In December 1971, I found myself embarking on an improbable journey to Manipur. I write about the tensions I faced, torn between personal responsibilities and professional obligations, set against the turbulence of the India-Pakistan War. Some lessons are instructive even today.
Wartime journey to Calcutta
My maternity leave was over when I was told to report to the Chief Secretary of Manipur, at Imphal. With my husband already posted to Manipur, all leaves cancelled because of the impending Indo-Pak war, and despite the encumbrance of a three-month-old infant, I knew I had no choice but to leave Delhi. The journey to Kolkata (then Calcutta) was by train and thereafter by air to Imphal.
Accompanied by my 63-year-old mother, our infant son, a cosseted silky Sydney dog, 24 tins of infant food, and endless cartons of household stuff, we reached Old Delhi railway station. A European man lay on an upper berth of our compartment. As the coolies rammed in the luggage, piece by piece, he mocked the foibles of Indian passengers. I ignored him, realising that in a 24-hour journey, climb down, he must!
Whether it was the baby’s gurgles, the smell of home-cooked stuffed parathas, or the need to stretch his legs mid-way, he chose to make friends. When we neared Howrah station, he handed me a 10 French franc coin.
“Your son has only to show this coin at my home in Paris, and he will receive a family welcome!” he said. I still have the coin, but alas, have lost the Frenchman’s address.
When we arrived, Calcutta was under total blackout and air raid sirens rent the air. No one had come to receive me from Manipur house. All I could do was to hire two yellow taxis—still ubiquitous in Kolkata—and wait for the lights to turn on.
A digression is relevant here. Recently, I asked no less than Air Marshal Kapil Kak, decorated for his air combat missions during the 1971 India-Pakistan war, two questions. Why were sirens and blackouts needed in Kolkata? And why were flights to Manipur suspended when Imphal was so far beyond the war zone?
As he explained, our radars, sensors, and IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) systems kicked off as soon as they sensed an unidentified plane. Second, as Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) lay sandwiched between West Bengal and Manipur, and both India and Pakistan had shortly before the war banned overflying each other’s territory, civil flights were not possible.
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Three days to Imphal
To return to my narrative, my target was to reach Dimapur in Nagaland—the gateway to Imphal. Little did I realise that the train journey from Kolkata was (then) a 54-hour foray through the Assam forests; besides, our compartment door had no latch! Army jawans occupied most of the train, which was neither a help nor a hindrance. My mom and I took turns entreating tea stall owners for boiling water, for the baby’s feed! On the third day, as the train drew into Dimapur station, I could see my husband peering into each compartment. In pure relief, my knees buckled!
Eight hours later, travelling by road through Nagaland and stopping for lunch at Karong in Manipur, where a hospitable batchmate was the Deputy Commissioner (in a house without water), we reached the Imphal Circuit House—baby, mom, dog, and infant food—all intact!
Settling in
The next morning, I called on the Lieutenant Governor of Manipur, who had been ringing alarm bells about being desperately short of officers. His face withered as I walked in. Convinced that I was not going to show up, he was now apprehensive that this woman officer would protest about mistreatment. Instead, I calmly told him I just wanted a nice house with a western toilet! In 24 hours, we were ready to move into a bamboo cottage with a picture-postcard garden. Happily, the insensitive LG did not last long. In the very next month, Manipur and Tripura got statehood and our man had to exit Raj Bhavan for good.
Inconvenient officers get fired!
Once elections to the first legislative assembly of the fullstate were completed, the ministers took charge. They seemed courteous and unspoiled—until I underlined the impracticality of implementing their biggest election promise: setting up a Regional Medical College at Imphal, in the next three months.
As Medical Secretary, I found that outrageous and said so! I was summarily divested of the medical charge and left to devise ways to market Manipur’s abundant produce before it perished.
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The life we led—and takeaways
Social life and company in Imphal were congenial (and instructive), with dinners organised in one house or the other, by turn. Cultural events were a regular feature, with exquisite presentations of the full repertoire of Manipuri dances.. Visits from officers posted in outlying districts were always welcome; they offered rare insights into sensitive developments. Occasionally the local BSF or CRPF commandants invited some of us to spend a weekend with them and experience life with the paramilitary forces. Rummy and Flash were welcome diversions.
Looking back over 52 years, I cannot forget our daily repast of luscious garden vegetables, supplemented with freshly caught river sole fish, oyster mushrooms (at 25 paise per kg), and the juiciest pineapples!
Unfortunately, most local people distrusted us as foreigners, but the office staff, provided we were fair in our dealings, were respectful and diligent. When my peon brought files home, he promptly sat on the sofa. During the afternoon, our ima (woman help) snoozed with the baby on our double bed, adding to my Mom’s chagrin.
Visiting the ima market, run by scores of incredibly enterprising women, was yet another lesson, this time in efficient organisation and micro-management. Sadly, their lazy husbands often drank away their hard-earned money.
Manipur’s main problems revolve around ethnic and tribal strife over land, land-use, in-migration, and jobs. The All-India Services (IAS, IPS and the Indian Forest Service) were created to bind the country and its people together. Hand-picked officers, if deployed adroitly and given a free hand, might yet hammer out solutions that abjure politics.
Shailaja Chandra is a retired civil servant and former secretary in the health ministry. Views are personal.
(Edited by Asavari Singh)