What’s left to say?

I leaned over a table piled high with photographs, pondering what home meant to me. It took me more than a moment of thought. Was it still the shattered and burnt structure we fled that fateful night? Or, was it the house where we built memories around the dining table, on the swing in the garden, or by the gazebo and pond in our once serene estate, now ravaged and plundered?

One of the most poignant exhibits in the “Lengkhawn: Lamka Remembered” exhibition is this very table, filled with photos of people, food, and places. It encourages visitors to pick them up and contemplate their own concept of home. As I sifted through the images, I read messages like “Home is where there is safety” and “Home is mother,” and much more.
I scribbled something. But the tears blurred my own writing.

The sheer diversity of interpretations and definitions of home collected in this exhibition brings home the depth and power of the show.

 

 

As I moved to a catchy image on the wall, I saw Thothong, an almost omnipresent figure in the alleyways of Lamka, immortalised in an image that captures his iconic presence. A trip to Lamka for those who once lived in Imphal like me was rarely complete without encountering this cross-dressing man, known for his signature attire of a t-shirt and wraparound skirt or puan. Though misunderstood by many as eccentric, Thothong was recognized, accepted and loved as part of everyday life in the bustling town of Lamka, Churachandpur district of Manipur. He was mischievous, often playfully hitting or tapping passersby or, surprising them from rooftops with buckets of water or even pebbles.

An artistic depiction of Thothong in his colourful puan grace the walls along with over a hundred of photos and digital art, of the second-floor gallery hall at Kamladevi Complex, at India International Centre, New Delhi. It is at this very venue where high-profile exhibitions in the capital are often held. It is here, on these walls, that Lamka’s map is etched on the minds of visitors, in this rare and maiden show of life and times of people in this town. The show attracted a steady stream of visitors from its opening on July 11th until its closure on July 22nd. Alongside the exhibition, an engaging panel discussion titled “Cultural Keepers” left attendees with a better understanding of the people and their rich past.

So, the collaborative work of over 100 artists, designers, and writers from Lamka initiated a grassroots effort aimed at preserving the visual histories of the Zo ethnic tribes in Lamka and beyond. Culminating in 2021, this initiative took shape with support from “Heritage Grant for South Asia” by the British Council. Since then, “This is Lamka,” became a purpose-driven project that recognised the imperative to document cultural heritage and its shared history. How it all came together on a shoe-string budget is also a story of hope in itself. Donors' names etched on a white wall at the exhibition and brought alive the project to narrate a compelling shared history. It became a space of hope, positivity and resilience. 

In essence, the show stood for many things as depicted on every frame. Importantly, of resilience, preservation and continuity. 
In the “Songs of Our Fathers,” a collection of Lengkhawm laa/ha, or traditional songs, which chronicle the evolving history of the people. Lengkhawm literally means flying together in spirits while singing with drumbeats. These songs weave together a tale of festival melodies, ceremonial chants, funeral dirges, and devotional hymns, providing deep insights into the cultural essence and daily rhythms of Lamka. Spanning generations, they serve as a continuous thread, offering not just inspiration but also invaluable wisdom and heritage for present-day Lamka. A special corner was set aside for visitors to immerse themselves in the melodies and narratives of these timeless tunes by plugging on a headphone and listening to the recorded music. 

 

 

Next to it is a moving corner titled “Mourning in Lamka” supported by The Vualnam family from the Paite community, who lost their son/brother (Kamhau) a few months ago. This corner is symbolic as it has props to recreate a funeral setting: stack of shawls kept to symbolise how coffins are draped in shawls to show affection and respects; tea cups where tea is served during funerals. This is a deeply rooted traditions that highlight solidarity and support during funerals. Local philanthropic organizations often unite with bereaved families, offering songs of solace. During death of any community member, community youth gather to spend the night with the family, serving tea in the iconic enamel cups. Women don traditional black wrap-around skirts, known as puantens, while youth leaders play the khuang, a locally made drum, leading the mourners in lengkhawm songs that provide comfort and community support. Attendees honour the deceased with details like name, date of birth, and cause of death displayed prominently. Wooden benches ensure that all can participate in this touching display of communal care and remembrance. The detailing of work is neat and precise. “It is the work of a professional,” remarked Aditya Arya, founder of Museo Camera who attended the show.

Woven in detail, another frame has women adorn in rich khibah, exquisite necklaces of red beads. Nemthianhoih and Dara Tlau paid tribute to their grandmothers by showcasing the necklace they adorned. They recount how their fascination was sparked by their grandmothers' prized possession of khibah which was more precious than gold or silver. Khibah was then a symbol of wealth and pride. These beads, as precious as livestock, shone like rubies in sunlight, believed to be gifts from forest spirits, cultivated on cliff faces where humans dared not tread. Legends tell of a hunter who, encountering a forest spirit, was granted a wish for these beads. Guided by the spirit in a dream, he discovered them hanging from cliffs, amassing wealth beyond measure.

The khibah beads, not quite glass or marble but hard as stone, red as blood, their significance fading in contemporary times, resonate in tales of spirits and ancient traditions slipping away.

In the same vein, photos of food celebrate the rich culinary delights of the people. Through a collection of carefully curated photographs are dishes, fruits and vegetables. Vaimim (corn), a staple even during times of scarcity, holds a prominent place. Sun-dried and preserved, corn cobs adorn kitchen corners and are strung together on roofs or high ceilings, embodying both sustenance and tradition. Memories abound in these images, intertwined with the essence of the people.

