Manipur
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sanjoy hazarika is Managing trustee, Centre for North east studies and Policy Research, a former correspondent of New York Times and an author. he is also the Chairman of the task Force to promote educational opportunities from the north-east. sanjoy chose to write on manipur, as “it is perhaps the most complex, tortured and haunted society in the region, hurt and hurting, but also home to wonderful, outspoken, courageous, creative and gracious people, inhabiting a rich humanscape and land. this is where some of my best friends live and work, some of my most memorable experiences are located.”
Sporting days in Imphal
At his little wedge of sanity, creativity and energy in a part of imphal, the Manipuri capital, behind a small moat, Ratan thiyam prepares for yet another performance. the legendary playwright has set up an elegant theatre and multi-space area, Chorus Repertory theatre, his unique creation where he can hold workshops and his artistes can train, meditate, walk, talk and live.
When i think of writers in Manipur, as an outsider in Manipur and yet a north-eastern insider, an Assamese, i do not immediately, think of their brilliant authors, historians, social analysts and novelists. But i think of their playwrights and film makers, whose work draws huge audiences. their materials are studied and revered both by generations of theatre lovers as well as students of literature and ordinary people who love the power of their language, the felicity of wordsmiths born out of a deep understanding of the political chasms and confrontations they face on a daily basis, and the choices which need to be made just to survive.
time and again, as i travel though the tragically beautiful valleys, hills and plains of my home state and of its neighbours, i am reminded of a single sentence, from a long rambling conversation with the elegant cultural icon, as he sipped a cup of light, amber coloured tea. small leaves plucked from a lemon tree outside the window of the room where we were sitting floated on the tea, giving a heavenly sweet-lemony aroma.
“Where there are no public parks or playgrounds, where will the children play?” that statement could only have come from a human being of acute sensitivity, not just to his immediate surroundings but infused with a sense of history and the weight of personal and shared experiences. in imphal town young lovers, desperate for some meaningful time, meet in the solitude of the mornings at the Commonwealth War Graves Memorial, which celebrates valour and death.
A few years later, Manipur held its first National Games, where they honoured sportspersons from across the country competing in their land. Despite continuing clashes, hope rises from the Games…Where there are playgrounds, the players excel, underlining the prescience of that simple but remarkable sentence, which touched the human chord for peace and excellence.
the power of open competition, with rivals armed only with their skills, has the potential to unleash change: it is seen in the boxer Mary Kom, the archers and weightlifters from the state and elsewhere, and the footballers from Mizoram and Manipur (bridging the Naga-Meitei divide) as well as Meghalaya who are firmly established in india’s top professional football teams.
A Manipuri in New York, a curator of exhibitions, has been leading an effort to popularise baseball (of all things) among the youth. And in neighbouring Nagaland, a step away and yet so distant, they take to the football field as the leader of the reconciliation process, a tough-playing pastor, runs circles around the not so trim guerrilla and political leaders. Without guns, without playgrounds, and even without permanent peace, all children can play—perhaps, just perhaps, that prophecy and philosophy of Ratan thiyam could at last be coming true.