Of Imphal and Its Matam Matamgi Waafam

Imphal town has now two Shamumakhongs to flaunt—the one at Khwairamband Keithel and the recently built piece at the Bheigyachandra Open Air Theatre complex. Meanwhile, my own leikai has two community halls to flaunt too.

Manipur Masala presents the Imphal town and its matam matamgi waafam—a brief take on some irredeemable norms, some overtly visible, some covert, at various localities across the city.

The other day, out of curiosity, I asked a nephew, ‘Nang swa saaanaba heibra’. He replied, ‘Swa haisibu keino nene’.

I had to explain the rules and regulations of playing swa. I did share my experience of playing the game when we were kids. He was impressive with my explanation; it was obvious from how he was listening. He continued, ‘Nene swa si computer dei download touraga saanaba yagadro?’

I was quite amused by his innocent question but I was equally disturbed. I could not help greet myself — welcome to modern Manipur — where the kids no more play at the leikaigi lampak. Imphal Talkies’ Lullaby started humming as the background music on my mind and I sang along: ‘Te te tenawa kangleipaaki tenewa angaangna moonlaga tenwaana haraowi, uuuu... Una saaba nongmeini mana pangba makhoini’.

During our angaang oiringei days, we used to play all sorts of local games such as swa, u-paibi, amangbi, langri-taang and so on. Most of the kids in Imphal do not play these games anymore. What could be the reason for their indifference towards the local games?

Is it the rising trend of constructing community halls in each and every leikai which do not spare the leikaigi lampak where kids can play? Is it the fear psychosis on parents’ minds that their kids may be kidnapped while playing at a lampak, which eventually forbid their children from playing at the lampak? Is it the new-age syndrome of hainingai leitana chaokhatlaba Manipur? Obviously, the questions are varied though we have the same answer: ‘Khangde tourisey’.

Everybody can get the feel for the rising trend of using mobile phones and computers aka internet in our society. For instance, from school-going kids to keithel-fambi eney endol and aboks, having a mobile phone is a must these days. However, when it comes to the construction of more than two community halls in a single leikai, I have my own indigestive opinion. Of course, having a community hall in a locality is a must and it offers many benefits to many families in a leikai.

In a state like ours where thoudok-waathok and ushop-mela are frequently observed throughout the year, a community hall serves multiple benefits especially to those who do not have a proper shumaang. Also with the rising cost of Maantop khanba, community halls are an affordable option for many. However, having a single community hall in a leikai is enough. There is no logic behind constructing two community halls in a single leikai. Maybe the contractors have different opinions but nothing is certain these days.

Well, I have observed another trend in which one has to destroy something to build something else. A sign of modernity? Such is the case of sambhals being replaced by chekpals. Earlier, when we were kids, a sambhal was created just to fence an ingkhol from shaa-sun. In modern Manipur, especially in and around Imphal, sambhals are becoming cousins of the dinosaurs; meanwhile the chekpals are getting taller and taller each day. Besides the ingkhol khopchinbagi khatnaba and mindless nungsinadaba nature in the keirol-leikai, constructing a wall also means securing one’s family from miscreants (read extortionists whose population keep rising at an alarming rate).

As the walls get thickened with leikhom-leinaang over the years, memories of good old childhood days are also eventually fading away. We had our days of singju suraga chanaba, nungthilda chara waanminaba and leikai koinaba. Meanwhile for modern kids, computer games and cartoon characters are building a Random Access Memory on their mind.

I am not surprised by the very fact that most of my nephews and nieces do not have any idea about the local games we used to play as kids. At times, I wonder if I should start taking free tuition for kids to tincture innocent memories on their minds about their childhood days. Would not it be something innovative, eh?

