Ever had a lotus stem salad laced with fermented fish, evaporated cane juice cookie, chopped eel spiced with chillies or a plate of fried mountain onion roots?

Okay, they’re probably not on the menu of your average restaurant but to my pleasant surprise all the above and much more were on offer in New Delhi at a cultural event dedicated to northeast India.

The main attraction seemed to be the food — cuisines from all eight states that occupy India’s hilly northeast region. Maybe it was because of their novelty factor (not many restaurants in Delhi offer such dishes) but many people lined up at the food stalls (although admittedly, many were probably just gawking at the unusual dishes on display).

Consider this. Manipur state offered a peculiar salad known as the “Singzu” made from lotus stem, cabbage, powdered sesame seeds, mountain herbs, peas and gram touched up with pungent fermented fish.

The main attraction at the Mizoram stall were the fermented bamboo shoots, fried mountain onion roots and even fermented crab mixed with sesame seeds. While the ‘thali’ at the Nagaland stall comprised rice, pork, fried eel flavoured with a highly pungent chilli known as Raja mirchi and fermented soya beans.

The Northeastern states are connected to the rest of India by a tiny strip of land sandwiched between Nepal and Bangladesh and are traditionally more isolated.

Initiatives like the festival aim to promote and expose the culture of the region to the mainland audience.

As eminent anthropologist Prof A.C Bhagbati put it: “Events like this would pave the way for integration of the Northeast with the rest of the country.”

But I wasn’t sure how people would assimilate the whole experience of the event which showcased the history, art and lifestyle of the region.

Take for instance the cuisine. Coming from the Northeast myself, I am accustomed to the local delicacies but was not sure if other visitors, who were having their first taste of the usually forest-based dishes, would find it to their liking.

My fears were unfounded.

“I tried it, and I liked it. Very nice,” said visitor Anjali Joshipuri of the “Singzu” salad. She and her husband said they planned to try out other dishes as well, as they sat on a table laid out in the winter sun, waiting for a plate of porridge made from rice and chicken.

For the less adventurous, there were also the familiar momos (dumplings) and noodles at the Sikkim stall. Also on the menu — sticky rice puri (a kind of fried bread) and cookies made from “kurtai” (derived from sugar can juice) and peanuts.

Judging by the crowd at the food counter, the Nagaland stall seemed to be the hotspot. Exhibitor Temsiichuba Jamir said visitors loved the Nagaland “thali”, an opinion seconded by visitor Latika Varadarajan, a chirpy lady who seemed to be in her seventies.

“Superb,” she said, chewing on fermented bamboo shoots for the first time. “If you need a food taster, I’ll be happy to volunteer”.

We both had a hearty laugh. It’s indeed the food that binds us all.

As the country watched in horror after terrorists exploded bombs in Ahmedabad and Bangalore ahead of Independence Day last month, a small village in far north-eastern Manipur had just finished a symbolic ritual in its efforts to end its grief over a crime purportedly unleashed by state actors.

Friends, families and human rights groups observed the last rites of 24-year-old Thangjam Manorama Devi, four years after she was allegedly raped and killed by personnel of the Assam Rifles paramilitary force. By performing the rites, they broke a pledge not to conduct the ceremony until their demands for punishment of the guilty and the repeal of the controversial Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act from the state were fulfilled.

Like the Manorama Devi episode, excesses by security forces (I won’t add the word “alleged” because I have personally experienced it, being kicked, punched and shoved in the face with the nozzle of an SLR rifle while walking back home one night after attending church service), coupled with a sense of government neglect continues to alienate citizens of less-developed areas like the northeast and Naxal-dominated regions of Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand and Orissa.

Lack of economic opportunities is also a key factor in the proliferation of militant groups - in Manipur alone, there are reportedly 30-odd militant groups operating - perhaps joining an underground group is just another form of employment?

In other parts of the country, there are many who feel alienated because of their ethnicity, or religion. Muslims face profiling even in cosmopolitan cities (I know of a good friend, a senior journalist at that, who was unable to find accommodation in posh south Delhi. Landlords he approached told him they don’t rent to Muslims). Allegations of innocent people being framed and tortured by police following terror attacks have also been reported by newspapers.

The diabolical bombings in Bangalore and Ahmedabad also appear to have been carried out by home-grown extremists with a grouse against the state, trying to justify their actions with atrocities committed against a particular community.

Some time ago during a media event, I was trying to explain the security situation in the northeast to a senior journalist over dinner, when he suddenly stopped me in mid-sentence. “That’s the difference between people who come from your region and the rest of us,” he said, continuing “When we talk about the army, we just say ‘the army’ or ‘our army’, whereas you, wittingly or unwittingly, call them ‘the Indian army’, as if they were some foreign occupying force.”

I never realized it before, but he was right. And as a journalist trying to maintain an objective perspective, I have since taken care every time I have a discussion on the subject, But there are many others who, wittingly or unwittingly, still use that phrase - perhaps a manifestation of an underlying sentiment.

Sixty years after the country gained independence, many things have changed for the better, and we can afford to be proud of the nation’s achievements, our democracy (chaotic as it may be), and the many great men and women who have brought us to where we are.

But there is always the other side of the coin, and the truth is that there are many who feel they have been deprived, who still don’t feel like celebrating their independence.

When the tri-colour flutters and the nation erupts in celebration on August 15, some places in the northeast and Jammu and Kashmir will probably observe bandhs, with the possibility of bombs exploding, as it has been the case in previous years.

In his address to the nation last year on Independence Day, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh said he had a “vision of an India that is undivided despite diversity…. where every citizen feels proud to be an Indian.” Are we there yet?