Everybody was in a hurry. As the Sun signalled the end of the day by racing to hide behind the Ngaprum Chingjel, it was time to pack up at Imphal Bazaar. The clock may have struck only 5 pm but in this part of the world, it was already late.

It has been ages that one had not had the chance to witness the scene when the market was about to close. A walk from the parking lot in front of Johnstone Higher Secondary to Maharani Thong was an experience which told the story of an old Imphal Bazaar coping to survive the onslaught of modernisation.

Imphal Bazaar was no longer the same. The old Nupi Keithel and Purana Bazaar were history. Dismanltled to make a brand new Shopping Complex, the geography of the good old Imphal was rather confusing. On one side was the partition for the flyover and on the other was the new partition for the new shopping complex.

In between the two partitions was the narrow footpath, which must not be wider than four feet, on either side of which the displaced 'Ema's have set up their stalls. The same path serves as the passage for the crowd which was bursting at seams. The pushing and shoving while walking through the pathway reminded of one's expeirence of travelling in the 'amchi' Mumbai local trains. In the wildest of dreams, one never thought such an experience would be replicated in 'Eikhoigi' Imphal.

"Ibungo hawaimaton se nipanda lourakpani, thengley mangada pukhro bus bhara faobadi touramo," a middle aged woman, with an infant suckling, suddenly grabbed hold of one's feet.

The voice of helplessness was just too heart-wrenching to be ignored. The old ten rupee note found its way out of the wallet in return for a sumptuous looking bunch of green hawaimaton.

Suddenly, amidst the hustling and jostling, one heard a loud shrill voice of a woman.

"Yaroi yaroi! Khangdaba yaroi, nasamdo phoidatlaba kanda khangadabani. Paisa sotlamdaidadi karigi khangdey? Ngasigi ayonba potki mamal pirakoo."

If one heard correctly, that must be it. A demand for the borrowed money to be returned.

After much elbowing, some progress was made towards Maharani Thong. Yet, something seemed to be amiss. Yes, it was the old landmark, Samoo Makhong. The partition did not help either. Out of curosity one peeped through the hole in the tin wall, but could not find the landmark which was synonymous with Imphal Keithel.

The unmistakeably obvious figure, however, was the arching iron beams which had been put atop the columns for the so called flyover. A sign, which suggested, finally some progress had been made on the construction of the flyover, which many believed is a logic defying structure, nothwithstanding the fact that it had been shortened under crazy circumstances. The critics of the structure insist that they have nowhere in the world seen any flyover which ends at the 0 km area of a city.

The look out for the Samoo Makhong took one towards the Thong Nambolbi. And to one's horror, it was found out that the symbol of a proud heritage was,today, nothing but just another post for the tin wall partition of the flyover construction.

As if to further belittle the historic landmark, those iron beams of the flyover arched over the statue of one of Manipur's most powerful king taming the wild elephant, ensuring that the statue would remain underneath it forever. An assertion that heritage matter little in the quest for so called modernisation. Although one wondered how far can one go by forgetting one's roots.

If the old BT Road road has lost its identity, Nagamapal Keithel has not done anything better to protect itself either. The garbage generated from the vegetable market has overflowed from the Naga Nala to occupy half of the road that leads to Khoyathgong.

If a rickshaw was in front, then a traffic jam follows, thanks to the garbage, which the municipality seem to have little time to clean. Yet, life goes on in Imphal. People come, bargain, buy and sell, earn a livelihood from there but nobody has time for the very place which is key to their existence.

Seeing it, one could feel Keithel Lairembi was weeping silently, with nobody to understand her sorrow.

* This piece is based on the experience much before the recent unrest in Imphal.

Click here to read Part I