SubscriberWrites: Once upon a time in Manipur
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SubscriberWrites: Once upon a time in Manipur

Recounting the heartwarming experiences from my time in Manipur–friendships, memories & beyond.

   
City image of Imphal city in Manipur | Image via Pixabay

City image of Imphal city in Manipur | Image via Pixabay

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All the way from Gujarat?”, he said, with excitement brimming from his eyes. He was our
local guide for Manipur. Gujaratis are fond of travelling that’s well known; however very few
of us ever think of visiting the North east of our country for our holidays. Out of sight is
usually out of mind. I got this opportunity to not only explore the state but also experience
home hospitality in the hinterlands of Manipur. Every year an organisation called National
Medicos Organisation (of which I am a member) along with Seva Bharati Purvanchal
organise medical camps under the name ‘Dhanvantari Seva Yatra’ for the people of remote
areas of north east in which undergraduate medical students and post graduate resident
doctors and doctors from across the country are encouraged to participate and garner their
services. The entire programme extends from 7 to 15 days and doctors are motivated to stay at the homes of locals and indulge in local traditions to understand their patients better. Routine medical check up and medicines are provided. Doctors also spread awareness regarding healthy lifestyle practises. This yatra has been going on since 20 years now. I was fortunate to be a part of it almost 10 years ago, while I was in my third year of medical college. I along with my colleagues from Government medical college, Bhavnagar (my alma mater) and Government medical college, Patna were posted in a village on the outskirts of Imphal.

The rustic charm of the village and its people was heart warming. Surrounded by hills from
all sides, covered in lush paddy fields the village seemed like the ones from those from
Ruskin bond books, only this time the scene shifted to the eastern Himalayas instead of the
Gharwal range. We stayed at the village headman’s home. He looked frail and wrinkled,
carried a rudraksh beaded mala like the one used by Indira Gandhiji as he said he adored her; however it was astonishing to know he was still very active while teaching his pupils the ancient art of sword fighting. He had a peaceful and warm smile and commanded respect in his community. He and his family treated us with utmost love and care. Our morning would start at 4 am with the first rays of sun and the rooster calls. We bathed in chilled water from the nearby lake or hand pump. Sometimes it rained in the morning making us shiver all the more. We had our local lemon red tea and off we were to our medical camp site which used to be around 20 km away from our village. Different sites everyday like Moreh, Lok Tak lake, border towns near Myanmar and around Imphal. Hundreds of people thronged our camp sites everyday to talk to us, collect medicines, show us their previous medical records and some would just come to see someone from as far as Gujarat. The camps were a delight. We participated wholeheartedly in local customs and traditions which they encouraged us to be a part of. We relished the most unusual vegetables and food dishes which were exclusive to that region prepared especially for us. The camp sites looked like festival sites, with people coming from far flung hilly and forest areas to consult us and hear tales of mainland from us. We ate their food, danced to their songs and exchanged tales of the land. The local kids were too cute to ignore and the ladies were naturally pretty. We loved the attention and love we got from all of them. The entire village along with the village headman came to drop us at the bus depo in Imphal when we were leaving. They had tears of joys in their eyes. They stuffed our luggage with local chips and noodles for the long journey back to Guwahati. They waved at us till our bus was in sight.

I might have put these memories and friendships on the backburner for most of the years of my college life once I was back in Bhavnagar; however the thought of those people still bring a wide smile on my face. Occasionally I even talk to some of them on special days.

I did not know whether those people were Meities, Kukis, Nagas, Zomis or any other tribe or caste or religion; neither do I know it now, nor do I want to know. For me they were all
humans first and Indians second. And I can assume that they felt the same for me. Miss you Manipur.

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