But after a few years’ work I realised that even with my level of education, I could still do a lot. Most of the people that I work with are either less educated than me or are people who never went to school at all. Unlike them, I can read a newspaper, or sign an application form. When the government announces a new aid package or launches a new scheme, I can read about it and apply for it. These are small benefits that can transform the life of a farmer whose crops have died due to drought or who has to give up land for a development project.

I realised, as a grassroots activist, this is what I should do. And for the past 15 years, I have been doing that – sharing my knowledge to help people claim their rights.

In this, one thing that has helped me tremendously is a voice-based citizen journalism tool called CGNet Swara, meaning ‘Voice of Chhattisgarh’. It is a simple tool that allows me to send a report by just dialling a number and speaking it over the phone. The report automatically gets recorded on the CGNet Swara website where it is reviewed and verified by a group of trained community journalists. Those who know how to use internet, can open this website and hear the report. Others can listen to the report on their mobile by dialling a number.

I have been reporting through CGNet Swara for over four years now. It is designed to get news reports from ordinary citizens like me who live in remote conflict areas, have little access to civic facilities and are always left out by the mainstream media. CGNet Swara gives us a chance to report news that matters to us.

Now, I tell people I work with – farmers, labourers, firewood gatherers and such people – to use this tool and record their voices. I tell them that although they don’t know how to read or write, they can still tell the world their stories. They can report when they face any difficulty like when a company takes away their land, when there is a drought and they lose a crop, when they do not receive compensation for a lost crop or when the police harass them for allegedly being Maoist sympathisers.

I have already trained more than 100 people to use CGNet Swara. And I am planning to train many hundreds more this year. But there are many people who do not even own a phone. Since I have a mobile handset, I record their stories for them as often as I can.

Like the majority of my community members, I do not have a TV or a computer and I do not know how to use the internet. We cannot hear the news of the world. But we can now tell the world our stories.
I am told by others that the world is listening to these stories. I do not know how they react to these stories. But what I know is that by recording our reports, we are breaking our silence in support of our rights.

And I believe that change always begins with that.

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Poverty fuelled by resettlement

In the 1990s there was a growing recognition that the vast majority of those displaced by large development projects were failing to live at their same standard of living or higher (usually the stated intention). The reality was that most slid into greater impoverishment. International conferences were held, the body of research increased, and guidelines were created. Practice improved – but for a variety of reasons, including poor implementation of guidelines, many of those displaced in the name of progress still failed to thrive or even regain their former quality of life.

One of the most persistent and far-reaching effects of forced relocation is social and cultural impoverishment.

Social relations, support networks and traditional livelihoods are disrupted by relocation, and are hard to restore in different contexts. The strain of change and adaptation, and of undergoing what becomes in effect for many traditional rural communities a dramatically accelerated process of modernisation, tests social structures to their limits. Many break down.

This, combined with personal feelings of loss, anxiety and powerlessness, undermines the ability of individuals and communities to recover from displacement, to progress or take advantage of new opportunities. Yet the voices of those struggling to respond to these changes were largely absent from any discussion or debate. The aim of the Panos project was to gain greater understanding of the complex impacts of resettlement, by listening to those experiencing it first-hand, and to raise awareness of the issue – which continues to affect millions of people every year.

Resettled people tell their side of the story

Four years after my first visit I returned to Lesotho, to help organise the recording of follow-up interviews from some of the same men and women and additional narrators, most of whom had by then been resettled for several years. In between these two visits, I was involved in establishing similar projects in Botswana, Namibia, India, Pakistan, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Kenya. Local fieldworkers and the resettled people themselves were trained to do the interviewing. Altogether the project gathered 300 interviews in eight countries and 15 languages. The last of the interviews were recorded and transcribed in 2004.

Over the next few years our partners and the resettled communities drew on their interviews to communicate their concerns and experiences, gaining local and national media coverage. They produced booklets of selected extracts and held discussions with a range of groups, including representatives of the governments and organisations whose policies directly affected the narrators. The last booklet was published in December 2007.

Bringing the collections together

We knew from similar multi-country oral testimony projects that bringing the different voices and experiences together could lend weight to the material, and produce more insights than individual collections on their own. Looking at themes and concerns across the whole range of material would allow us to highlight common issues, as well as those particular to different situations and communities. So when Palgrave Macmillan expressed interest in a publication, I seized the chance to do the book that had long been waiting to be written.