 

 

Malta/malha (chillies) add zest to local cuisine, with varieties like sap malta (Bhoot Jhalokia in Assam or Raja Mirch in Nagaland) lending heat and flavour. Dolgop (dry yam leaves) are cherished as a delicacy, their smoky essence acquired over time, much like mustard leaves.

Food in Lamka is seasonal, shaped by weather and climate. Theipi (figs), a beloved fruit, are enjoyed fresh or brewed into wine in recent times. Fig for me, is a nostalgic food that takes me back to a wide field in Mission Compound, a little hamlet off Lamka where my late paternal grandfather pushed me up a tree to pick the ripe fruits left behind by birds or monkeys. 
There were photos of Iskut (squash), a common vegetable, which now finds its way abundantly to INA Market in Delhi, catering not only to locals but also to the broader Northeastern region. Rice beer, once brewed in many homes in pre-Christian times, provided stimulation during jhum field labour. Kaikuang (shrimps), caught in rivers near agricultural fields, are sun-dried for use in maltameh or fiery chutneys.

A dedicated section of the exhibit features these evocative photos, inviting visitors to reflect on their culinary heritage and reminisce about days gone by.

The centrepiece of the exhibition is titled “Weaving Zo Memories,” a beautifully stitched traditional Puan/shawls from the Kuki-Zo tribes, skilfully crafted by a self-taught stylish Manglien Gangte, now a fashion associate at Vogue India. With meticulous hand-stitching, Menglien chose red threads, imbuing the cloth with both provocation and power.

“From its foundation, a crimson tide ascends. A surge of threads. Each strand of heritage unfurls, awakening. As they rise, they twist and intertwine, weaving intricate spirals of culture... it is a loom of remembrance. Where disparate threads converge into a collective consciousness,” reads the caption accompanying this monumental weave prominently displayed at the centre.
Zankhua, literally translating to “All through The Night,” is an enticing artwork by artist Alyssa Pachuau, which apparently went viral the day it was posted on social media. The piece is a digital illustration describing in her words: “Up in the hills, all the Zo tribes gather in solidarity among the mossy roots of ancient, primordial trees. The artwork shows the tribespeople gazing at the stars, finding solace in the constellation Zangkhua, which fills their hearts with hope. Despite the prevailing darkness and shadows, morning inevitably arrives.” These lines resonate and speak where hope can seem elusive and peace a distant aspiration.

Another talking piece is an installation, mounted on bamboo stands and adorned with various household items. This presents a striking narrative titled “Why must I go there to see the sunset when the sunset is universal” by C. Sailo. This conceptual piece is so sharp and eloquent. It stood for familiar household objects bound together in a deconstructed manner, challenging the conventional composition and layout of a home.

Furniture, utensils, clothes, and other personal belongings form a dense, chaotic mass suspended overhead. This heavy cluster prompts contemplation on both its physical presence and the emotional weight it carries. 

 

 

To me, the installation an uneasy question: “what do you take when you flee, and what do you leave behind in the pursuit of safety?” By clustering these everyday objects together, it not only explores the intersection of physical and emotional weight but also probes deeper into the human experience of displacement and the choices one faces during times of crisis.

In the section titled “Lamka Dreaming,” images seamlessly blend with reality to evoke a profound exploration of home, identity, and nostalgia. This moving piece intricately weaves archival imagery with contemporary works, creating a temporal bridge spanning generations of Lamka’s visual history. Organizers have diligently curated these images over years, collecting photographs from willing donors. Among them are snapshots of random families captured in black and white or sepia tones, each opening floodgates of memories that resonate across time and space.

These images commemorate an era of peace, where guitar-strumming youths fearlessly roamed the streets and music flourished as life’s sustenance. They also reflect a time untouched by fear, as youth of that era ventured out to picnic by waterfalls, guided by the cool breeze in their jeeps. The section also features old cassette covers featuring local artists who once topped the charts. 

 

 

And then an image of a red-brick church with a pretty green roof set against a clear blue sky and a lady posing in front. And eight leggy beautiful ladies in their bikinis during a beauty contest of the eighties. Images talked of time and era that were devoid of any spirit of fear and pain.

Images that document the evolution of time, juxtaposing an image of a civil hospital performing surgeries with minimal facilities, highlighting how advancements in modern hospitals contrast starkly with the past and to some degree, to the present, where lack of infrastructure and an institutional neglect tell a story.  Angus Guite , the conceptual artist behind this section, encapsulates its essence with the words, “I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

Another intriguing frame displays a congregation of men who constituted the governing body of the proposed Churachandpur Women’s College. This image prods reflection on whether times have truly changed, questioning how an all-men could determine the fate of a women’s college. It also encourages contemplation on the role and place of women in today’s society.
Among the photographs is one of Late Rajiv Gandhi surrounded by locals in traditional puans, as well as another of Late Indira Gandhi surrounded by community members. These images capture a blissful time in history where, perhaps, ignorance was truly bliss. 

The exhibition also includes a nostalgic corner dedicated to the first English daily of Manipur, Harbinger, edited by Albert Gengoukhup Mate (1956-2005), a literary figure known for his altruistic ideals. Daisy Mate, his daughter, brought her three children to the exhibition to connect them with their heritage.

 

 

“My children are second-generation, born and raised in Delhi,” Daisy explained. "It's crucial for them to see their roots through these images.”

Most photographs and images are presented without captions, leaving the observer to imagine their central message. It is in this silence that their significance resonates louder than words. Within the works of the youth, caught amidst conflict and the passage of time, lies their resilience. It is here that their hope resides—their intrinsic wealth and strength that will guide them through turbulent waters. Truly, what more is there left to say?

( Hoihnu Hauzel is an independent Journalist)