Dengue fever, once a distant news item from the metros, has now taken up permanent residence in Manipur—almost like an uninvited but expected guest who refuses to leave. For nearly half a decade, the monsoon-to-winter transition has become synonymous not with agricultural bounty, but with hospitals choked by dengue patients. A decade ago, the disease was an occasional whisper; today, it is a deafening wail, and yet the Health Department seems content with a seasonal siesta.
One cannot help but marvel at the inertia of the government machinery. Each year, August arrives, and like clockwork, so does the dengue outbreak. And each year, like a monotonous ritual, the department issues its perfunctory press release: wear full-sleeved clothing, apply mosquito repellent, burn coils, switch on vapour mats, and sleep under nets. If copy-paste could be declared a public health strategy, Manipur would top the global index.
But here is the crux: in a world where Artificial Intelligence can generate detailed weather forecasts, diagnose diseases, and even write poetry, our Health Department’s grand preventive vision begins and ends with advising people to cover their arms and legs.
Visible action? That is a phrase alien to the corridors of power. Has anyone seen a state-wide mosquito eradication drive? Has drainage improvement, fogging, or surveillance of breeding grounds ever been conducted with any seriousness? Or are we to believe that the mighty government’s master plan is to outsource responsibility to the common citizen armed with mosquito coils?
The public, unsurprisingly, is weary of this charade. Manipur is not asking for miracles. The people would simply appreciate a proactive, scientific, and planned response—measures taken before the mosquitoes begin their annual feast. After all, prevention is not just better than cure; it is also cheaper, faster, and far less embarrassing for a state that likes to boast about “progress.” Yet here we are, repeating the same seasonal tragedy, as though memory is a luxury the administration cannot afford.
The irony is biting: while the Health Department drafts press releases in air-conditioned offices, families are left battling not just the mosquito menace but also skyrocketing medical bills, loss of productivity, and the fear of an overburdened healthcare system. One wonders if the officials have forgotten the age-old wisdom: “A stitch in time saves nine.” Unfortunately, in Manipur, it seems we must first let the fabric tear beyond repair before someone even searches for the needle.
If the state wishes to demonstrate that governance is more than a yearly cut-and-paste exercise, then let it begin with serious, visible, preventive action against dengue. Otherwise, the people may be forced to conclude that the government’s only true expertise lies in perfecting the art of press releases—while mosquitoes perfect the art of survival.