Displaced: the Human Cost of Development and Resettlement brings together for the first time all the different experiences of being resettled. And while it focuses on the voices of the displaced, it also benefits from the contributions of Dr Christopher McDowell of London’s City University, who has been central to the continuing research and debate on development-induced displacement.

A record of social upheaval

My challenge in researching the book was to re-read in depth over 200 interviews, representing different timescales and types of development, as well as a variety of cultures and societies. Out of that daunting wealth of individual material, I needed to identify common themes as well as do justice to differences and contradictions, all the time weaving in the voices themselves. In addition, I was working with the English translations, so the medium through which I ‘listened’ to these narrators was the printed page — thousands of them – and not the recorded voice, which can reveal so much through tone, inflection, pace and pauses. Would I find the material as compelling and informative as I did when my visits to the resettled were fresh, and my impressions still vivid?

I need not have worried.

The voices came through in all their individuality: anxious, confident; hopeful, despondent; fearful, accepting; confused, stoic; resourceful, demoralised; querulous, defiant.

It was not all negative: the social upheaval opened up new opportunities, particularly for those whose societies were isolated and highly traditional. Women spoke of getting an education or a job; the landless described being able to break free from restrictive working practices and relationships.

Nevertheless, almost all narrators conveyed an enduring sense of loss – of their history, and all that was once familiar. Their skill at coaxing a living from their particular, often marginal environments – ‘the wisdom of this place’, as one man put it – had no more value. For some, elements of their identity were so intricately linked to that environment that they were lost forever: the old way of life simply could not be recreated. Even though the grief was strongest among those who had personally been resettled, it did affect later generations. People felt they had lost control over their lives, their assets, and most disturbingly for many, their children’s future. Their accounts were studded with the slow, steady and cumulative effect of powerlessness.

‘The planners planned… we are not part of the planning’

As I pored over the interviews, making notes, comparing experiences, looking out for clues and triggers for change, trying to understand in more depth what different individuals had undergone, certain narrators drew me back time and again. But the words of two people who I met right at the beginning of the project have always stood out. ‘The planners planned and we are not part of the planning.’ In this simple statement, Lipholo Bosielo summed up the devastating sense of exclusion from life-changing decisions experienced by so many of the displaced.

The other was ’Maseipati Moqhali, now passed away. She’d lived in the same mountain valley in Lesotho for most of her 80 years. She relied on long-established relationships with neighbours to keep her fields productive and share the harvest, and on small acts of support to tide her over lean times. She had never been to school, but expressed her trepidation at the thought of leaving her community in words that have never left me.

“I feel that the beat of my heart will be in the direction of this place where my life was. It will remain as a rock on my heart when I think of the place that I am being removed from…here where I have lived well.”

The psychological weight of grieving for lost places so powerfully described by ’Maseipati Moqhali continues to affect millions of people. The interviews that inform the book are snapshots in time; every narrator’s circumstances will have changed in some ways– but the experiences and emotions they described remain relevant. Every day, right now, more people are bearing the social cost of development; these stories tell us something of its impact.

• Find out more about Panos London’s oral testimony work

Olivia Bennett is a writer and editor who founded the Oral Testimony programme at Panos London

Displaced: The Human Cost of Development and Resettlement by Olivia Bennett and Christopher McDowell is published by Palgrave Macmillan.

Buy the book from Palgrave.com

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It might sound unbelievable to many, but ‘untouchability’ is practiced even among Dalits themselves. They believe that some Dalit communities are ‘higher’ than others and those who are ranked lower are treated as untouchables by the upper Dalits. As it happens, my community, the Madigas whose traditional profession has been skinning animals, tanning, cobbling and beating drums (at social events such as weddings) are considered the lowest of all Dalits [because they touch the dead bodies of cows, which are sacred in India, and other animals].

So, most of the facilities meant for the Dalits are enjoyed by only the ‘upper’ Dalits. The lower Dalits, therefore, are deprived twice: first, they are ill-treated by non-Dalits, and second, by ‘upper’ Dalits.

To remove these disparities and to get justice for all, my community appealed to the government to further categorise the Dalits into higher and lower sections, in accordance with their status within the Dalit community. We hoped to expose to the government how ‘lower’ Dalits were treated and therefore ensure their betterment.

The government did not accept the demand, so we launched a state-wide movement which continued for three long years.

As a participant in the movement, leading a group of Madiga Dalit women, every now and then I travelled to Hyderabad– a two-hour journey from my village and stood in front of the state legislative assembly, so the chief minister would listen to our demands. We did not have places to stay or even water to drink. So we stood on the road, ate on the road, drank on the road and slept on the road.

