Ima, a Kshetrimayum ningol, married our father, who belonged to the Oinam family in Sagolband, Sayang Konthoujam Leikai, Imphal West, guided by her belief in destiny. (In Manipur, we don’t have a caste system. For Meitei community, lineage is traced through seven clans, each with a specific surname; the Oinams belong to the Khuman clan).
Our father’s name was Daoji Oinam, but we affectionately called him Baba. Born on 25 November 1945, he was the youngest of four siblings. His sister was called Paonam Ongbi Tolen and his two brothers, Oinam Achou and Oinam Gokul. Despite losing his parents early in life, Baba was cared for by his elder siblings. Aunt Tolen often reminisced that Baba was an obedient child who eagerly helped her and his brothers with household chores.
Ready for a challenge? Click here to take our quiz and show off your knowledge!
Through hard work and determination, Baba got a position as an assistant sub-inspector (ASI) in the Manipur Police Department.
Tall and well-built, he was known for his integrity, kindness, and his journey as a self-made man. He had a deep love for reading.
When Ima got married to Baba, they initially lived together with his brother Oinam Gokul, as his eldest brother Oinam Achou had already moved out to a separate house. As Ima recalled about her early days of marriage, I continued jotting down her words.
Ready for a challenge? Click here to take our quiz and show off your knowledge!
“The first time I went to the kitchen to make tea in my new home, I felt totally lost. I found only sugar and tea leaves and was unable to locate ginger and bay leaves, which I considered essential ingredients for tea. This marked the beginning of numerous minor differences between my maternal home and my new home. In other words, there was a total shift of life from my maternal home, requiring adjustments in every small detail with my new family. It made me realize how distinct two families can be in terms of behaviour, customs, cooking, beliefs, and lifestyle, each uniquely that of a small niche.
“All my time was consumed by tending to the needs of our joint family, keeping the house clean, cooking, husking rice, and managing all other household chores. Back then, there was no rice mill, so I had to manually separate the rice from the husks using a chakri to grind the paddy. After grinding, I would pound it with a wooden shuk, which looked like a big pestle, handful by handful in a shumban, a wooden device that resembles a big mortar. This process had to be repeated until all the husks were removed from the rice grains.
“Life today is much easier in many ways. In those days, everything had to be done manually at home. The pounding was a continuous effort, made easier when my sister-in-law joined me. Yet, the pounding was only the beginning; using a yangkok, we would winnow the rice chaff to further separate the husks from the rice grains. The whole process was time-consuming and exhausting.
But whatever the situation was, I was happy and endured any disagreements. With time, I gradually learnt the preferences of my new family.
“In the early days of our marriage, your father was stationed in Jiribam, a town quite far away from Imphal. At that time, Jiribam was part of the Imphal East district. It was declared a separate district only in 2016. Kemila was born a year after we married. As time passed, your father and I felt the need to establish our own household, especially since his parents had passed away early in his life. We realised we needed to live independently and take charge of all responsibilities. However, his savings weren’t sufficient to finance a new home, so I sold my gold jewellery to raise funds.
“Oinam Kabi, your father’s cousin, helped us to build our house. He was familiar with Meitei Yumsharol, a guidebook on traditional Meitei house construction. A beloved brother to your father, he was always there to help us, whether it was building or renovating our house, digging a pit, constructing our granary, or offering guidance on astrological charts. He had a deep knowledge of kundalis and could read these birth charts. It was because of him that we could swiftly shift to our own modest dwelling—a simple kucha structure with galvanised steel roofing.”
We used to affectionately call Baba’s cousin Ipal Kabi. Whenever he visited us, he delighted us with humorous anecdotes and captivating historical tales. A master storyteller, he was a professional reciter of the Mahabharata. He recounted his experiences during the Japanese air raids 1 in Imphal during the Second World War, when he was just a young boy. We listened eagerly as he vividly described the sirens blaring to warn of approaching Japanese aircraft, the occasional bombings, and how he and others sought refuge in pits and makeshift trenches for shelters. He would often chuckle, noting that even Baba had not yet been born during those tumultuous times.
Coming back to Ima’s narration, I vividly recall her story: “Your father used to take me to his quarters in Jiribam by flight. One particularly harrowing journey I will never forget was from Imphal to Silchar. Due to bad weather conditions, our flight was diverted from Imphal to Guwahati since landing at Silchar was not possible. The plane encountered severe turbulence for about three hours, shaking violently. At one point, it became so dark that I, along with all the other passengers, felt immense fear. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we safely landed in Guwahati, much to our relief. To compensate for the ordeal, the airline arranged rooms for us at a five-star hotel and bore all expenses. At the hotel, your father was concerned that I might struggle with the cutlery and table manners, but I managed by observing and following his lead—later, he admitted his unnecessary worry. We were served tea in our room, had lunch, went for an outing and shopping at Guwahati Bazaar, and then had dinner.
“The next morning, we flew to Silchar, but after that terrifying experience, I never quite felt comfortable on flights. From Silchar, we travelled to Jiribam by road in a taxi. The weather in Jiribam was scorching hot with high humidity, but I was relieved to be back on solid ground.
“Another chilling incident happened when your father was stationed at Mayang Imphal. I was staying in the quarters with Kemila, who was a toddler of around one year old at the time. The backyard of the Mayang Imphal police quarters where we stayed was swampy, with tall, unkempt grass and huge trees. Behind this marshy area lay a jungle, which I found quite frightening, knowing it home to reptiles and wild animals.
