'Women play a crucial role in ushering in change in their communities'
By Anuja Agrawal

'How did such a strong woman living in a nondescript corner of Manipur emerge as such a pillar of strength?'
By Anjulika Thingnam

'I was fed throughout my stay on the farm on homegrown vegetables plucked right before my eyes'
By Aparna Pallavi

'After a day in the saltpans, I can never again think of white as a "cool" colour'
By Geeta Seshu

'Despite the worry that another tsunami could strike, the people here are moving on'
By Hema Vijay

'Where is the rest of the rice? The question kept nagging me'
By Linda Chhakchhuak

'The lyrics acquire a personal meaning for the young boy singing so earnestly'
By Manipadma Jena

'Here I was before a woman who was resilient enough to emerge unscathed every time she was attacked'
By Manisha Prakash

'Seeing the scene I was transported back to the 70s and 80s, when the women's movement was blossoming'
By Nirupama Dutt

'If the women refuse to sell fish, the men would be at a loss'
By  Prakriiti Gupta

'They had not become politicians even though they held a political office'
By  Soma Mitra Mukherjee

'She may look like any other ordinary woman but her achievements are not ordinary' By  Shuriah Niazi

'What was even more amazing was that almost everyone stopped to greet her and touch her feet'
By Swapna Majumdar

'There was no false modesty or shame about displaying the use of a female condom'
By  Tarannum Manjul

'It is a swim upstream every day for these women'
By  Usha Turaga-Revelli

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'How did such a strong woman living in a nondescript corner of Manipur emerge as such a pillar of strength?' By Anjulika Thingnam

Writing for the Care-WFS fellowship has been an eventful experience for me, and I am particularly glad to be given a chance to relate the story behind the stories!

Take the story I did on Sunibala. I first heard about her through a newspaper report and later from her lawyer. He told me that she was in trouble because her husband's family did not want her to stay on in her husband's house. I then hired a van with a few friends and made my way to Sunibala's place in the Nongpok Sekmai area, which is on the extreme periphery of the Manipur valley to the east and is notorious for its underground activities.

Finally, I managed to make contact with Sunibala and we started talking. Soon afterwards, an old man walked in - he turned out to be Sunibala's brother-in-law. He was followed by a youth. When the two men persisted in hanging around, I must confess I felt a bit intimidated, especially since Sunibala's relations with her husband's family are far from cordial. Expecting the worst, we packed up hurriedly and left the place.

Two weeks later, I went back -- in the same hired van but with two male cousins as escorts. The road we took to Nongpok Sekmai passes through a small hill range known as the Pechu Hills. When we reached Pechu village, at the foot of the hills, we learnt that the roads were blocked by the army due to a bomb alert. We waited at a small teashop for nearly half an hour and then decided to take a detour, albeit a long one, to reach Sunibala's house. We landed there two hours later.

I had just started talking to her when an army jeep drew up at her gate and inquired about our van parked outside. When I went to clarify matters, an army officer asked me to accompany him to the BSF camp. Here a small group of officers asked me who I was, what organization I wrote for why I happened to be in that area. They kept me there for about an hour, engaging me in small talk laced with observations about the futility of Manipur's insurgency movement. They also gave me tea -which was of course welcome. In the end, an officer revealed that he had checked out on my identity with his sources in the local press. I felt my gall rising at this, but still managed a smile. "Bhaiya, this is not fair. I told you who I was and you still felt the need to check up on me. Can't you trust your own guest?" I asked.

Anyway, after this things went smoothly. We went back to Sunibala's house, ate the lunch she kept ready for us, and heard her amazing story. As for the bomb, well there was some truth to the suspicion that militants had planted one in the area.

Then there was Thoibi who lives in Thoubal. I had heard about her before I actually met her. When people spoke of her, they would shake their heads in admiration and tell you how she had first spoken about herself on a public stage.

I decided to drive the 30 kilometres to Thoubal -- most of it through lonely countryside -- on my two-wheeler by myself. It was long drive but worth the experience. The roads in Imphal are really bad, with potholes everywhere, but driving through the countryside proved to be a welcome break.

As Thoibi began to relate her story, she came across as a strong woman. Cocooned in the privacy of her room, she started telling me aspects of her life which, according to her, she had even forgotten. "You have made my heart tender again," she told me, wiping away her tears. The very next moment she was up on her feet, attending to various tasks. This one came across as a natural survivor.

I knew Najma, who lives in Santhel, for nearly a year, having met her at various gender related programmes and rallies. But it was only recently that I had come to realise the great significance of her work or how she had single-handedly opposed restrictions placed on her by her husband and the local maulvis.

Najma, obviously, had emerged as a resource for local women besieged by a variety of problems. How did such a strong woman living in a nondescript corner of Manipur emerge as such a pillar of strength? That was why I wanted to listen to Najma's story and write about it. Meeting her turned out to be a delightful, enriching experience.

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