It was during these demonstrations that one day the police cracked down on us and put us behind bars.

It was a tough time; I not only sustained physical injuries, but also suffered emotionally for being in jail for six long months as my two little children lived without me. However, and it was also the time when I really felt connected to my community. I also felt proud that we, the Dalits, who did not have jobs, land or even enough food, had the courage to sacrifice all we had to ensure a better future for our children. For the first time, I felt proud to be a Dalit – people who are broken in body, but not in spirit.

Our movement was eventually successful and the government decided to classify the Dalit communities into four sub categories: A, B, C and D. My community, Madiga, received the B category while Valmiki Dalits, who clean toilets and gutters, came under category A. This meant that we would now get more opportunities at educational institutions and a larger share of government jobs than we received earlier. Soon, I walked home free and formed an all-Dalit women’s group called Telengana Mahajena Mahila Samakhya (All Dalit Women’s Association of Telengana) to fight for issues that continue to affect us such as land rights, police atrocities, and denial of civic rights.

Today the group has more than 500 members. We regularly organise street marches, meetings and sit-in protests and at each event there are risks of getting beaten by the police or being arrested. But having spent six months in jail, I came to believe that, if united, we can do more than just make a little noise – we can change the whole paradigm. It is this belief that brought out the real leader in me.

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Yet in the same week as the law was passed, four journalists were killed in the state of Veracruz, including Regina Martinez, a correspondent for the political magazine Proceso who was found strangled in her home.

Siobhan Warrington asked Susi Bascon, Graciela Martínez and Susana Nistal of the human rights organisation Peace Brigades International (PBI) about the new law.

What does this new law mean for human rights defenders and journalists in Mexico?

Susana: It means that people who are defending human rights have a particular recognition and protection. It is now recognised that undertaking such activities in Mexico at this time is particularly dangerous.

Graciela: If anyone is attacked whilst defending the human rights of themselves or of others, this law will support their fight for justice. They will be able to go to an entity of the Mexican government and say, “I am in danger, you need to give me some protection”. The law recommends a very quick and concrete response to human rights defenders or journalists who are asking for protection measures.

Why is the approval of this law important at this time in Mexico?

Graciela: In July there will be presidential and parliamentary elections in Mexico. Mexico is known for developing lots of laws which are not implemented, . However, this law was approved by consensus; there was not one single vote against the law in the senate or the congress. This gives the law a strong foundation for the future.

The way it was developed is also significant. Civil Society Organisations were the ones who made the first draft of this law, and worked to convince senators to develop it. In this sense, it represents an important historical moment in terms of democracy in Mexico. CSOs have been able to work together in a unified way, and have also worked together with the senate to build this law.

Susi: This is in itself significant – in the context of violence and frustration and difficulties with collaborating with the authorities… for organisations to be able to overcome this context and learn to work together and to work with the authorities.

When did civil society organisations come together then to work on this law?

Susana: It all started in 2008-09. In 2009 Mexico was reviewed by the UN Council. As the violence increased in those years, the Mexican civil society working to promote human rights began to realise that they were subjects of attacks; that they were victims too. At this point they started presenting their needs for protection before the Inter American System of Human Rights, before the UN and before the Mexican government.

The numbers of journalists being killed was terrible, and it was very evident that human rights defenders and journalists were under threat. This resulted in recommendations from a large number of countries asking Mexico during the review at the UN Council to protect better and to recognise the work of human rights defenders and journalists.

In 2010 a network of human rights organisations came together to develop the idea of a government mechanism for protection, and as a result of this process some members of this network started to see the need for this to go further, the need for a parliamentary law.

Now that the law has been approved, what are the priorities for organisations like PBI and CMDPDH in Mexico?

Graciela: Before the next presidential and legislative elections of July 2012 we need to closely monitor the implementation of the law and the development of the governmental protection mechanism itself. And of course this monitoring needs to continue after the elections. There is sufficient time whilst the current government is still in power to make sure that necessary protocols are in place to have a functioning mechanism.

What are your reflections, or feelings, on the law being approved?

Susana: There was definitely great happiness to get the unanimous approval, the fact every member of the congress and senate voted to approve the law. And then the minute of silence for the journalist killed on Saturday… For anyone working in Mexico for human rights, the approval of the law on Monday was very moving… we couldn’t have imagined this happening a year ago, to see such a concrete development and change in the minds of people, this is very moving..

