorho’s house. I know that I would halt or wave if I saw anyone at the door.
There was little Kevichituo in 1966 in Class Two. He had a bigger brother named Ahu who was a good footballer as seen through our small eyes then. They were Sakhrie and Angami from Kohima, we later learnt. I cannot remember how we communicated to one another. It must have been some smiles, some Manipuri, a little English if at all. Life was simple then.Then there was stong Thoiba Maram, who later became Thoiba Angelus. Maram Khunjao and Khunou meant something to us later because of him. I can also recall Borpha , Dearson Moyon, Indrajit Moyon and Daso Mao and Ngale Mao in that Class. Dearson later preferred the complete name Dearson David Chara and Indrajit became Michale, Komlathabi and Chandel became familiar because of Borpha, Dearson and Michale. Daso was the delight of the Class. He could draw well from a very young age and could keep everyone happy with his wit and drawings. Friendship with Tillwealth Jajo began in Class Three and continued till his death in very unfortunate circumstances in Class Eight in 1972. He always had Athem and Grinder, the well behaved Muivah cousins for company on his way to and from school during those years. Adin Panmei completed the foursome in their walk to and from the school. And Somipam Lungleng was always alive with his pranks. And there was small Shangreihao, ever the willing friend. Stylish Daniel Jajo added colour to our lives. He was into long hair, boots and bell bottoms long before anyone of us had long hairs and bell bottoms. There were also Shymyo Shaiza and Maranchan Luikham, the quiet cousins who used to come to school together.There was also Pelevituo Francis Solo from Kohima Village. It was a delight to renew old ties in Kohima many years later. I also recall Vikui Emerson, the ever-practical fellow patrol leader in our Boy Scout days who now runs a school in Senapati.Pius, Titus and John Murray Lotha made all the way from Wokha in Nagaland to join the boarding school in Imphal. John is better remembered amongst many of his schoolmates for his skills on the guitar and as a vocalist. Small boys that they were then probably did not comprehend how far they had come for schooling. But then those were innocent days. Dr. John Murray is today a leading light in the Naga Hoho after a stint as a Nagaland Government doctor.One of my best friends in those formative years was Lorho Mao who is now Dr. Lorho Pfozhe. He along with his wife, Apinao is doing wonderful work in the field of rural healthcare in the Mao area of Manipur bordering Nagaland after working as a Manipur Government doctor and as an entrepreneur for some years. Incidentally, I may add that Lorho speaks better Manipuri than most whose mother tongue is Manipuri.And there was Sokho Mao who is today Sokho George who we later were told is a Poumai and not Mao. After college at IIT Delhi, Sokho has been an Assistant Engineer with the Manipur Government for more than twenty years now. This is a situation he appears uncomfortable to be in because of the sheer length of service in one rank. But then we all know him for his other skills and talents. A passionate and brilliant speaker, there will definitely be better things in store for him.I am happy to treasure their friendships in our growing years and later. I am happy to have known them well.Imphal must be a distant past for many of these friends today.And I am today happy that I do not have to know instead those individuals who obstruct traffic in our highways. How unfortunate that obstructing traffic on the highways has been developed into something of an advanced form of a performing art.Victim of the innocent sounding “Economic Blockade” is not the economy but the society itself, the social fabric that binds us all, irrespective of what names the ethnic groups address themselves. Whenever I used to drive between Imphal and Dimapur, I would always imagine that I would meet some old friend on the way. And indeed on many occasions, I would invariably come across at least one of them particularly in the Senapati - Mao stretch on such drives. On many occasions, I would train my eyes towards the door at that bend at Mao whenever I cross Dr. Lorho’s house. I know that I would halt or wave if I saw anyone at the door.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Book Review
Revisiting a Manipuri Classic: Bor Saheb Ongbi Sanatombi
By: Tanya Sana Rajkumari
Bor Saheb Ongbi Sanatombi by MK Binodini is the first Manipuri novel I have read. When I first saw the book I did not even know it would interest me. I was not even sure if I could still read the Bengali alphabets. Thanks to the painstaking efforts of my teachers who taught me till the seventh grade I was able to read most of the words (some words had to be compromised, of course). And guess what! It kept me hooked till the very end. My enthusiasm after reading a few pages grew and made me crave for the unusual romance between the young Manipuri princess and the ageing British Political Agent. I had tears in my eyes when I flipped the last page.
