66 days: Hands That Weave

Today I found myself amidst the vibrant chaos of Ima Keithel, the famous Mother's Market of Imphal. As I navigated the crowded lanes, a gentle drizzle of rain mixed with the scent of fresh herbs, flowers and the earthy smell of wet bamboo stalls. The market, alive with the chatter of the women vendors, offered a glimpse into the pulse of daily life here. I wandered from stall to stall, mesmerized by the rich textiles, colorful woven baskets, and craftsmanship on display in every corner.

I met an elderly woman selling traditional hand-woven shawls, her hands deftly moving over the intricate patterns. She spoke little English, but her smile was warm, her eyes sparkling as she described the process through a mix of gestures and laughter. I felt the urge to sketch her hands at work, to capture the spirit of her craft.

As the rain continued to fall outside, the market felt like a vibrant cocoon, protecting us from the elements while connecting me to the heart of the community. It was a day of quiet discovery, each stall a story, each interaction a window into a world that, for a moment, felt like home.