Postcards from Manipur

The author looks beyond the bandhs and discovers Imphal's floating islands and a bustling traditional market

It's a cloudy morning. I step into a shaky dugout clutching an umbrella in one hand and a bunch of lotuses in the other. The boat, slim as a kayak, lurches alarmingly as I crawl up to the central plank, my designated seat. Behind me, the boatman is standing nonchalantly - not a mean feat given that the boat is just about as stable as a log in a stream - as we set off into the water. An island covered in lilies floats past, then another, as if in a dream. A fisherwoman casts a net, and in my boat, a fish jumps in with a plop.

This is Manipur's Loktak Lake - Northeast's largest freshwater lake known for its phumdis floating islands, comprising vegetation, soil and organic matter in various stages of decomposition. As the boatman navigates the waters past the phumdis, a cool breeze picks up. It's a shame, for I have barely an hour on the boat before boarding the flight back to Delhi. As we float peacefully on the lake, I find myself thinking about my experiences in Imphal, a city I've revisited after decades.

The Imphal of my memory is emerald-tinged with rice paddies, a verdant bowl surrounded by misty mountains. Today, however, it has grown into an unremarkable, unprepossessing city with little urban planning and scant regard for Manipur's traditional architecture and lifestyle. It's trademark Likhais - tightly knit neighbourhoods that function like self-contained villages - still remain, though. On an early morning walk through an old neighbourhood, away from the dusty main road, I had peeped unabashedly into traditional houses next to the nullahs, each with their own private bridges leading to the front door. The soft, silky sarongs that ladies here wear seemed like the perfect gifts to carry back, but a bandh the next day, put paid to my plans of shopping.

The phumdis (floating islands) in Loktak lake, Northeast’s largest freshwater lake

The next day, the entire city was at a standstill. Relaxing in the gardens of The Giving Tree, the wonderful homestay that friends had recommended to me, I wondered how the state's economy weathers these economic blockades and bandhs. The only way to find out was by spending time at the Ima Market, the nerve centre of Imphal's commerce. As soon as the enforced unofficial curfew had been lifted, I went there, and was immediately lost.

This bustling bazaar is a unique Manipuri institution run only by women. It sells everything - from fermented dried fish, bamboo shoot (local delicacies both) and fresh vegetables to handwoven textiles and baskets of all sorts. Rows of Imas, as mothers are called in Manipuri, sat in orderly rows selling unfamiliar looking vegetables. Varieties of greens dominated, many of them soaked in tubs to emulate the marshy habitat in which they grow. A popular item on sale was the oddly shaped lotus bulb, from which locals pop seeds for a convenient daytime snack. The baskets, especially some oblong ones that people dip into rice paddies to catch fish, entranced me.

Time flies in the Ima Market. I realised it was time to go when the hot sun made me a little lightheaded. In Manipur, people never step out without umbrellas, my host had said, handing me one. Instead, I looked longingly at the spiffy conical cane hats worn by farmers there. I tried one on, but the Imas's giggles make me realise that perhaps it wasn't the most flattering look. Instead, I bought a couple of tiny pineapples, for which the state is famous, to have after dinner.

Ima Market in Imphal, which is popular for dried fish and fresh vegetables

Evenings in Imphal are cool, breezy and perfect to sit outdoors. Over the croaking of countless frogs (since Imphal is predominantly marshy, frogs and other amphibians are everywhere), I had decided on a quick visit to Loktak Lake before I caught my flight. The endless paddy fields, glistening like mirrors, farmers wading through them to catch fish and trap edible snails, the lilies and lotuses in bloom everywhere - I found myself taking mental snapshots of everything as we neared the lake.

Back on the boat and in the present, I find myself wishing for the time I don't have. The floating islands seem to be in eternal, peaceful motion, and it seems incomprehensible that this serene land has seen such bloody strife for the last five decades. It's finally time to go, and as the plane takes off, I get a last glimpse of Loktak Lake. Then clouds obscure it all, but I know I'll always carry images of Manipur in my head, like imagined postcards from a faraway land.