Besides the romance, the book’s great insight to the society, the norms and the customs of Manipur of that particular period captured my attention throughout the story.
Even though I have read other books on Manipur in English notably My three Years in Manipur and Escape from the Recent Mutiny By Ethel St. Claire Grimwood, I like Bor Saheb Ongbi Sanatombi because it is an imaginative novel and also because I read it in my mother tongue. Though I took a long time reading and trying to figure out what some of the words meant, it was fun reading it. It is one of the best books I have read. It served the purpose of an enjoyable read as well as an insight to the culture and the royalty before the British takeover of our land and just after. The royalty with its grandeur complete with polo was great to read in the beginning then the various subplots like the love story between Sanakhomdon and Meri Selungba highlighted the rigid class system of the time. Though he was a favorite of the King and a talented artist he was not allowed to marry the princess because of his low profile family name. And the powerful Sanakhya masi’s role in the family and the overall women’s role at the time are fully captured in the story.
So the thematic issues in the book included the rigidity of class system that made Meri Selungba an outcast and the strict punishment of shaving his head off and tying him on streets. Then there were polygamy practiced by the royalty and the choosing of one of the wives as Maharani and the prince born from her as the crown prince. The king’s (Chandrakirti) dilemma to choose which of the queen as Maharani showed the bizarre complexity from his part. Thereafter, sibling rivalry which we know destroyed the dynasty after the death of King Chandrakirti plays a vital part in the story. This rivalry has been well highlighted in the book as we know this changed the fate of Manipur.
There is of course, the main story of Sanatombi, the protagonist’s life intertwined with the rigid culture she was brought up in and her whirlwind romance with the ageing British Political Agent and the consequent social outcast that she became. Her marriage to first husband was a loveless marriage which ended in a failure. This led her divert to the attention she received from the British Political Agent where their love saga starts and also of her being blacklisted from the rigid Meitei Society. The outcast part is not explicitly mentioned; however there is no escape of this in the story. The story goes on to narrate on the free and open life Sanatombi led with Maxwell Saheb and then her illness after his departure leading to her death. Yet it is well known that the society at the time treated her with an evil eye and even her funeral pyre was not allowed to be lit by her blue-blooded relatives or any Meitei adult.
The book is a great read for the imagination and use of history of the land as depicted in this romantic novel. Also because it is a story about coming out of one’s shell, defying the norms and leading a life the way you want. Though the tragedy filled life of the young princess ended without any climax. Her story is worth telling. A grim reminder that every story does not necessarily have a “happily ever after” ending. It is a must read!!
By: Tanya Sana Rajkumari
Bor Saheb Ongbi Sanatombi by MK Binodini is the first Manipuri novel I have read. When I first saw the book I did not even know it would interest me. I was not even sure if I could still read the Bengali alphabets. Thanks to the painstaking efforts of my teachers who taught me till the seventh grade I was able to read most of the words (some words had to be compromised, of course). And guess what! It kept me hooked till the very end. My enthusiasm after reading a few pages grew and made me crave for the unusual romance between the young Manipuri princess and the ageing British Political Agent. I had tears in my eyes when I flipped the last page.
Besides the romance, the book’s great insight to the society, the norms and the customs of Manipur of that particular period captured my attention throughout the story.