This article was published on 8 Dec 2013

A Crumbling Memory of 'Shamu Makhong'

My granny had her tiny ‘potpham’ right beside Shamu Makhong, the most well-known landmark in the entire Kwairambandh Keithel. She used to sell mangal, chana, heingaan ladoo, heimaang matum and so on. As a child, visiting Kwairambandh Keithel with my mother was such an exciting experience, especially with this very anticipation of having ‘mayoms’ of mangal/ chana and my favourite heingaan-ladoo, often offered by ‘Keisampatki Abok’(my granny).

The nearer I would follow Mumma towards the Shamu Makhong to pay her a visit, the thuds in my heart would continuously grow with exhilaration. The crowd at Shamu Makhong used to excite me further. The ‘kwa mana’ selling non-Manipuris, the various wholesale shops of varieties of commodities, my granny’s fellow potpham fambi eney, endon and abok-like ladies, the hustle-bustles of the thronging crowd around those potphams — these are some vivid memories I often recall about the surroundings at Shamu Makhong. Sometimes, it would be yet another experience taking a close look at the unattended statue of Meidingu Bhagyachandra and his pitiable Shamu, and of course, the various posters blatantly pasted on it. My elders used to tell tales about how the great king caught the wild elephant and how in honour of his bravery the statue was created there, but I was least interested to find out the historical connotations. For me, that was one favourite spot for me in the entire Kwairambandh Keithel because that’s the very landmark, beside which my skinny granny had her ‘potpham’.

Last time, when I visited home and went to Kwairambandh Keithel, the nostalgia was inevitable. I saw the flyover, saw the renovated Shamu Makhong, the statue of Bhagyachandra was infact wearing a new paint, and his shamu was also repaired — though it has lost its charm. Now it is in such a pathetic state, there is no aesthetic value as such; possibly because of the flyover and in the increase in the level of the road. It looks just like another unremarkable construction, like a wall, rather than a landmark with historical importance. Needless to say, I felt no envy or happiness to see the renovated statue out there. I was also quite sad not to see my granny or her fellow potpham fambis around. I am not sure about others but to me this crumbling memory of Shamu Makhong somehow means a lot. The nostalgic nuance is perhaps playing its trick.

Well, there is now this newly built Ema Keithel. I did visit it once or twice during my last home trip. I don’t know why but I badly missed the essence of the same old Keithel. The women vendors looked more prosperous and swanky to me. It’s not that I wanted to see a distressed look on their faces, worried over poverty and shortage of monetary assistance. But as far as I remember the then Ema Keithel, I have vivid pictures on my mind of wrinkled faces beside dimly-lit podons/candles, who were in a hurry to head back home but were equally worried to find a discerned customer for the last mayom of maroi nakuppi.

The modern Ema Keithel flanks Kwairambandh Keithel and the view of the very Keithel from the flyover is quite endearing. I found out that the present Ema Keithel, with its East-Asian-inspired architecture is pretty decent. For the convenience of the potpham-fambi ladies, tubelights have replaced podons. There are also ceiling fans installed on the roofs. I really feel glad to know that those eney, endon or ema-like ladies will be protected from adverse weather conditions. But whenever I came across Shamu Makhong there was an agony in my heart. I kept glaring at the renovated statue. If I remember, the earlier unattended Shamu had a broken tail while this renovated one looks quite healthy, though with little value as a whole. And I just could not believe how much I missed the earlier statue at Shamu Makhong. Perhaps, it’s because a memory lane was almost demolished only to create a place that is less familiar with me for reasons more than one.

My granny is bedridden, and god knows, how long she will be among us. The last time I paid her a visit she showed signs of lost memory. It is ironical how with every ounce of her fading memory, my fondness for a place at Kwairambandh seems to fade away day by day. I will be homebound soon but I know I have lesser reasons to visit Kwairambandh Keithel, precisely because that’s not the same old place it used to be. I remember a quote by Sigmund Freud, the founding father of psychoanalysis, ‘A civilization which leaves so large a number of its participants unsatisfied and drives them into revolt neither has nor deserves the prospect of a lasting existence’. I partially agree with Freud though my perspective is confined to a particular spot at Imphal Sehar.

This article was published on 26 Aug 2012