Journey beyond fear: My visit to Manipur
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N Pideno
The day my husband received a call from Manipur for duty, I felt a deep sense of apprehension. In recent years, the news from the State has often been troubling, reports of communal clashes, villages burned and reduced to ashes, and schools and colleges forced to suspend their activities. Travelling there seemed unsettling, especially amid tensions largely involving the Meitei and the Kuki-Zo communities.
On that very day, I also heard of fresh clashes in one of the district. We thought long and hard about the journey. After many conversations with our Manipuri friends and colleagues, I finally decided to travel with my husband. I accompanied him because I was afraid to send him alone. The stories and reports I had heard made me anxious, and I could not find peace of mind staying behind. At the same time, I had never been to Manipur before, and a part of me was curious to see Imphal with my own eyes.
I imagined that, after years of communal clashes, Manipur would be left in a state of irreversible damage - a land marked by widespread destruction, shattered buildings, and broken systems. I pictured critical services collapsing, water and electricity failing, sanitation disrupted, transportation paralyzed, a chain reaction that would leave communities exposed, displaced, and struggling to rebuild their lives. In my mind, such devastation would surely cripple the local economy and leave deep, lasting scars on society.
Thus began our journey, we drove along the long, serpentine roads of Nagaland, winding hill roads tracing ridge lines and valley contours, marked by sharp bends, steep gradients, and narrow stretches. Yet, despite the terrain, the journey was smooth, the road conditions far better than I had expected. Gradually, the roads widened into strong two-lane highways, broad enough to suggest even greater expansion in the future. As we moved closer to Imphal, the landscape began to transform.
Manipur was nothing like I had imagined it to be. The image I had formed - shaped by alarming news reports and unreliable accounts, was of a place overwhelmed by fear, destruction, and uncertainty. I expected silence, instability, and visible signs of a society struggling to function.
Yet, what I encountered was far more complex and human. Beyond the headlines and distorted narratives, there was movement, resilience, and everyday life continuing with quiet determination. The reality of Manipur could not be reduced to fragments of conflict shown in the news; it revealed a deeper truth, that places and people are often far stronger, calmer, and more enduring than how they are portrayed from a distance.
The plains of Manipur opened into a breathtaking panorama, a wide, fertile valley encircled by blue-green hills, forming a natural basin. Along the roadside, clusters of villages alternated with open green stretches and cultivated land. On the valley floor, terrace fields and vegetable gardens spread across the landscape, carefully shaped by generations of farmers. During the growing season, the fields shimmered in varying shades of green, dotted with farmers, irrigation channels, and seasonal crops. Bamboo groves, small homesteads, and scattered trees blended gently into the agricultural scenery. Morning mist rested softly on the surrounding hills, while rivers and streams quietly nourished the plains, making the journey both refreshing and unforgettable.
Given the history of tension, I had expected fear to dominate everyday life-deserted streets, silent markets, and people hesitant to step outside. Yet reality revealed something very different. Markets were lively, vendors traded as usual, farmers worked in their fields, and daily routines continued. Social life had not stopped; instead, it quietly persisted. Ordinary people displayed remarkable resilience, carrying on with dignity and determination, as if refusing to let conflict define their lives.
Still, along the roads of Imphal, another reality was visible. The soldiers of the Indian Army patrolled tirelessly, their presence steady yet marked by strain. Their faces reflected exhaustion, vigilance, and the heavy responsibility of guarding peace in uncertain conditions. In them, I saw the silent burden carried by those who stand between tension and order.
In that moment, I sensed a profound contrast—the resilience of civilians continuing their daily lives, and the quiet weight borne by those protecting them. Beneath the valley’s colour and rhythm lay a fragile calm, sustained by endurance and courage.
As the journey continued, I was struck by how rapidly Manipur seemed to be progressing. The roads were smooth and well-maintained, clear signs of development. Everywhere there was a natural sense of order. Vehicles moved calmly, drivers waited patiently at traffic lights, and there was no unnecessary honking, only a steady, disciplined flow. Even in busy areas, people showed restraint and respect for rules, reflecting a strong civic sense.
