Operation Successful, Patient Dead

If Manipur ever needed a medical analogy to explain its governance style, the Sangai Festival 2025 has delivered the diagnosis with clinical precision: “Operation success, patient dies.” The government executed a festival inauguration so perfectly orchestrated, so immaculately choreographed, that only one crucial component went missing—the public.
At the BOAT complex, the Governor cut the ribbon, dignitaries applauded dutifully, cultural troupes swirled in colourful synchronicity… and the audience let out the kind of silence usually associated with abandoned cinema halls. If applause could echo in emptiness, this would be a world-record attempt.
This prestigious annual festival—once hailed as Manipur’s gateway to tourism, culture, and global attention—now resembles a practical demonstration of how to organize a mega-event sans mega crowd. The only humans confident enough to show up seemed to be top officials, two energetically suspended MLAs, and a handful of media persons who looked as though they had walked into the wrong event but were too polite to leave.
Government employees, perhaps fulfilling compulsory attendance instructions camouflaged as “requests,” were sprinkled throughout the stands like confused tourists who had gotten off at the wrong bus stop. Meanwhile, the food and craft stalls, which are customarily a battlefield of shoppers and enthusiastic bargain hunters, stood deserted and melancholy, like shops awaiting customers who had long eloped with e-commerce.
And then, of course, there is the government’s favorite number: Rs 17 crore. Yes, an amount adequate to build small bridges or repair large potholes was poured into decorations, lighting, logistics, and cultural programming-for an audience that wouldn’t fill a school auditorium. If fiscal extravagance were an art form, this would win a gold medal. A question lingers in the mind: was the true festival the fund utilisation exercise, and was the event itself merely a side effect?
By late afternoon, reports said that the venue had more security personnel than visitors. The ticket counters, once swamped with jostling crowds, sat unused and pensive, like antique pieces from a time when public trust still existed. Had the organizers installed CCTVs to count visitors, they might have mistaken cobwebs for movements.
It is not that Manipur has no culture, vibrancy, or people who enjoy festivals. For years, the Sangai Festival has been celebrated as the state’s cultural crown. But timing matters. When society hurts, when trust gets fractured, and when people go unheard, the government’s insistence on celebration feels less like public service and more like public relations.
This is not just a logistical embarrassment; it is a metaphor of a deep disconnect between policy and people, between presentation and reality. A festival without its citizens is like a lamp without oil: it may continue to glow for some time, but it no longer illuminates anything.
So, yes, the event “happened.” The lights went on, the artists performed, the officials struck a pose, and the budget vanished—and the people stayed home. In the large ledger book of governance, the administration may mark “Operation Success.” But when the people are absent, unhealed, or disillusioned, then the patient—the public—remains in critical condition.
And no amount of PR can revive a heartbeat which the government refuses to listen to.