Susi: The process of developing and lobbying for the law has also contributed to relationship building between CSOs, embassies and international NGOs. PBI have been at the forefront of facilitating dialogue between these different entities. In fact in the weeks running up to the law being approved PBI and Amnesty have been working very closely to ensure that there was enough pressure from the UK (eg through the All Parliamentary Group, Alliance of Lawyers at Risk etc) to ensure the law was brought before Congress for approval.

Graciela: For us, this process has been challenging; it is the first time we have worked in a legal process. But I think it has given us a very important background for further work in Mexico and most importantly it resulted in working together very closely with other CSOs and we have developed deep relationships with the interest to work together in the future.

To find out more about PBI please visit their websites: http://www.peacebrigades.org.uk  and http://www.pbi-mexico.org

A CAFOD exhibition “Silenced: Fighting for press freedom in Mexico” to commemorate Mexican journalists who have lost their lives as a result of their work is being held at the Guardian offices until the 13th of May.

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We cannot grow crops without appropriate farming tools. Food security cannot be achieved for all without an appropriate farming system. It is hard for us to make money.

We are worried about the future as well, as we had a bad rainy season with insufficient rains. We are facing starvation. Those who are ruling now must take emergency actions against this problem. They have to look for food and economic opportunities so that our children can be saved from hunger.

They must also pay attention to education. We need to develop education for our children. But the emergency case is the upcoming hungry season (from June to October). It will happen in the rainy season, the moment where farmers need energy to grow crops. The government has announced it will help people with grain.

They will probably supply the cereal banks [stores where grain is sold at subsidised price]. Then people will be able to buy grain at a cheaper price. But the problem is that we are poor; we don’t have money. How will we be able to find money to buy food in those stores? They have to give it to us for free. They must give food for the time being because people are living in a desperate situation and they can’t find money from any activity other than farming.

People must be given loans also to start businesses. If we have loans we will be able later to supply cereal banks and buy grain from them. But prior to this we have to get our bellies filled with food. Even if there is grain at a cheaper price at my village cereal bank for the coming hungry season it won’t be useful to us.

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In the run up to today’s final, we have been holding cricket and volleyball matches and various kinds of races. The younger children also participated in short distance running, musical chairs and balloon blowing. My class took part in the cricket tournament and although they lost out in the semi-final, they really enjoyed themselves. In fact, when they lost the match, they went up to congratulate the winning captain and his team and that was really good to see since we had been teaching them the importance of sportsmanship. I am a huge fan of cricket so I really had fun watching all the cricket matches.

The school’s management decided to hold the sports week early in the term because there were a lot of absentees. The school’s attendance had gone down to 50 per cent because the children were taking it easy and just not focusing on the new term after their final exams. After announcing sports week, which is always very popular with the students, the attendance went up to almost 100 per cent. You see everyone wanted to participate and not miss out on all the fun!

This was a good way to get the children back in school and into the classrooms. Sports week is also a very competitive time and it brings out the best in the children. No other charitable educational institution in our area holds these kinds of sports events, and the private schools that do organise them have very high fees, which these children’s parents cannot afford. We have managed to come up with our own funding so that we can do these sports events each year.

Overall, there has been an improvement in school spirit and the children have learnt important lessons about team work. You can see the change in them. My job was to be in charge of discipline during sports week so that kept me very busy and fully engaged in all the sports events. The whole week was very well organised with three teachers assigned as sports staff to manage the children’s timings and events.

Today we will hold a few more events and then distribute prizes to all the winners, from the nursery upwards. The whole week has had such a positive effect on the children that we are now planning to organise another sports tournament in May in which we hope to invite teams from other schools. This should make it more competitive for our students and they can learn even more about teamwork.

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The Linking Southern Journalists with European Media project has been a great chance for us to mentor and work closely with journalists to develop their skills in writing and pitching to European newspaper and magazine editors.

We’ve been very pleased to see long term relationships flourish between these journalists and the editors of some of the biggest titles; like the Guardian, Svenska Dagbladet, Gazeta and El Mundo.

Our experience has shown that local journalists bring a different dimension to their international stories.

European editors tell us the features produced by our journalists offer readers ‘something different’ and give voice to stories they would not usually get from their own correspondents. As a result, our journalists have been commissioned regularly with their stories hitting the front page and centre spreads time and time again.

Last month, five of our journalists met senior newspaper editors to find out how they work and why their features were published. They saw how their stories challenged stereotypes, put a human face on development issues and made a real contribution to the stories found in the foreign sections.

