Ima Keithel: A persistent struggle for Imas against odds

Ima Keithel: A persistent struggle for Imas against odds

 By Kuwar Singh

Unlike other roadside vendors, Pratima Devi refuses to wear an air mask. She runs her fingers round her spectacles, explaining that little drops condense on her lenses whenever she puts on a mask.

The 45-year-old vendor has abandoned her coveted stall license in Ima Keithel to sell phaneks and shawls on the main road in Imphal’s cacophonous Khwairamband Bazaar, where trucks, cars, autorickshaws and motrobikes hurtle past her and other vendors who sit in a precarious position on the traffic divider. A thin, dirty smell of smoke hangs around them during peak hours.

 The Bazaar is flanked with buildings of Manipur’s internationally-renowned Ima Keithel, where thousands of women vendors sell every household item from fresh flowers to mosquito nets.

 While Ima market can trace its origins to the sixteenth century, its three present compounds – the old market, the new market and Lakshmi market were built by the state government in 2010. They would prove a short-lived comfort; in January 2016, a 6.7 magnitude earthquake shook the city and severely damaged two of the buildings.

 “It was good that at least the quake came at night, so the rubble didn’t fall on the women,” says Shanti Thoudam, president of Nupi Keithel Sinfam Amadi Saktam Kanba Lup, the Ima market vendors’ association.

 The damaged compounds had been built by private contractor Simplex Infrastructures for National Building Construction Company. The old market building, constructed in the same area by the public works department (PWD), was the only one of the three left standing, albeit with a crack or two.

 Pratima had owned a garment stall in the new market compound. She was now among the two thousand vendors stranded on the footpath. As an aid measure, PWD built a makeshift shed nearby for them to temporarily carry their business before the buildings were repaired.

 When they set up, the vendors saw that unlike the compounds, which were open from all sides, the shed only had two openings at the end of long, narrow lanes with little room or ventilation.

 “Each woman is allotted 22 inches of space here,” association president Shanti says. “In the compound, we had 34 to 36 inches.”

 Vendor RK Thoibi, 72, says she had stayed in the shed for less than two weeks when she fell sick. In time, and there has been an abundance of it, Thoibi and a few others would return to the footpaths. Pratima went with them.

 The women say their main concern is not congestion itself, but the impact it has on their business. The shed’s dizzyingly colourful lanes cannot accommodate enough customers to sell the stocks of two thousand vendors. And most people only approach the handful of stalls at the opening of the lanes. A few steps inside, a fading smell of fresh garments hangs in the air, and vendors outnumber their customers.

Waiting for buyers, the women converse in resigned tones over red tea, boiled potatoes and roti cooked on oil. They kill time playing Ludo or popping foam fruit covers. Some of them fiddle with their stock; tie a knot at the end of a shawl, pull a thread off a pillow cover. Some others use their cloth piles to lounge on. It has been almost two years since the earthquake, and this temporary situation feels more permanent to them every day.

The BJP government in April had announced that the reconstruction of the buildings will be finished before September. “But now they say it will go on until March next year,” Shanti says.

 A delivery in March is also not certain. Private contractor Chandrahas Singh is retrofitting the compounds on a PWD contract. “We have more than 200 men working on the two compounds,” his site supervisor Momo Kh says. “But we could not get any construction material to the site during the blockade.”

The United Naga Council had called for a blockade of the national highways leading to Imphal last November to protest the creation of new districts in what it viewed as Naga-dominated regions. The blockade lasted for over four months.

 “We had managed to successfully procure the construction material but during the blockade it was lying in Dimapur,” says PWD’s executive engineer Randhir Singh. “We had to send it back to Guwahati and hire a warehouse to keep it there.”

 In front of the site, wrapped in her sunflower-print shawl, Pratima sits on a spread out gunny bag. There are few privileges in being on the footpath, but she now gets dozens of customers, even though they tend to walk away too soon amid rushing traffic and blaring horns.