In those simple roadside moments, I realised that education here is reflected not only in institutions, but in behaviour, patience, and mutual respect. Development was visible not just in infrastructure, but in the composed rhythm of everyday life, in the silence at red lights, in patience behind the wheel, and in the shared understanding that order benefits all. Through this journey, I did not see only roads and towns improving; I witnessed the quiet strength, dignity, and thoughtful spirit of the people of Manipur.
To the people of Manipur, I offer my deepest respect. Your resilience in the face of hardship, your quiet bravery in uncertain times, and your determination to carry on with dignity are truly admirable. Life continues not because challenges are absent, but because you choose strength over fear and hope over despair.
The steady development visible across the land does not happen on its own. Behind it, there are dedicated hands and tireless efforts, individuals and institutions working patiently, often unseen, to rebuild, restore, and move society forward. Their commitment, together with the courage of ordinary people, shapes the path toward stability and progress. It is this spirit of endurance and collective effort that leaves a lasting impression and inspires deep respect.
Manipur today stands at a delicate crossroads, shaped by recent conflict, yet sustained by remarkable resilience. What emerges beyond the headlines is not a portrait of collapse, but of continuity, citizens determined to preserve normalcy, institutions striving to restore confidence, and security forces working to maintain order amid strain.
The State’s valley and villages tell a quieter story than the one often broadcast, a story of endurance, civic discipline, and steady progress. Its challenges are real, and reconciliation remains essential. Yet so too is the spirit that keeps markets open, fields cultivated, and daily life moving forward.
Manipur’s future will depend not only on resolving tensions, but on strengthening the trust, inclusion, and shared purpose that bind its diverse communities together. If resilience is any indication, the foundations for that future are already firmly in place.
What I discovered was very different from what I had imagined. Instead of fear, I saw resilience. Instead of chaos, I witnessed people going about their lives with quiet strength and dignity. The city of Imphal, with its everyday rhythm, showed me that beyond the disturbing headlines, there are ordinary people striving for peace, stability, and progress.
This journey was not only about accompanying my husband; it became a journey of understanding, courage, and respect for the people of Manipur.
The writer can be reached at [email protected]
The day my husband received a call from Manipur for duty, I felt a deep sense of apprehension. In recent years, the news from the State has often been troubling, reports of communal clashes, villages burned and reduced to ashes, and schools and colleges forced to suspend their activities. Travelling there seemed unsettling, especially amid tensions largely involving the Meitei and the Kuki-Zo communities.
On that very day, I also heard of fresh clashes in one of the district. We thought long and hard about the journey. After many conversations with our Manipuri friends and colleagues, I finally decided to travel with my husband. I accompanied him because I was afraid to send him alone. The stories and reports I had heard made me anxious, and I could not find peace of mind staying behind. At the same time, I had never been to Manipur before, and a part of me was curious to see Imphal with my own eyes.
I imagined that, after years of communal clashes, Manipur would be left in a state of irreversible damage - a land marked by widespread destruction, shattered buildings, and broken systems. I pictured critical services collapsing, water and electricity failing, sanitation disrupted, transportation paralyzed, a chain reaction that would leave communities exposed, displaced, and struggling to rebuild their lives. In my mind, such devastation would surely cripple the local economy and leave deep, lasting scars on society.
Thus began our journey, we drove along the long, serpentine roads of Nagaland, winding hill roads tracing ridge lines and valley contours, marked by sharp bends, steep gradients, and narrow stretches. Yet, despite the terrain, the journey was smooth, the road conditions far better than I had expected. Gradually, the roads widened into strong two-lane highways, broad enough to suggest even greater expansion in the future. As we moved closer to Imphal, the landscape began to transform.
Manipur was nothing like I had imagined it to be. The image I had formed - shaped by alarming news reports and unreliable accounts, was of a place overwhelmed by fear, destruction, and uncertainty. I expected silence, instability, and visible signs of a society struggling to function.
Yet, what I encountered was far more complex and human. Beyond the headlines and distorted narratives, there was movement, resilience, and everyday life continuing with quiet determination. The reality of Manipur could not be reduced to fragments of conflict shown in the news; it revealed a deeper truth, that places and people are often far stronger, calmer, and more enduring than how they are portrayed from a distance.