Click on some of our journalists below to see what Ana Aranha, Stella Paul, Anne Nzouankeu, Armsfree Ajanaku and Purple Romero have to say about their experiences of writing for Europe and visiting national newspapers:

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For years, displacement has been a major issue in my state Chhattisgarh. So far, several thousand tribal people have been displaced by mining projects. The minerals mined are iron ore, bauxite, limestone and dolomite. Most of these people have not been compensated properly even after years and the anger among people has fed the armed Maoist/Naxalite insurgency. The government has spent a lot of money on fighting the Maoist rebels. But displacement continues and is growing. The 34 power plants in Janigir Champa are the latest and biggest threat so far. Here is why.

The land in Janigir Champa district is now by far the most fertile in all of Chhattisgarh. A decade ago, there were no irrigation facilities and farmers had a difficult time growing crops. The government built a dam to provide irrigation facilities and today farmers are able to harvest two crops a year.

The district now has a paddy cultivation area of more than 100,000 hectares. Each of these hectares produces 34 quintals of paddy [one quintal is equal to 100kg] in a single season, while in other districts the amount is only 17 quintals. Now, if you calculate two crops per year, then the amount of food that will be sacrificed is massive.

Obviously, our government is putting power production over paddy. Is this development?

Locals don’t think so. The government says that the power plants will produce 40,000 mega watts of electricity. But that will require the land of almost the entire district.

People here don’t understand why the government has to choose a live, fertile land to produce that power. They are scared for their future. The government is paying them compensation and saying that one person from each family will get a job in the power plant. But I have so far visited 17 villages and everywhere I heard the same thing:

“We are not educated enough. So all we can become are labourers. This land is our home, our source of livelihood. We live here with honour. Now, how can we become landless labourers?”

We need to help these people who are about to lose everything and have nowhere to go. Because, I feel, this is what grassroot activism is all about: defending the rights of those who are betrayed by the government itself.

So, this month, I, along with a group of other grassroot activists, have launched a new initiative called Chhattisgarh Bachao Andolan (Save Chhattisgarh movement), to fight against these power plants. We are going to organise mass protests against land acquisition and help locals protect their land. I am hopeful that this movement will both be a challenge and a success for us.

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I was reminded of this when I came to London and Sweden last month to meet European editors as part of a trip organised by Panos London.

It gave me the chance to meet journalists from different parts of the world – Africa, Asia and Europe – and discuss how the issues that have defined the last five years – economic collapse, the rise of social media, resistance to multiculturalism – have also affected the way journalists work.

A Spanish journalist told to us how the economic turbulence in Spain has not only decreased employment opportunities for journalists in general, but also reduced the scope of issues that citizens are concerned about. The prevalent sentiment is “we have too many problems here already in our country”, hence the desire to learn more about issues affecting other people and other nations has lessened. Consequently, he said, there is now a narrow window for reporting on development issues in other parts of the world.

Journalists from Sweden and Poland, however, where the economies are stable and growing, said editors want more diversity in the issues they tackle. We met national editors in Sweden who welcomed stories about AIDS and birth rates, religion and sexual orientation and environmental activists from other countries. They want to broaden their coverage – and are actually willing to pay for it.

There is one way, however, in which journalism can still be global, dynamic and comprehensive, despite economic considerations, and that is through social media.

The growth of social media has helped established news organisations such as the Guardian, which we visited, make it possible for voices from other parts of the world to be heard amid the economic crunch.

I was able to talk to Jaz Cummins, community coordinator for the Guardian’s Global Development team, about this. Cummins said engaging people through Twitter and Facebook helped the Guardian contextualise local issues better – they can get opinions from people who have personal knowledge and expertise on the subjects at hand.

But that is not to say that old-fashioned news-gathering and storytelling processes such as research and personal interviews have become obsolete. On the contrary, the use of social media complements them.

Social media helps generate real-time reactions and opinions from people in local communities – and these help journalists recognise different perspectives on an issue and identify sources for stories.

When I got back to the Philippines, I scoured social media for local concerns that I could do stories on. But I knew that I would not rely on virtual conversations alone. For each story I will personally meet the people involved and explore their environs. Talking to editors in Sweden only affirmed that good, catchy stories require authentic colour and human experience – elements that can only be truly captured by personally talking to the subjects of a story and seeing issues unravel through their eyes.

Meeting journalists from different countries and hearing their own stories showed me how journalism is answering the call of changing times.

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When I first started running people would look at me in surprise or laugh. So I preferred to run before dawn because there were fewer people on the road.

