https://www.gqindia.com/get-smart/content/why-manipurs-capital-imphal-is-indias-best-kept-cultural-secret
Soft rain enveloped my footsteps the first time I walked the streets of Imphal to meet Ronid (Akhu) Chingangbam. The 38-year-old musician dropped me an internet pin to reach his recording session in the haphazardly overbuilt neighbourhood of Khuyathong, but the location proved stubbornly elusive. When my phone buzzed “destination reached”, I found the entranceway forked threeways into dizzying stairwells. It was only after huffing up and down two of them that the Shallow River Studio finally revealed itself. One step across the threshold, and I was captivated by the instantly recognisable, wistful treble voice that had drawn me all the way across the country from my home in Goa. Back in 2012, Akhu first came to my attention via The Dewarists, the long-running MTV India series, pairing musical acts from around the world to create collaborative tracks. Episode 7 showcased an all-time favourite, the swaggering British electronica pioneers, Asian Dub Foundation. Right alongside their gut-pounding grooves was an unknown voice, singing lyrics unlike anything I’d ever heard before. This was the brilliantly surreal “Qutub Minar”, the story of a Manipuri who casually picks up the centuries-old iconic Delhi monument, and hefts it directly back home, “Please convey to Manmohan/When AFSPA is repealed/you can take back the Qutub Minar/Otherwise I will be on my own course/ Draped in a phanek I hope to install it at the Samu Makhong.” I turned to the internet to look for more, and wound up following closely as Akhu and his deliciously named band – Imphal Talkies and The Howlers – produced a long stream of stunning, original music rooted in both Manipuri and American folk music. In 2013, he released the gorgeous, searing “Lullaby”, featuring a chorus of young children reproaching everyone around them, “Your revolution has snatched away, my right to education”. The very next year, Akhu started the activist music and arts festival, Where Have All The Flowers Gone. (Earlier this year, its sixth edition drew 10,000 revellers to its gorgeous pastoral location.) In 2018, Akhu received an India Foundation for the Arts grant to explore his Meitei heritage across its diaspora, ranging far across state borders, and right into Bangladesh. That questing journey fuelled the creation of the extraordinary Ema gi Wari album. From the moment I heard its haunting, elegiac refrains, realisation dawned this was something entirely unexpected. Emerging from a jumbled-up urban sprawl on the distant eastern frontier of India, Imphal Talkies was making high art of utmost global significance. Very little about Manipur surfaces in the national consciousness, and when it does, it’s inevitably triggered by conflict. In fact, militant activity has dramatically abated over the past decade, although numerous groups still purport to represent Meitei, Naga, Kuki, Zomi, Hmar and Muslim interests. These can sometimes come across as absurd – earlier this year two Manipuris calling themselves “Chief Minister of Manipur State Council” and Minister of External Affairs and Defence of Manipur State Council” declared independence to the bemused London media, appealing directly to Queen Elizabeth II to accept their claims. Behind such colourful shenanigans lurks an unusually sordid tale of backstabbing and coercion, which remains obscure to most Indians, yet looms paramount in the mind of every Manipuri. That roller-coaster narrative picks up on August 11, 1947, when hereditary monarch Bodhchandra signed the “Standstill Agreement” ceding responsibility for defence, communication and external affairs to the soon-to-be-established government in New Delhi, while holding on to everything else. A constitution was established. Manipuris became the first South Asians to exercise the adult franchise, and elect their own government. That autonomous dawn was short-lived. In 1949, the king’s residence in Shillong was encircled by the Indian Army. In her outstanding, unexpectedly lyrical book 'Mother, Where’s My Country? Looking for Light in the Darkness of Manipur', journalist Anubha Bhonsle writes, “There was no stopping the conquistador this time… From being an independent kingdom that was making its transformation to a democracy, Manipur found itself relegated to the position of a C Category State of the Indian Union.” Intervening decades unfolded, mostly stricken and sorrowing. In 1958, President Rajendra Prasad approved what is now known as the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act, granting the military effectively unlimited rights in maintaining “public order” in “disturbed areas”. That designation eventually extended to the entirety of Manipur, provoking untold atrocities and spectacular protests, including the “world’s longest hunger strike” by the iconic symbol of resistance, Irom Sharmila. In 2004, under Chief Minister Ibobi Singh, the state unilaterally lifted AFSPA in much of its capital. Imphal began to breathe, and slowly opened up to the world. I wasn’t here when the real change began,” Akhu told me over delicious mouthfuls of singju (a classic Meitei snack made with vegetables and “ngari” or fermented fish) at Dweller Teas. We had come directly from the recording studio to this pleasant, open-fronted café, finding it jammed with stylish young Manipuris, in a mixture of modern and traditional clothes. Even as we walked in, I could hear Imphal Talkies playing on the sound system, and see several heads nodding along. With all eyes still on us, Akhu described how he’d left home in 1999 to study physics in Delhi, and eventually earned his doctorate in cosmology from the Jamia Milia University. Big city life provoked an intense awakening. Other students from the North-East introduced him to the beat generation of poets, and he was soon hooked to Allen Ginsberg. That led to Bob Dylan, whom he credits as “the door” to Woody Guthrie, and eventually Pete Seeger, the singer-songwriter whose lifelong commitment to environmental and anti-war causes resonated strongly with him, and remains a paramount inspiration. It was then that Akhu also encountered the masterly poetry and translations of Imphal-born, Shillong-based poet and academic Robin Ngangom, which “opened up a huge landscape. It gave me a sense of belonging, and made me realise that art, music and literature really can change the world.” His path was set, and after a brief postdoctoral stint in Thailand, he returned home in 2012, because “I felt it was time to tell my own stories, and Imphal has always been my main inspiration.” By then, Imphal was shape-shifting and its restless millennials seized upon the presence of this idealistic young musician as their role model. When the owner of Dweller Teas joined us at our table, 29-year-old Elizabeth Yamben – who returned home after working in investment banking in London and Singapore – told me Akhu was an ever-present inspiration, “a breath of fresh air”. She said, “This is a different city from the one I grew up in. Now it’s much more vibrant, open and collaborative. Young people are coming back and fighting to pursue their passions, and setting up all kinds of events and meet-ups to promote art, music, literature and local products. We are slowly building a community to support each other and grow together.” Identical sentiments were underlined by Richana Khumanthem, a 30-year-old NIFT graduate and passionate advocate of indigenous weaving. “During my childhood, thick bamboo groves and a natural pond at every house were a common sight,” she said, “but they’ve been replaced by rows and rows of buildings. Earlier, there was a huge brain drain. That’s being reversed. What seemed unrealistic then, appears quite possible today.” The desginer herself epitomises this new paradigm – in 2018, her subtle, gorgeous garments were the first to exclusively use handloom textiles to represent Manipur at the Lakmé Fashion Week in Mumbai. Three days into my trip, serendipity deposited Easterine Kire (from Nagaland), Mamang Dai (Arunachal Pradesh), Mitra Phukan (Assam) and other great writers from the region, at the same hotel I was staying at. This happenstance was the first edition of the irresistibly sincere Ukiyo Literature Festival, hosted by a tiny bookstore that has become a cultural magnet for the city. I had been taken there by Akhu – it’s also where I bought Anubha Bhonsle’s book – and immediately fell in love with its eclectic mix of world literature and regional writers. It had felt quite hard to reconcile that light-filled bibliophilic haven with the dark, powerful imagery that filled the pages of the books occupying its own Manipur shelves. You said, you didn’t regret how ethnic cleansers had palmed your newly-built home off on a people well on their trail back to pure blood, you didn’t mind leaving behind objects of desire you had collected over twenty-five years, or, how you came to live in a rented room with your wife and your children in dog-eat-dog Imphal, among the callous tribe I call my own. from “Poem for Joseph”, Robin Ngangom A day after he showed up, Ngangom took me for dinner at Forage, which radiates trendiness, sports manga-inspired art on its walls, and touts local brand kombucha. Gesturing around this space expansively to take in its clientele, Ngangom told me, “In all these years that I’ve been writing about Imphal and Manipur, these kinds of evenings out were unthinkable.” By then, the distinguished poet was visibly delighting in his return to the transformed city of his youth, and took the opportunity to roam around as much as possible. On the day he left, he knocked on my door to present me with a local pineapple, which turned out to be the best I’ve ever eaten in my life. Back home, 3,000 kilometres away, across the breadth of India, I co-founded and co-curate the Goa Arts & Literature Festival along with the eminent Konkani writer, Damodar Mauzo. I was reminded of our dramatically simple beginnings upon encountering what the utterly charming 20-somethings Martin Thokchom and Parul Tayenjam created with Ukiyo’s first edition. Here were two young people driven by old-fashioned conviction that literature matters, and their wonderfully eclectic invitee list – like the children’s book author Devangana Dash and the versatile novelist/translator/poet Jerry Pinto – was based on who they loved to read. Everywhere I turned at the Ukiyo Litfest, I met another smiling, high-energy young Manipuri brimming over with appreciation for the directions Imphal Talkies had inspired them to take. The intense, thoughtful activist Kumam Davidson – who gained considerable notoriety for his 2016 essay “Why I Wore Phanek To The Delhi Queer Pride” – surprised me by crediting Akhu for wearing the talismanic Manipuri women’s garment in public first, “that made it a little bit safer for me.” The founder of Ukiyo Bookstore, Martin Thokchom went further, “I remember the impact his first album had. Me and my friends knew the lyrics to all of Akhu’s songs, and we sang along every time they were played. I always felt he was much more than just a singer. He walks the walk, and is the voice of our generation. We’re lucky to have someone like him.” I conveyed all these heartfelt sentiments to Akhu, as we drove outside the city for the first time, on my last day in Imphal. Pocket-sized villages gave way to manicured fields rimmed in the distance by blue-green hills. He smiled, then grew more serious, saying “everyone says – and it is true – that Imphal has changed a lot, but other things have remained constant – corruption, militarisation, hypocrisy. There are many promising youngsters who are creating jobs and better work cultures, and they seem to be doing well. But what about the working class, who have suffered so much? I want our people to grow in every aspect, for everyone, because this place has suffered so much in the past.” By now it was late evening, and the sun hung low. We sped into burnished gold and russet, the paradisiacal landscape of the Manipur valley. Long moments of perfect silence, then Akhu sat up and fiddled with the stereo. On came the familiar guitar line. He closed his eyes and sang with great feeling from Ema gi Wari. Fears of fragmentation of our land But beyond the nine hills hope and belief in unity Though torn apart decades ago May we be united once again Beyond these boundaries are stories of you and me The red sun will rise in the sky yet again We shall be together in mother’s fold. Why Manipurʼs capital is Indiaʼs best-kept cultural secret