Floods – Manipur’s New Civic Festival

The floods in Imphal have once again arrived with the punctuality of a state-sponsored holiday, submerging neighbourhoods in Imphal East and West as though the valley were rehearsing for some annual aquatic carnival. What was once considered an unfortunate calamity has now been upgraded to a “new normal,” where an hour of moderately ambitious rainfall is enough to convert localities into Venetian experiments—minus the gondolas, of course.
Even the high-lying areas—those proud bastions that historically boasted immunity from flooding—have finally surrendered to the tides. It seems no neighbourhood can now claim exemption. And why should they? The combined genius of encroachment on drainage, ill-planned construction, and the criminal absence of efficient waterways has ensured that every square inch of the valley receives its fair share of watery justice.
But as the waters rise, so too does the comedy. Social media is flooded not only with images of submerged neighbourhoods but also with laments of vanished MLAs—those valiant leaders who, after winning elections, promptly retreat into political hibernation. On the rare occasion that one does appear, he laments that his noble requests to repair a earlier breached embankment were spurned by higher authorities. How tragic. The elected leaders and the bureaucracy seem locked in an eternal blame-passing Olympics, while the public earns gold medals in makeshift engineering—stuffing mud into riverbanks with bare hands while government departments take the day off.
In theory, Manipur is a paradise of schemes and projects, promising resilience, modernity, and flood-proof futures. On the ground, however, implementation is so elusive it might as well be mythical. What the public receives instead are periodic updates on river water levels, issued two or three times a day with bureaucratic zeal. One wonders: what precisely is the ordinary citizen supposed to do with this information—organise synchronized swimming competitions in their courtyards?
The irony is relentless. Those tasked with flood control watch idly from their offices, while residents become unpaid civil engineers. The only thing more predictable than the rain is the cycle of inaction—before, during, and after the deluge. And unless the authorities abandon their fondness for paperwork and embrace genuine groundwork, floods will continue to be Manipur’s monsoon season regular, returning multiple times each year to remind us of our collective negligence.
Yes, the public too bears blame. Encroaching upon drains, dumping waste into waterways, and celebrating short-term gains at the expense of long-term disaster are community pastimes. Yet responsibility begins at the top. Proactive governance cannot mean simply announcing rainfall warnings; it requires tangible action, before the water climbs past our doorsteps.
Until then, let us accept reality. Floods in Manipur are not accidents anymore—they are traditions. Perhaps next year we can declare them cultural heritage, organise official festivals, and hand out awards for “Most Submerged Locality.” That way, at least, the mockery will be honest.