The plains of Manipur opened into a breathtaking panorama, a wide, fertile valley encircled by blue-green hills, forming a natural basin. Along the roadside, clusters of villages alternated with open green stretches and cultivated land. On the valley floor, terrace fields and vegetable gardens spread across the landscape, carefully shaped by generations of farmers. During the growing season, the fields shimmered in varying shades of green, dotted with farmers, irrigation channels, and seasonal crops. Bamboo groves, small homesteads, and scattered trees blended gently into the agricultural scenery. Morning mist rested softly on the surrounding hills, while rivers and streams quietly nourished the plains, making the journey both refreshing and unforgettable.
Given the history of tension, I had expected fear to dominate everyday life-deserted streets, silent markets, and people hesitant to step outside. Yet reality revealed something very different. Markets were lively, vendors traded as usual, farmers worked in their fields, and daily routines continued. Social life had not stopped; instead, it quietly persisted. Ordinary people displayed remarkable resilience, carrying on with dignity and determination, as if refusing to let conflict define their lives.
Still, along the roads of Imphal, another reality was visible. The soldiers of the Indian Army patrolled tirelessly, their presence steady yet marked by strain. Their faces reflected exhaustion, vigilance, and the heavy responsibility of guarding peace in uncertain conditions. In them, I saw the silent burden carried by those who stand between tension and order.
In that moment, I sensed a profound contrast—the resilience of civilians continuing their daily lives, and the quiet weight borne by those protecting them. Beneath the valley’s colour and rhythm lay a fragile calm, sustained by endurance and courage.
As the journey continued, I was struck by how rapidly Manipur seemed to be progressing. The roads were smooth and well-maintained, clear signs of development. Everywhere there was a natural sense of order. Vehicles moved calmly, drivers waited patiently at traffic lights, and there was no unnecessary honking, only a steady, disciplined flow. Even in busy areas, people showed restraint and respect for rules, reflecting a strong civic sense.
In those simple roadside moments, I realised that education here is reflected not only in institutions, but in behaviour, patience, and mutual respect. Development was visible not just in infrastructure, but in the composed rhythm of everyday life, in the silence at red lights, in patience behind the wheel, and in the shared understanding that order benefits all. Through this journey, I did not see only roads and towns improving; I witnessed the quiet strength, dignity, and thoughtful spirit of the people of Manipur.
To the people of Manipur, I offer my deepest respect. Your resilience in the face of hardship, your quiet bravery in uncertain times, and your determination to carry on with dignity are truly admirable. Life continues not because challenges are absent, but because you choose strength over fear and hope over despair.
The steady development visible across the land does not happen on its own. Behind it, there are dedicated hands and tireless efforts, individuals and institutions working patiently, often unseen, to rebuild, restore, and move society forward. Their commitment, together with the courage of ordinary people, shapes the path toward stability and progress. It is this spirit of endurance and collective effort that leaves a lasting impression and inspires deep respect.
Manipur today stands at a delicate crossroads, shaped by recent conflict, yet sustained by remarkable resilience. What emerges beyond the headlines is not a portrait of collapse, but of continuity, citizens determined to preserve normalcy, institutions striving to restore confidence, and security forces working to maintain order amid strain.
The State’s valley and villages tell a quieter story than the one often broadcast, a story of endurance, civic discipline, and steady progress. Its challenges are real, and reconciliation remains essential. Yet so too is the spirit that keeps markets open, fields cultivated, and daily life moving forward.
Manipur’s future will depend not only on resolving tensions, but on strengthening the trust, inclusion, and shared purpose that bind its diverse communities together. If resilience is any indication, the foundations for that future are already firmly in place.
What I discovered was very different from what I had imagined. Instead of fear, I saw resilience. Instead of chaos, I witnessed people going about their lives with quiet strength and dignity. The city of Imphal, with its everyday rhythm, showed me that beyond the disturbing headlines, there are ordinary people striving for peace, stability, and progress.
This journey was not only about accompanying my husband; it became a journey of understanding, courage, and respect for the people of Manipur.
The writer can be reached at [email protected]