I had spent my whole life in this obscure corner of an equally obscure village in the remote state of Manipur. I never ever thought, even in my dreams, that one day I would be known as a sportswoman.

I entered my first race as a bit of a joke. Some of the women I work with wanted to sign up for a local marathon and asked me to sign up too. I was 60-years-old. As most of the women were much younger than me, I took their request as a joke but said, why not, I will also join. So we all signed up.

To my surprise I came sixth in the veteran women’s category and won 500 rupees. The money wasn’t that important to me. I bought lunch for the six of us who had joined the marathon with the prize money, and some paan with the leftover amount. What was more significant was the respect that people showed me after the victory. Local women’s and older peoples’ collectives organised reception functions for me. It was the first time that I had been being honoured and recognised by my own people. Before that I was a nobody.

My life was like the majority of Manipuri women. Our roles are wife, mother, grandmother.

I was the youngest of four siblings and my formal education only continued until I learnt how to sign my name. I can’t read or write. When I was 17 I married a fellow villager, Salam Ingocha. He taught for a few years at a local school then joined me working at the riverbed quarry. We had four children – a daughter and three sons.

My husband used to drink a lot which sometimes ended with him coming home and picking an argument. I went back to my family home many times, but came back again when he came to call me, thinking of the children. There were many nights that I spent hiding outside the house when he was very drunk.

I never questioned the way of my life or thought there could be any alternative.

I have always been a quarry worker and still am. We work along the nearby Leimakhong riverbed, digging for stones and sifting sand. For those of us who live on the riverbanks, the rivers have always been our mother who ensured our survival. Like most others in my village, I was a young girl when I started working there.

We use circular sieves to lift the soil from the river and find large stones. Then we sift the soil that is left with finer sieves into smaller stones and sand.

Work starts early in the morning. We have a lunch break and a brief rest at home then we continue to work while daylight lasts.

A major change came about when a veteran athlete in the next village persuaded me to sign up for trials for the National Masters Athletic Championships to be held in Chennai in Tamil Nadu. I was selected to represent my state in the over-60s category.

It’s more than 3,200km from Imphal to Chennai. We travelled by bus to Dimapur in the neighbouring state of Nagaland, and then by connecting trains to Chennai via Guwahati in Assam.

I used to see all these inter-state coaches heading for Nagaland or Assam on the national highway near our village. Whenever I would see one I would say I wonder if I will travel on one? And I did. We took one on the first leg of our journey to Chennai.

I had never travelled outside the state. I felt a bit strange as I was travelling without even a family member. But our coach was very good and there were many other women in our team, so that strangeness didn’t last long. Soon we were enjoying the train ride, which for many, like me, was a first.

In Chennai, there was no distinction between day and night, it was brightness all the time. I also saw the ocean. The water spread on and on, a thousand times bigger than our river. There were people playing in the waves. Some even waded into the water to some distance. I was scared, but I went in briefly just at the edge of the waves.

When I first entered the stadium in the Manipur team’s sports pants and top, I almost fainted at the sight of the other participants standing there. I thought, Oh God, they’re so tall, how am I ever going to run with them. I wanted to run out of the event instead, and cursed myself for being so foolish and rash in signing up for sports. But I kept on running. Later, when I heard my name announced as the winner, I wept in elation.

I won gold medals in all the events I entered – 800m, 1500m and 5000m.
I called my family at 1.30am after winning the first medal. My daughter-in-law, Kunjamani, ran around the village just after dawn to tell everyone.

Coming home, I found my elder brothers – Chaoba and Bijoy – waiting for me. I had never seen them crying before.

And those same people who used to laugh at me when I was doing my practice runs now stand by and shout in encouragement when they see me running.

One major frustration was that I could not speak to anyone from the other states. I speak only Meiteilon, the language of the Meitei community in Manipur. The others spoke either Hindi or English. So I have started taking night classes to learn to read and write and my five-year old grandson Abhinash helps me with my lessons at home. I can now count to 100 and write the alphabet in block letters, though I am still having difficulties with small letters.

I would like to keep competing but veteran athletes have to pay their travel expenses and are only partly reimbursed after the event. I wanted to go to the Asian Masters Athletic Championships at Kuala Lumpur, but this would cost 70,000 to 80,000 rupees. This is next to impossible for me. So I had to stay back.

Recently in the National Masters Athletic Championships held in February this year in Bangalore, I won two silver medals for the 10,000 metres and 1500 metres categories. Sports have given me a new identity. So, I will continue running and try to better myself.

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