“The quarters adjacent to ours was occupied by a havildar’s family. One day, I heard the havildar’s wife scream in terror, ‘Tiger! There’s a tiger in the backyard!’ Thinking the tiger might be approaching my kitchen, I grabbed your sister and Debeshor, Aunt Tolen’s son who was staying with us that day, and rushed to the havildar’s quarters. Your father was at the police station, so we anxiously waited at the havildar’s quarters until he returned.
“The next morning, we found large tiger paw marks between our quarters and the havildar’s. I couldn’t shake off the fear for the remainder of our stay at the Mayang Imphal police quarters, especially since Kemila was so young and vulnerable.
“Your father used to leave early in the morning around 6.a.m. and return late at night, cycling to his police station. I would wash his bicycle in the early morning. Sometimes he would come home for lunch if he had the time. We always had dinner together, but he would often go to Imphal to buy milk and would be gone for a long time. It was challenging for me to pacify your sister as she would cry, and I would worry about his safety until he returned. Fear would often grip my heart in the middle of the night when I was alone in the quarters.
“Usually, he would lock the door from the outside when he left for work, leaving me inside. However, he often returned very late due to his busy schedule. During these times, I felt idle and scared of staying alone in that place. I had always been used to weaving and working, so being unoccupied was uncomfortable for me. I felt it was not right to waste time. Eventually, I made up my mind not to stay at the quarters where your father was posted.
“Due to his active duty, your father stayed at the police station quarters where he was assigned. Since I had moved back to our house in Imphal, I had to take charge of everything at home in his absence, managing the household and shouldering all responsibilities single-handedly. At times, it felt like a one-person struggle. Even during my pregnancy, I pounded rice grains in the shumban with the shuk, mopped the mud floor, fetched water from the common pipeline or our pond, and attended to all other daily chores. It was overwhelming, and I broke down emotionally many times. However, I knew I had to be strong and resilient in embracing motherhood.
“During my pregnancies, your father was always supportive and helped with necessary preparations. He would buy charcoal bags and leave them at home for me. The charcoal was used after the baby was born to keep the room warm and also to heat my lower back, which eased my back pain. He also made sure fresh fish 2 was stocked in aluminium pots for me. I ensured everything was ready: all the ningdhas washed, and the nearby midwife informed in advance.
“I would call my mother, my sister-in-law Jamini (my eldest brother’s wife), and her daughter Indira. Nolini and Mota, your aunt Ekashini’s daughters, used to accompany Indira to keep me company and assist after the delivery. They were young girls then, and I directed them from my bed as they ran around fetching whatever I needed. However, they could only stay for a short time, as they had their own responsibilities to tend to back home. I did not have enough time to rest even if I wanted to and could not take care of my health after giving birth. Using a nahong as a baby sling, I managed household chores with the baby on my back.
“After Kemila, Robert was born, followed by four more of you with age gaps of about two to three years. Kemila was the only one born in a hospital; the rest of you came into the world at home with the help of a midwife.”
I still remember my sisters telling me that they went to school in the morning and returned home to find a new baby in the house—that baby was me! After going through labour pains and giving birth, a woman needs rest for proper physical and mental recovery. Unknowingly, Ima risked her life each time she gave birth at home, without thinking about the various complications that a woman might face during labour without an institutional delivery, when doctors and nurses are there to take charge. Fortunately, she did not face complications, but she did not have the luxury of rest either. She had to cook and clean, while carrying me on her back and caring for her other children, often neglecting her own physical and mental needs. Her own health and well-being took a backseat to the needs of our family. Ima selflessly looked after us without sparing herself.
Recalling those early days of motherhood, Ima said, “Becoming a mother is both a blessing and a hardship, especially when you were all very young. I did not have time to do other things. There’s a Manipuri phrase meant for young mothers, ‘Tumba machet, chaba machet’, which means ‘Sleep a bit, eat a bit’—it perfectly describes the life of a young mother like me. My sleep was always interrupted by a crying baby at night, and I rarely had the luxury of eating a proper meal. I would steal naps whenever you all slept, whether it was during the day or night. I would eat after feeding you all. Even while eating, I had to attend to your unscheduled needs, like comforting a crying child and cleaning up after them during meals.
“I had to make sure that you all stayed safe as you crawled and later walked around the house, trying to climb on furniture. I had to be vigilant, watching every move you made. When you grew older, I had to finish my chores quickly to ensure your study schedules at home and school were met on time. I had absolutely no time to relax. I tried to complete my household chores during your nap times, early in the mornings, and sometimes late at night after putting you all to bed. There were moments when my shoulders ached, my arms and legs felt numb, and all I craved was a good sleep.
“Physically and emotionally, it was exhausting and challenging. There was no one else to rely on; I felt isolated at times. Even if I wanted to socialise with relatives, friends, or neighbours, there was no time. The older children were already attending school when you, Bem, were born. Each of your needs was different, and the tasks to be done were never-ending” (I was called Bem at home although my real name is Sonia.
- Japanese soldiers fought against the British forces at Maibam Lotpa Ching, also known as the Red Hill, during the Battle of Imphal, a significant engagement in Second World War. Today, the India Peace Memorial at Maibam Lotpa Ching is a much-visited site in Manipur, often regarded as a place of pilgrimage, particularly for Japanese tourists.
- After childbirth, a Meitei woman mainly eats a diet centred on rice accompanied by smoked fish, hentak (a thick fermented paste made from dried fish and hongu, Colocasia esculenta), and traditional salt cakes made from salt sourced from Manipur’s salt wells. Curries are prepared without oil for at least 45 days following delivery as part of the traditional postpartum dietary practices.
Excerpted with permission from “Weaving Dreams”, Sonia Oinam, Konark Publishers Pvt. Ltd.