By Linthoi Chanu
Are we to become a generation that left only flyovers and no flower to smile upon? … Imphal has already lost its fireflies and cicadas. Will Smart City bring back the kingfisher I once knew of?
A school girl stole a smile each time she passed by the Nambul river. Her mother once told a story of a Pangal tailor in love with a Meitei girl (yes, she with the longest hair.) He murmured his love in the warmth of his palms and gently sent it across the river. The girl glanced at the glittering ripple and fetched it along with the water in her pitcher, across the river. And somehow, they found love. Chaos must have followed; swords must have been drawn. But time only remembers the river that bridged their love. The not-school-girl anymore still dreams of such a love from across the Nambul river.
Flawed Concrete Capital: I have lived and felt the city, the capital city of India. It is not a place to grow old to, at least for me. Of course, what do I complain of the famous Delhi Metro, the hospitals and other tangible signs of “development”? Walking on the side of a newly constructed building of the University, my Dilliwallah architect friend lamented, “What have they done to my Dilli; my winding lanes and drooping trees?” New buildings of Delhi, as he said, copy Western style with wide glass windows unsuitable for Delhi’s long summer. Air-conditioning will be required throughout and hence, more electricity consumption. To a confused me, he simplified things simply (thank you, Arun). Just as man should be in harmony with nature, his settlement area should respect its environment. By the end of the walk, he concluded, India`s Smart City project is flawed. My heart sank; Imphal is one of the proposed Smart Cities.
Let me now offer you a glimpse of my hometown. Roads and roads everywhere but none for a regular stroller like me, like this sad tribute of the famous John Denver’s song “Country Roads” in the movie Whisper of the Heart:
Concrete roads
Everywhere I go
Covering
West Tokyo
Chopped down forests
Buried the valleys
My home town`s
Down concrete road
The impact of the lyrics might seem to be an exaggeration. However, I believe it will soon be our reality if we continue concretisation.
Memories Bank by the Nambul: As a 80s child, I have fond memories of the Nambul. Fallen fruits and berries from riverside trees pleasantly interrupted morning walks near it. My friends and I would collect and eat them by the banks under the warmth of the rising sun. The narrow road of the riverside was our most beloved place for cycling on summer noons. Each of us had our soft spot there; a rock, a tree, the left corner by the bridge. Sometimes, roaming around Ima Keithel, I wondered if the fish-seller poured her heart out to the Nambul and down it floated to the fishes of Loktak Lake and each understood the necessity of nature. Now, these outpours will be tangled and stuck in the filthy water of the once river. In less than 10 years, colour of the Nambul has died. From green, blue and occasional earthy, last year I saw black, grey and no trace of vibrancy, at least where I stay. Sadly, plastic wastes fill drains and most open space, including Nambul riverside.
That was the not-school-girl anymore lamenting. As an ex-employee of an online travel and tourism portal (this is just my feeble attempt to support a widely known fact), I understand that Northeast India is a dream destination for city-dwellers looking for an escape from swanky hotels and constructed landscape. Many agree that homestays and cultural tourism will generate a rich source of income for Manipur. But if Smart City Imphal tears apart the very essence and uniqueness of the beauty of Imphal, this economic viability will disappear as a mere dream. Why would anyone visit Imphal to experience what they already have in congested cities?
Yes, I am not blind to the brimming urban population and the rising buildings in leiraks and khullaks. Without diverting from the issue, I want to mention the Tiny House Movement. Though it may be too tiny for some and has it merits and demerits, I am simply hinting at one of the several options in other countries of developing urban space. I am not all hopeless though. Some households in our locality dig compose pit for degradable waste but are clueless when it concerns plastic waste. Will Smart Cities Mission change this? Will Smart City Imphal remove the debris off the sinews of Nambul and bring back the kingfisher I once knew of?
Preserving the City’s Soul: I am not an expert on anything related to the project. I do hope whatever I understand of it turns out the opposite and brings proper medical facilities to far corners of the state, increase efficiency of education system and waste management (among others) and make Imphal (Manipur) “happy” and not simply “smart”. Instead of web-like flyovers in the small area of Imphal, can we look forward to roads to all nooks and crannies of the state? May be implementation of basic development plan for all regions of the state, and not just Imphal, will ease the already fracturing ties between the hills and the valley to a good extent.
Can the present government look beyond its proposed blueprint and include stakeholders (NGOs, civil and environmental organisations, etc) of the state in concluding its decision? Will they choose a blueprint that preserves the soul of Imphal for our descendants; welcoming market stalls over planned shops; grasses over concrete? Or are we doomed by their bureaucratic underbelly, arrogance-incompetency, and near-sightedness? Are we to become a generation that left only flyovers and no flower to smile upon? As mentioned, I am just a layperson, but as an adult resident, I strongly oppose any “Mission” that will deny my children of the distinctiveness of Imphal.
Swamps and ponds in Imphal have been buried and Mother worries of her dear pangkhok-la ooti. Imphal has already lost its fireflies and cicadas. I am not going to let go of the river and its stories. Someday, I will sit my daughter down near the riverside, eat berries, and narrate the story Mother told me. If Nambul is returned to its sangbannaba colour, hopefully, my daughter will not laugh off Mother’s story as a figment of my imagination. She will dream, like I once did, that love sometimes (in spite of the bleakness covering Manipur) flows across and down rivers in our hometown and drops like fruits from trees of the sans plastic-san rubbish-riverbanks.
(The writer is a doctoral candidate at Delhi University. She writes poetry and blogs happily.)