The Ubiquitous Manipuri

Pengba Aruuba Eshingee *

Manipuris at Marina Beach, Chennai during a Nationwide Save Sangai Campaign in June 2008
Pix - Kh. Jibankumar

7:30 am. Start of a humid summer day in May. The breakfast area at Park Hyatt, Chennai was yet to bustle. Only a few guests could be seen seated awaiting their orders. Unlike many other hotels, where guests could just pick and choose from the buffet table, here they were required to place order and wait.

As one took a cosy corner table and just about started going through the menu card, a fair lady with features similar to people from to our part of the world walked up. Smart, one must say and her smile was just about what you would expect from anyone working in the hospitality industry.

"Good morning Sir!," she wished.
"Hello Good Morning."

Even before the customary question "what would you like to have", this time one was pleasantly surprised by a different query.

"Are you from Manipur?" she asked.
"Of course, I am from there. How do you know?"
"I saw the name written against your room number and it sounded like a Meitei name," she replied.
"Oh, are you also from Manipur?"
"Yes Sir. I am from Senapati," she smiled.

A look at her name plate, and yes she was one of the sisters from the hills. Strange ways of life. Had we stayed at our native place, one wondered if we would ever had the chance to meet in life. Let alone being strangers, perhaps we would have never crossed our paths. Miles away from home, in pursuit of a career there we were, down South, greeting each other.

"It's so good to see people from our part of the world here," she said and she was grinning from ear to ear by now.
"Oh, I am even more delighted. How long have you been here?". My grin was perhaps wider than hers.
"I have been here in Chennai for three years now, but I have joined here a few months back. Are you here for work?" she asked.
"Yes, 'am here on a short trip for a meeting. It's always a nice feeling when I get to meet people from our part of the world and find them working hard away from home. Don't you miss home?"
"Well Sir, I do miss home, but what else can you do there? It's at least better here that we earn something and can send home some money," she remarked.

Couldn't agree more with her. The situation of an economic refugee could be understood only by another.

"There's another Manipuri working here. He is in the security section. You may find him at the lobby," she said
"Really? That's wonderful. I shall meet him too."
"Sure, he is a nice boy. Enjoy your breakfast," she said.

Right at that moment another colleague of hers came and interrupted our conversation to take breakfast order. Coming back after nearly a decade to Chennai, where one had memories of university days, it wasn't going to be a continental menu fore sure. Although one despised the idli-dosa and sambhar those days, when the clocked had ticked and time had healed the menu pangs, when in Chennai can you asked for any other item than a nice idli and coconut chutni along with South Indian filter coffee?

After finishing breakfast and bidding bye to the Sister from Senapati, with a promise to keep in touch, one walked towards the lobby with the hope of finding that Manipuri man. There were three of them, who had features similar to us. One wasn't sure whom to approach.

"Excuse me. I am looking for the person working here in your security area who is from Manipur."
"Oh Sir, he is there at the X-ray scanning machine," said the man, walking towards that area.

There we were introduced. A boy in his mid twenties, from Bishenpur belonging to a farmer's family but decided to leave home in pursuit of a better life. The conversation was entirely in Manipuri. No airconditioning, in the heat of Chennai, doing an 8-hour shift, checking luggage of umpteen visitors and to keep smiling wasn't an easy task.

Yet, to him, it was far better than leading an uncertain life of a farmer and of a youth in Manipur, where life could be at times at the mercy of bullets. He has lost a school friend likewise and he didn't want to be the next. The job of a security guard away from home offered him that security.

One could have continued the conversation but the pick-up car arrived.

"Aphaba khongchat oibiyu," he smiled and closed the door of the car.
"Nungai yaiphaba oiyu ana ayek yaodana."

Thus we said bye.

It was an experience, which forced one to ponder about we as Manipuris and how far we have come. Over the years one had met quite a lot of Manipuris, in well-to-do positions, working in corporate sector or doing well for themselves abroad. One had also come across those sales boys and girls in modern retail stores, the ones working in restaurants and the odd telemarketing calls.

From what used to be called a "well" the "frogs" have leaped out, whether be default or by design they seem to be everywhere. One can proudly say, the experiences have told stories of how the ubiquitous Manipuri believed in dignity of labour. Although there is this thought in mind, why isn't there the same thought process back home?

As one packs the bags for yet another short trip to Goa, one can only fondly remember those men from Manipur -- whom one had met a few years back -- who were working as instructors for water sports at one of the top resorts there. Hope to meet them again!