No one has seen it in 50 years, because this hill is the site of Assam Rifles Barracks. I caught a glimpse of the monument from the foot of the hill, and asked a student if I could go up there.

"Perhaps you can. You are not from here," he said. I asked him if he had ever been up there, or knew anyone who had. "Oh no!" he said, "They wouldn't let us through. They are scared of us you see." They are scared of you? "Yes. Anyone of us could turn an insurgent at any time, that's what they think. They don't know whom to trust. So they are scared of all of us."

Then he added as an afterthought - "and we are scared of them. Because they are the ones with the guns." As we drove around the city that day, I noticed that almost every little hill in the valley now had barracks atop it. And this mutual game of fear reverberated through the city.

Everyone looked upon everyone else with suspicion. Violence, murder, gunfire... was hanging off every moment, ready to burst upon you at any given time. It is officially against the law here for more than four people to stand together and have a discussion.

God knows what you are talking about, in what code, what you are planning, what it could lead to... everyone is under suspicion all the time. We wanted at one point of time to have a silent candlelight march, but couldn't because we needed permission for it.

Things we take for granted in Delhi... if you want to protest, go to Jantar Mantar and scream and shout and sing and light candles and protest your heart out. Here, we silently lit just three candles in the inauguration puja done by Sharmila's mother, as our own little subversive gesture.

That evening we went to visit the Princess of Manipur, M K Binodini Devi, daughter of King Churachand Singh, the last king of Manipur.

While we made these mental calculations in our head, she got up from her resting place and came to receive us. She walked in like the model picture of elegance. Touching 80, she walked onto the veranda like a breath of fresh air, radiating elegance, and the classic good looks one associates with Snow White or Sleeping Beauty.

Wearing a peach coloured phanek and a deep beige Pashmina shawl that covered her silky white hair, she wore the vaishnav tika on her forehead, and walked like a princess. She daintily shook hands with us all and then sat down, to give us an audience.

Binodini Devi is a remarkable woman. A Padma Shree and Sahitya Kala Academy winner, she is also the first lady of Manipuri feminism and the women's literary movement. She was a girl of six when her father signed the papers merging Manipur with India.

She spoke to us about her days in school at Shantiniketan where she first formed her first bonds of undying friendship with Mahashweta Devi. She spoke fondly of her closest friend, and as I was looking at her face, and thinking of Mahashweta Devi now, I started to imagine the two frail old ladies as two sparkling young girls that they were, running through the fields and corridors of their school, under the watchful eye of Rabindranath Tagore.

There was a living piece of history sitting in front of me right now! She spoke about the stories she had written, about being a Meira Paibi, and being a royal dedicated to her people. She spoke of her latest project - the memoirs of her father.

He died a very sad man she told us, because he was never able to do anything he truly wanted to do for his people. She seemed tired and it was getting cold, so we asked her leave. But before we left, she acquised to let us take one picture with her. And so we did!

It was the Princess who introduced us to the wonderful world of Manipuri bamboo products, and textiles. We were fascinated with everything in her house, and she had a whole pile of different-different bamboo baskets that she had recently acquired.

She gave us the addresses and the next day we were off shopping! We found our way to Ima market, and also discovered that the easiest way to get anywhere here is to walk. Ima means 'mother' and Ima market is a women's market exclusively, where only women are allowed to own shops.

And it is huge! With more than 3,000 women working here, this market is unique. Immediately, we were surrounded by columns upon columns of colourful fabric. I am quite the handloom freak, but I had never seen these styles before.

The Meitei Phanek is a long fabric in two pieces, which needs to be stitched together and made into a wrap around ankle length skirt. It has horizontal stripes all over, mostly of vivid colours.

Girls were wearing this with funky short T-shirts. They would drape a shawl or Moirang phi over it... again funky colour combinations - mauve and fluorescent green, sky blue and burnt orange, maroon and hot pink... they were simply beautiful!

We went crazy and spent all our money there! The women there got very friendly with us, though we couldn't talk to each other - they didn't speak Hindi and we didn't speak Manipuri. We communicated through a spattering of English and lots of sign language. Still, it was fun to sit with them and drink tea, and listen to them talk to each other, obviously about us.

They don't get many tourists there, and everyone knew we were different. But the women of Ima Market took us in with open arms and a big smile. On one occasion we got separated and lost, and so I went to wait for the others at a common point.

I was waiting there for quite a while, and the potter woman offered me a pot of tea and spoke to me at length in broken English and sign language, telling me about her wastrel husband, and her daughter who is studying in Delhi. We also experienced the flip side of this.

There was a young girl who was sent with us to the market, basically to ensure that we didn't get overpriced, and she seemed friendly enough to begin with. But as the hours progressed she became more and more edgy and fidgety, rushing us along from shop to shop.

"Why are you rushing us?" we finally asked her. She didn't say anything at first, and then finally told us "I don't want to be seen with you for too long. They (the underground) are watching us. They might get the wrong idea if they see me too friendly with you (as in 'you Indians'). I'm only a young girl you see..." She soon left us to ourselves in the market, and we didn't meet her again.

Everyone in the market talked about Sharmila like their own daughter. They told us that when all this is over, and she breaks her fast, then at least one grain in her first bowl of rice would be from their house. We met Sharmila's mother, Irom Shakhi, at the exhibition.

She was representing Sharmila and even did a little puja as an inauguration for us. Then, to our surprise and utter delight, Sharmila's mother and extended family invited us to their home to eat traditional Manipuri food with them.

And so we trooped down in two carloads for an evening with Sharmila's family. Food was laid out by the women of the house in the outdoor veranda floor, on banana leaves.

A huge pile of sticky rice, with Iromba (fermented fish ant fermented bamboo shoots!) was the main dish. There were other fish delicacies (small dried fish that you eat whole, spicy curried fish, even a chutney of fish entails!), a salad and a Dal preparation, all cooked with local herbs. (Sorry- I can neither pronounce nor remember their names, and they defy transcription in English!)

The food there is super spicy. And it didn't taste like the mirchi spicy; I'm not sure how they spice their food, but man! it burns up the esophagus! The whole time I was in Manipur, we primarily ate a lot of fish and rice.

to be continued.....

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5