 “Police harass us. Municipal officers harass us.” she says chewing her paan. “They say we don’t have permits.”

 On Tuesday afternoon, police officers again arrived in the market with lathis and rifles to drive vendors out of the street. No reason was given, and no reason was asked for.  The whistling men marched from one side to the other; beating their lathis on the road as the female officials nudged the vendors to pack their merchandise quickly.

Old women turned to pedestrians for help in carrying the stockpiles. Some vendors left for home, others walked around listlessly with their bags. The ice cream carts cycled away.

 The road was cleared within minutes. It now looked broader than usual. One of the policemen, who at this point was speaking into a megaphone, smiled triumphantly to himself. More armed officers and media persons had arrived. Women from the temporary shed were called to the reconstruction site.

 After an hour of waiting, a cavalcade of SUVs stopped by and out emerged the housing and urban development minister Th Shyamkumar. The minister beamed at the crowd, his palms folded in salutation. Among those gathered, Pratima kept craning her neck to see him.

 The minister spoke with the market president and other vendors from the shed, as well as with the contractor and government officials, all readily present at his disposal. He understands their pain, he kept saying to the women.

 Before leaving, the minister announced that he has received assurance from the contractor that the buildings will be completed and handed over to his department on the festival of Phairen Manchami on January 22. The crowd burst into applause. The women’s faces lit up.

 “We wanted the buildings before Diwali. Now we want them before Holi next year,” association president Shanti had said earlier. “Otherwise we will go on a protest.”

 Many vendors of Ima market work their calendars in terms of festivals, when sales spike. Now they have been promised the buildings a festival too early.

 But Pratima and a few others are not holding their breath. Soon after the minister left, they went back to spread their mats and set up their stalls, keeping a cautious eye out for the police.

The history of the market is chequered with threats to its survival. In 2010, the tremors again shook its foundations. But the mothers have been enduring on for centuries. Ima Keithel persists.

Ima Keithel: A persistent struggle for Imas against odds

 By Kuwar Singh

Unlike other roadside vendors, Pratima Devi refuses to wear an air mask. She runs her fingers round her spectacles, explaining that little drops condense on her lenses whenever she puts on a mask.

The 45-year-old vendor has abandoned her coveted stall license in Ima Keithel to sell phaneks and shawls on the main road in Imphal’s cacophonous Khwairamband Bazaar, where trucks, cars, autorickshaws and motrobikes hurtle past her and other vendors who sit in a precarious position on the traffic divider. A thin, dirty smell of smoke hangs around them during peak hours.

 The Bazaar is flanked with buildings of Manipur’s internationally-renowned Ima Keithel, where thousands of women vendors sell every household item from fresh flowers to mosquito nets.

 While Ima market can trace its origins to the sixteenth century, its three present compounds – the old market, the new market and Lakshmi market were built by the state government in 2010. They would prove a short-lived comfort; in January 2016, a 6.7 magnitude earthquake shook the city and severely damaged two of the buildings.

 “It was good that at least the quake came at night, so the rubble didn’t fall on the women,” says Shanti Thoudam, president of Nupi Keithel Sinfam Amadi Saktam Kanba Lup, the Ima market vendors’ association.

 The damaged compounds had been built by private contractor Simplex Infrastructures for National Building Construction Company. The old market building, constructed in the same area by the public works department (PWD), was the only one of the three left standing, albeit with a crack or two.

 Pratima had owned a garment stall in the new market compound. She was now among the two thousand vendors stranded on the footpath. As an aid measure, PWD built a makeshift shed nearby for them to temporarily carry their business before the buildings were repaired.

 When they set up, the vendors saw that unlike the compounds, which were open from all sides, the shed only had two openings at the end of long, narrow lanes with little room or ventilation.

 “Each woman is allotted 22 inches of space here,” association president Shanti says. “In the compound, we had 34 to 36 inches.”

