We are from India

This is the only shot of anything remotely to do with the Armed Forces that I got over the eleven day period we were in Manipur. I had heard so much about the conflict in Manipur and I was eager to see; the conflict tourism factor I suppose. There were far too many moments when I wanted to take pictures of the presence of the army here, but I must admit that they made me nervous, at first, and then increasingly irritated, and I wanted to avoid them as much as possible. It was far too distressing to engage with them.
The Assam Rifles regiment is notorious in Manipur for their excesses, most commonly the rape of women, extortion, violence. None of them wear name-tags. All of them caress their AK 47s the way other men caress their genitals - in public, in full view and quite lovingly. I noticed some differences between the commandoes in the town of Imphal and up here in the hills. The men up here at checkpoints like these look bored. The ones down there look tense.

This was taken on our journey up from Ukhrul to the Changta SHIDO, just before we broke down at Kachai. Just in time before I could shoot anymore the Sergeant in charge came up to us and wanted all our details, looked over everything carefully. Anirban has traveled here extensively so he was quite relaxed and knew that most of these guys are from 'India' so lapsed into Hindi easily. The Sergeant was from Rajasthan, another guy from Ghaziabad, someone else from Indore. They were delighted with these Hindi speaking Indians but gave Tuisam the standard cold vacant stare reserved for locals. The North Indians point out one among them saying he is from the South and cant speak Hindi too well; Tamizh theriyuma Anirban says, the only words of Tamil he knows. Illa, Malayalam, the boy replies. Aah, I say. Malayalee, all the way up here in Ukhrul. You're so far away from home, boy. He shrugs.

So what do you do, the Sergeant wants to know.
Photographer, writer, NGO work, micro-finance, women. The answers are non-threatening, we are considered safe. We are from India. For the rest of that trip it was too alienating, embarrassing to be considered an Indian.

View from the Road

Tuisam, Che and Anirban. Che evoked far too much interest on this trip and I think he was one of the reasons we were looked over quite carefully.

Kachai Lunch Home

Kachai Lunch Home, originally uploaded by Maya Mem.

A photographer friend & colleague, Anirban, calls me one day and says 'do you want to go to Manipur?'
Of course, I say, always up for an adventure. There is very very little I know about the North East (and the money is good).
Day 1. Even before we begin our work, we break down in Kachai, a mere 10-15 km from where we have to go, but a journey that eventually takes too many hours up steep gradients on non-existent roads in a battered replacement jeep. We had to kill about four hours before the replacement showed up. It was unexpected, and only to be expected. An entirely charming afternoon sans cellphone signals. The local pastor and his family kindly invited us to a lunch of jungle fowl curry, sticky rice, and lightly steamed mustard leaves in their dark kitchen lit up by the afternoon sun.

Lemon Lolly

Lemon Lolly, originally uploaded by Maya Mem.

Post nap and still waiting for the replacement jeep, Ban, my photographer friend and colleague, suggested that we may be missing an opportunity to make lemonade. Kachai, we discover, is home to the famous Kachai Lemon and is the largest producer of lemons in the North East. "Travel story" Ban says, ever the businessman, his eyes shining; "interesting stories to tell from the rural North East are rare .... and consider all the great food here!".

We met Mr V. Tuime Lolly in a small roadside chai shop. Over oily pooris and chana masala he tells us of his life as a bank employee in Bombay in the 1980s. "I couldnt survive there. When you grow up in the hills, the city is a place where you yearn to breathe. My wife and I came back but my children love living in Delhi, Bombay, Bangalore." Mr and Mrs Lolly are now run a small rural agri-business training young people to be lemon farmers like themselves. They sell lemons and they make pickles and preserves as well. Here, Lolly shows us around an orchard, the late afternoon sun working its magic, the air heavy with the aroma of lemontree bark.