Even though I have read other books on Manipur in English notably My three Years in Manipur and Escape from the Recent Mutiny By Ethel St. Claire Grimwood, I like Bor Saheb Ongbi Sanatombi because it is an imaginative novel and also because I read it in my mother tongue. Though I took a long time reading and trying to figure out what some of the words meant, it was fun reading it. It is one of the best books I have read. It served the purpose of an enjoyable read as well as an insight to the culture and the royalty before the British takeover of our land and just after. The royalty with its grandeur complete with polo was great to read in the beginning then the various subplots like the love story between Sanakhomdon and Meri Selungba highlighted the rigid class system of the time. Though he was a favorite of the King and a talented artist he was not allowed to marry the princess because of his low profile family name. And the powerful Sanakhya masi’s role in the family and the overall women’s role at the time are fully captured in the story.
So the thematic issues in the book included the rigidity of class system that made Meri Selungba an outcast and the strict punishment of shaving his head off and tying him on streets. Then there were polygamy practiced by the royalty and the choosing of one of the wives as Maharani and the prince born from her as the crown prince. The king’s (Chandrakirti) dilemma to choose which of the queen as Maharani showed the bizarre complexity from his part. Thereafter, sibling rivalry which we know destroyed the dynasty after the death of King Chandrakirti plays a vital part in the story. This rivalry has been well highlighted in the book as we know this changed the fate of Manipur.
There is of course, the main story of Sanatombi, the protagonist’s life intertwined with the rigid culture she was brought up in and her whirlwind romance with the ageing British Political Agent and the consequent social outcast that she became. Her marriage to first husband was a loveless marriage which ended in a failure. This led her divert to the attention she received from the British Political Agent where their love saga starts and also of her being blacklisted from the rigid Meitei Society. The outcast part is not explicitly mentioned; however there is no escape of this in the story. The story goes on to narrate on the free and open life Sanatombi led with Maxwell Saheb and then her illness after his departure leading to her death. Yet it is well known that the society at the time treated her with an evil eye and even her funeral pyre was not allowed to be lit by her blue-blooded relatives or any Meitei adult.
The book is a great read for the imagination and use of history of the land as depicted in this romantic novel. Also because it is a story about coming out of one’s shell, defying the norms and leading a life the way you want. Though the tragedy filled life of the young princess ended without any climax. Her story is worth telling. A grim reminder that every story does not necessarily have a “happily ever after” ending. It is a must read!!
memoirs
Lingering Memories of Home
By: Tanya Sana Rajkumari
Perched on top of the small hillock near my house are the Assam Rifles paramilitary forces. This hillock has been housing many such armed security forces for long. The small hillock was once a part of the sacred ‘Cheirau Ching’ hill, we are told. It is sacred because the Meiteis of Manipur climb the hill to pray on the New Year’s Day celebrated according to the Manipuri Lunar Calendar. The fun we had climbing the hill every year on that particular day is incomparable.
The hillock was separated from ‘Cheirau Ching’ to construct the existing National Highway Number 39. Incidentally this route happened to be the one I traveled the most.
My house is right next to the hillock. A bumpy ‘kachcha’ road runs parallel to the hill. On the eastern side of the hill is the temple of the Goddess Panthoibi. It is situated on a sacred platform shadowed by a majestic Peepul tree.
Number of trees and bamboos grew in our compound especially near the ‘kachcha’ road which connects the eastern with the western parts of the place. Variety of fruit trees grew and playing hide and seek was great fun as there were plenty of places, nooks and crannies to hide. I clearly remember the fruits I relished, plucked from those fruit trees. It ranged from mangoes, jamuns, guavas, berries, jackfruits, olives to papayas. Typical to the Northeastern region of India clusters of bamboo too grew on the side adjoining to the ‘road’. Sometimes hens from neighbors who let them out to be free during daytime would often come and lay eggs amongst the bamboo. I had a memorable twelve years of carefree childhood days filled with laughter albeit the disturbances in the region.
