During my occasional visits to Imphal, the state capital of Manipur, the most singular thing that besotted my rapt attention was the unusual scarceness of birds from the bountiful tree canopies and clear blue sky. When asked, a young friend of mine explained that small boys in Manipur are highly skilled in using the catapult and are very fond of trying it on the birds. Hence seeing the skies are not secure, the avian community migrated to safer pastures. This reminded me a quote from Shakespeare - "As flies to the wanton boys, are we to Gods, they kill us for their sport'". Both are true in the case of Manipur. There is another assemblage in Manipur whose numbers are falling dangerously fast, un-noticed. They are the Young Generation, the future and promise of any given land. You ask for the reason, it's hard to count. Manipur has all the Hell sent gifts to drive away youngs and olds alike.

There are Ministers, MLAs, Top level bureaucrats, heavy weights from judiciary who stole the entire state treasury brazenly to its last pai. But they are all beyond this public indignation and social retributions of the saviors of the soil. After all who wouldn't want a little help here and there, who wouldn't love the comfort offered by the money even if it is smeared a little with blood and dirt, we could wash our hands thoroughly and have a sprinkle of perfume named social cause, which would wipe away the last remnants of conscience. Kidnapping for ransom is one among the most lucrative business here. Manipur, one of the most neglected states in the Indian Union, is plagued by at least 24 trigger-happy insurgent outfits who run their own parallel government and extort ("tax" or "percentage" as they call it) common people & government officials alike. They pick up corrupt low level state employees and shoot them, sometime in the leg or sometime on the head, the fate is decided by the adrenalin level in the comrade's blood stream. All done for cheap publicity under the garb of preservation of social values and upliftment. Harthal, Bandhs, riot and arson are like flash floods. It could happen anywhere anytime without forewarning and prior indication. Electricity is a luxury, even a packet of peanuts coast double the amount of other cities.

Schools and Colleges (if any colleges are there for I haven't seen one in the city, forgive me if I m wrong) are closed during most of the year, thankfully due to again hard to count reasons. During the rainy season only a seasoned man could distinguish road from a brook cause it all look the same. The Central government is complacent with sending more and more and security forces, which further widens the rut between people and the government. The money and aid, which are lavishly spent on the state, helps only to fatten the politicians and corrupt officials pocket. It never reaches the common man who is the rightful beneficiary. Here exploitation is masqueraded as Aid. The real beneficiaries are the corrupt politicians and corrupt officials who pocket the lion's share of the so-called AID. The contractors who are the protégé of the men in power walk away with huge profits with works half done or completely adulterated. Hats off to the roads, which turn out to be elephant traps and buildings and culverts that collapse with a little finger push. Schools without proper roof and infrastructure, hospitals without ample beds and even devoid of the basic life saving drugs and equipments.

Here the victims are the common man, who doesn't have high connections and access to the power centers. They are the poor and their children will have no future. The common man in the street who dies in a crossfire between security forces and militants are termed as dreaded militant by the police and they claim rewards and recognition. On the flipside the militant outfit proclaims him as the brave martyr who laid down his life for the noble cause. They convene condolence meeting and decide to raise fund for the furthering of the lofty cause through donations from the public. The poor family of the deceased is wafted to oblivion without any support from either of these warring sides or the government, the up keeper and protector of the common man. The common man is a collateral damage, dispensable, a non-entity. His life or death affects none, bar the poor family he left behind.

In view of prevailing conditions in Manipur it would not be illogical for a right thinking parent to send his son or daughter to other cities like Delhi, Bangalore, Hyderabad for academic pursuits and consequent job hunting. The poorest of the mothers would skip a meal or two, wrap her phanek tight, save the money and would see that her child goes out for studies. Now for a brighter side here things take a healthier turn. The children who had seen the suffering and misery do not let their parent down. They come to other places, establish and excel. Many of them dig their way into the coveted positions in the Indian civil services; others do extremely well in their chosen fields such as medical and engineering. The trough and the apogee, the eternal cycle of life turns slowly. But after this apogee there is a perennial trough.

The migrant students were first enthralled by the metropolitan cities and the fast moving urban life style but eventually they get sucked into the whirlpool irretrievably. Memories fade, very fast, succored by the apprehensive parents who would dissuade their wards from returning to the home where violence, corruption, bleak future and drugs rule the day. After the young man or the woman finds a spouse in the same city who had the same background and history, the fate is sealed. The uprooting and the re-planting are complete with the nuptial knot being tied with poorly imitated marriage ceremonies reminiscing the functions at home. Parents and the children are blissful with long telephone talks, thanks for the trimming down of long distance call charges and the cheap air tickets. The yester years, the bonds, the responsibilities, memories all are swept under the living room rug only to be taken out and languidly discussed during a weekend get together or on a steaming cup of coffee in a late winter evening.

Many houses in Imphal portray the gloomy picture of an old age home. Two elderly couple waiting for eternity staring at the telephone or counting the days when their children would come with their grandchildren who most probably would not talk Meiteilon. For each and every small errand the old duo had to rely on their own. They brave the downpour, defy the piercing winter chill, stand in the long queue, carry heavy bags, bargain and argue. If a medical emergency arises in the night, God save them. But they are happy, they are happy with the consolation that their children are comfortable and far away from such wretchedness.The young and able ones are not accused for all these misfortunes, neither they have to feel guilty or responsible for the grim state of affairs. No one would point an accusing finger. Any level headed person can make out that they had to fly away under compulsion from the un promising failed state machinery and by the entreaty of the parents.

But one must bear in mind that they cannot live in state of constant denial. They have to fly back home when the sun would set. No matter how attractive the outside world seems one cannot erase the track they had tread or forget the sweet home where the heart belongs.

There is a land where the memories are strewn on the sand like the marbles you loved, cherished and fought for. A land where you watched the dusk sun melt into gold and swept away by the ripples in the rivulet. The bright moon and the radiant stars which told stories of witches and fairies. The intoxicating smell of the virgin earth on the first rain, a land where you had the first crush and the heart break and now it this land that is devastated and pillaged by the devilish barbarians, both domestic and foreign. A land, which shed a tear of joy when you were born, laughed when you laughed, cried when you cried, comforted you when felt dejected, accepted as you were and as you are, without any prejudice or pre meditated clauses.

No matter how tall or low you stand in the social bearings, I, an outsider, a myang very earnestly believe that you can play a role, a positive role to lift the poor old home of yours from this dismal state, renovate and reconstruct. Let us put our words into action regardless of the apprehensions of the results. The God almighty had bestowed us with wisdom and knowledge, empowered us with the faculty of analytical reasoning. The potential to distinguish between right and wrong. Last but not least a strong backbone to stand up and say the righteous truth.. This of course must not be mistaken as another call for arms. Cause we have all seen the arms could only bring mayhem and misery and fill the pockets of the greedy. Frankly I do not know who you are my dear brother or is that a sister and do not know what you can do, but one thing I know that you can do something very important for your home. If not you, can you suggest anyone else's name to do that for you??

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3.25 Copyright (C) 2007 Alain Georgette / Copyright (C) 2006 Frantisek Hliva. All rights reserved."