Governor Ajay Kumar Bhalla’s Constitution Day speech at the MFDC Auditorium was a polished tribute to the Constitution—an elegantly worded recital about democratic foundations, Ambedkar’s brilliance, and the timeless values of justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity. It was a speech that would have sounded perfect in a classroom, in a debate hall, or perhaps in an alternate universe where the Constitution is actually allowed to perform its duties. But unfortunately, the Governor delivered it in Manipur, where constitutional rights spend most of their time either missing in action or stuck in traffic on one of the many blocked highways.
He spoke of the “extraordinary journey” of the Constituent Assembly with much warmth. The extraordinary journey of a Manipuri citizen trying to travel from Imphal to the districts today entails uncertainty, checkpoints, risk and a prayer—all of which do not figure in the Constitution of India. The Governor reminded the audience that the Constitution guarantees justice, liberty and equality. The people of Manipur must have wondered whether he was quoting the Indian Constitution or describing the plot of an idealistic television drama.
There was special praise for the resilience of Manipuris, their commitment to democratic values and their faith in institutions. That is true, of course—Manipuris are resilient. They’ve had to be. When the Constitution takes a holiday and institutions act like distant relatives who only show up for ceremonies, resilience becomes the only functioning system left. The Governor lauded the state’s adherence to constitutional principles; the public silently counted the many ways these principles have been outsourced, suspended or conveniently forgotten.
Take the highways. Article 19 of the Constitution guarantees free movement throughout India. But in Manipur, the highways have transformed into symbolic museums where the right to movement is displayed as an artifact—something people can see, talk about but not actually experience. It’s a bit like celebrating World Food Day in a famine-hit region: symbolic, heartfelt, but largely disconnected from reality.
Then there are the thousands of internally displaced persons who have been living in camps for nearly two years. Their right to life and dignity, according to Article 21, is supposedly non-negotiable. Yet they continue to wait, and wait, and wait—while the state machinery shrugs helplessly, insisting that safeguarding their rights is a task slightly beyond its reach. One wonders what exactly the government machinery can safeguard these days, besides chairs at ceremonial events.
The Governor quoted Ambedkar’s famous warning that even the best constitution would fail if those implementing it are not good. In Manipur, this line has converted itself from a warning into a prophecy fulfilled with impressive accuracy. Ambedkar must be turning in his grave-or taking notes on how thoroughly his predictions have been proved right.
He encouraged the youth to read and understand the Constitution. Excellent suggestion. But perhaps the youth should also read the footnotes added by ground reality: Article 19—Terms and Conditions Apply; Article 21—Subject to Administrative Convenience; Article 14—Not Available in All Areas. If the Constitution were an app, it would come with a flashing warning: “Features unavailable in your region.”
His speech therefore insisted that constitutional morality must guide governance and citizenship. The irony hangs thick in the air. In a land where the Constitution often serves merely as a decorative backdrop for official events, the preaching of constitutional morality feels like giving advice on gardening in the middle of a drought.
And yet, Manipur must celebrate Constitution Day. Not because everything is fine, but because so much is not. Constitution Day, in Manipur’s context, is less a celebration and more a reminder—a day when the state ceremoniously recites all the promises it has not kept. If the Constitution is a mirror, Constitution Day is the moment we are forced to look into it and notice how far the reflection has faded.
So yes, let the speeches go on. Let leaders announce unity, harmony and justice from the podium. Meanwhile, the people will sit quietly, listening, nodding, wondering when the words will again join with reality. Constitution Day in Manipur is now a curious mix of homage and satire—a day of respect for the letter and critique for the practice.
Till the highways are safe to travel, till the displaced return home, till institutions remember their purpose, Manipur will continue to mark Constitution Day not as a celebration of what is but as a stubborn reminder of what should have been—and what still must be reclaimed.