Speaking of disturbances there had been innumerable instances when the situation was pretty hard to deal with. Growing up in the 90s was tough. I feel lucky I attended schools outside the state when I was an adolescent. One incident stands out which was perhaps the most dangerous situation I ever came across. The incident took place in the mid-90s when my milk teeth had started to fall. My parents were out to visit my mother’s maiden home. I stayed back with my brother under the watchful eyes of my aunts and uncles.
I was wearing my pretty red “ghagra” I got as birthday gift and was dancing to my own tunes. Suddenly we were rushed inside the safest room of the house. The room was on side of the bamboo and trees next to the road. It seemed as if we were inside a war bunker hiding from enemies except in our case we were the helpless victims. We were facing the wrath, here the machine gun bullets of the so called ‘our protectors’. Gunshots could be heard firing from the hillock. There wasn’t any doubt who the culprits were. The sound was thundering, giving us all goose-bumps. A Mahar Regiment party was occupying the hillock at the time, we were told. Everyone was flat on the ground, most of us cramped under the two beds in L-shaped position. My father’s grandmother was not under the bed with us instead she was on the bed above us. She was securely tucked inside a huge blanket by my youngest aunt. She laid her head and half her body lightly above her so that if a stray bullet came that way she would be able to protect her grandmother and sacrifice herself.
It sounded like a fierce hailstorm as the “bullets shower” never seemed to stop. I was numb; only two thoughts crossed my mind. First of all I wondered where my parents were. The next thought looming in my mind was that it would be the last day of my life. In my mind’s eye I saw only one scene which was of gunmen breaking the tinned roof and killing us one by one. I don’t know how long the shootout lasted for but it seemed forever. Even a second was difficult to bear let alone a minute. During a ‘recess’ of the shootout, maybe they ran out of ammunitions. Anyway, at that time the phone rang and my uncle went crawling to pick up the phone. My parents had called up. We informed them how dreadful the situation was and warned them not to come back at the same time assuring that all was well. After the recess few sounds could be heard here and there but more or less it ceased. Soon our prayers and pleas to God bore fruit and the sound was not heard any longer. It was dead quiet like a grave for while. After waiting for few minutes we came out of our hiding places and stretched our cramped limbs. Oh! Yes. One of my aunts got stuck under the bed and she had to be pulled out. Moral of the story: Fat people are advised to slim down in places like Manipur. Jokes apart, a machine gun bullet was found inside the wall of the drawing room. It had probably entered through the tin roof and the false ceiling as holes were spotted later.
I never really got to know why the shootout took place. There were rumors here and there. For me it was an experience of a lifetime. It was then that I realized how lucky I was to be able to live after such a terrifying incident. It taught me the value of life and how it feels when my heart is in my mouth! 14th August 1995 will be in my mind all the time.
Though it happened over a decade ago it remains vivid in my mind. I can narrate it as though it happened a while ago. Somewhere in my heart a life long hatred for senseless violence was sealed by this particular incident. Though I know it is not fair to generalize, being a human being and a teenager who has just entered college life I cannot help but hate. Having experienced first hand this kind of spine chilling incident I guess hate is only a natural feeling especially if one cannot do anything to oppose and strike back.
By: Tanya Sana Rajkumari
Perched on top of the small hillock near my house are the Assam Rifles paramilitary forces. This hillock has been housing many such armed security forces for long. The small hillock was once a part of the sacred ‘Cheirau Ching’ hill, we are told. It is sacred because the Meiteis of Manipur climb the hill to pray on the New Year’s Day celebrated according to the Manipuri Lunar Calendar. The fun we had climbing the hill every year on that particular day is incomparable.
The hillock was separated from ‘Cheirau Ching’ to construct the existing National Highway Number 39. Incidentally this route happened to be the one I traveled the most.
My house is right next to the hillock. A bumpy ‘kachcha’ road runs parallel to the hill. On the eastern side of the hill is the temple of the Goddess Panthoibi. It is situated on a sacred platform shadowed by a majestic Peepul tree.