 Vendor RK Thoibi, 72, says she had stayed in the shed for less than two weeks when she fell sick. In time, and there has been an abundance of it, Thoibi and a few others would return to the footpaths. Pratima went with them.

 The women say their main concern is not congestion itself, but the impact it has on their business. The shed’s dizzyingly colourful lanes cannot accommodate enough customers to sell the stocks of two thousand vendors. And most people only approach the handful of stalls at the opening of the lanes. A few steps inside, a fading smell of fresh garments hangs in the air, and vendors outnumber their customers.

Waiting for buyers, the women converse in resigned tones over red tea, boiled potatoes and roti cooked on oil. They kill time playing Ludo or popping foam fruit covers. Some of them fiddle with their stock; tie a knot at the end of a shawl, pull a thread off a pillow cover. Some others use their cloth piles to lounge on. It has been almost two years since the earthquake, and this temporary situation feels more permanent to them every day.

The BJP government in April had announced that the reconstruction of the buildings will be finished before September. “But now they say it will go on until March next year,” Shanti says.

 A delivery in March is also not certain. Private contractor Chandrahas Singh is retrofitting the compounds on a PWD contract. “We have more than 200 men working on the two compounds,” his site supervisor Momo Kh says. “But we could not get any construction material to the site during the blockade.”

The United Naga Council had called for a blockade of the national highways leading to Imphal last November to protest the creation of new districts in what it viewed as Naga-dominated regions. The blockade lasted for over four months.

 “We had managed to successfully procure the construction material but during the blockade it was lying in Dimapur,” says PWD’s executive engineer Randhir Singh. “We had to send it back to Guwahati and hire a warehouse to keep it there.”

 In front of the site, wrapped in her sunflower-print shawl, Pratima sits on a spread out gunny bag. There are few privileges in being on the footpath, but she now gets dozens of customers, even though they tend to walk away too soon amid rushing traffic and blaring horns.

 “Police harass us. Municipal officers harass us.” she says chewing her paan. “They say we don’t have permits.”

 On Tuesday afternoon, police officers again arrived in the market with lathis and rifles to drive vendors out of the street. No reason was given, and no reason was asked for.  The whistling men marched from one side to the other; beating their lathis on the road as the female officials nudged the vendors to pack their merchandise quickly.

Old women turned to pedestrians for help in carrying the stockpiles. Some vendors left for home, others walked around listlessly with their bags. The ice cream carts cycled away.

 The road was cleared within minutes. It now looked broader than usual. One of the policemen, who at this point was speaking into a megaphone, smiled triumphantly to himself. More armed officers and media persons had arrived. Women from the temporary shed were called to the reconstruction site.

 After an hour of waiting, a cavalcade of SUVs stopped by and out emerged the housing and urban development minister Th Shyamkumar. The minister beamed at the crowd, his palms folded in salutation. Among those gathered, Pratima kept craning her neck to see him.

 The minister spoke with the market president and other vendors from the shed, as well as with the contractor and government officials, all readily present at his disposal. He understands their pain, he kept saying to the women.

 Before leaving, the minister announced that he has received assurance from the contractor that the buildings will be completed and handed over to his department on the festival of Phairen Manchami on January 22. The crowd burst into applause. The women’s faces lit up.

 “We wanted the buildings before Diwali. Now we want them before Holi next year,” association president Shanti had said earlier. “Otherwise we will go on a protest.”

 Many vendors of Ima market work their calendars in terms of festivals, when sales spike. Now they have been promised the buildings a festival too early.

 But Pratima and a few others are not holding their breath. Soon after the minister left, they went back to spread their mats and set up their stalls, keeping a cautious eye out for the police.

The history of the market is chequered with threats to its survival. In 2010, the tremors again shook its foundations. But the mothers have been enduring on for centuries. Ima Keithel persists.

Read more / Original news source: http://www.ifp.co.in/item/4988-ima-keithel-a-persistent-struggle-for-imas-against-odds