Number of trees and bamboos grew in our compound especially near the ‘kachcha’ road which connects the eastern with the western parts of the place. Variety of fruit trees grew and playing hide and seek was great fun as there were plenty of places, nooks and crannies to hide. I clearly remember the fruits I relished, plucked from those fruit trees. It ranged from mangoes, jamuns, guavas, berries, jackfruits, olives to papayas. Typical to the Northeastern region of India clusters of bamboo too grew on the side adjoining to the ‘road’. Sometimes hens from neighbors who let them out to be free during daytime would often come and lay eggs amongst the bamboo. I had a memorable twelve years of carefree childhood days filled with laughter albeit the disturbances in the region.
Speaking of disturbances there had been innumerable instances when the situation was pretty hard to deal with. Growing up in the 90s was tough. I feel lucky I attended schools outside the state when I was an adolescent. One incident stands out which was perhaps the most dangerous situation I ever came across. The incident took place in the mid-90s when my milk teeth had started to fall. My parents were out to visit my mother’s maiden home. I stayed back with my brother under the watchful eyes of my aunts and uncles.
I was wearing my pretty red “ghagra” I got as birthday gift and was dancing to my own tunes. Suddenly we were rushed inside the safest room of the house. The room was on side of the bamboo and trees next to the road. It seemed as if we were inside a war bunker hiding from enemies except in our case we were the helpless victims. We were facing the wrath, here the machine gun bullets of the so called ‘our protectors’. Gunshots could be heard firing from the hillock. There wasn’t any doubt who the culprits were. The sound was thundering, giving us all goose-bumps. A Mahar Regiment party was occupying the hillock at the time, we were told. Everyone was flat on the ground, most of us cramped under the two beds in L-shaped position. My father’s grandmother was not under the bed with us instead she was on the bed above us. She was securely tucked inside a huge blanket by my youngest aunt. She laid her head and half her body lightly above her so that if a stray bullet came that way she would be able to protect her grandmother and sacrifice herself.
It sounded like a fierce hailstorm as the “bullets shower” never seemed to stop. I was numb; only two thoughts crossed my mind. First of all I wondered where my parents were. The next thought looming in my mind was that it would be the last day of my life. In my mind’s eye I saw only one scene which was of gunmen breaking the tinned roof and killing us one by one. I don’t know how long the shootout lasted for but it seemed forever. Even a second was difficult to bear let alone a minute. During a ‘recess’ of the shootout, maybe they ran out of ammunitions. Anyway, at that time the phone rang and my uncle went crawling to pick up the phone. My parents had called up. We informed them how dreadful the situation was and warned them not to come back at the same time assuring that all was well. After the recess few sounds could be heard here and there but more or less it ceased. Soon our prayers and pleas to God bore fruit and the sound was not heard any longer. It was dead quiet like a grave for while. After waiting for few minutes we came out of our hiding places and stretched our cramped limbs. Oh! Yes. One of my aunts got stuck under the bed and she had to be pulled out. Moral of the story: Fat people are advised to slim down in places like Manipur. Jokes apart, a machine gun bullet was found inside the wall of the drawing room. It had probably entered through the tin roof and the false ceiling as holes were spotted later.
I never really got to know why the shootout took place. There were rumors here and there. For me it was an experience of a lifetime. It was then that I realized how lucky I was to be able to live after such a terrifying incident. It taught me the value of life and how it feels when my heart is in my mouth! 14th August 1995 will be in my mind all the time.
Though it happened over a decade ago it remains vivid in my mind. I can narrate it as though it happened a while ago. Somewhere in my heart a life long hatred for senseless violence was sealed by this particular incident. Though I know it is not fair to generalize, being a human being and a teenager who has just entered college life I cannot help but hate. Having experienced first hand this kind of spine chilling incident I guess hate is only a natural feeling especially if one cannot do anything to oppose and strike back.
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