Life in uniform | When ‘me first’ gave way to ‘you first’ in Manipur
A former commander recalls how small acts of fairness and shared purpose helped bridge deep divides between Kukis and Meiteis, offering a lesson in coexistence for a fractured state.
Army jawans stand guard in violence-hit area of Imphal town, Manipur. (File Photo)
Written by Brig (retd) Advitya Madan
News of recurring clashes in Manipur, whether between Kukis and Meiteis, or more recently Kukis and Nagas, lands with a particular heaviness on those who have lived and served there. For me, those headlines are overlaid with memories from 2013, when I commanded 27 Sector in Churachandpur. They are memories not of division, but of a fragile, hard-won togetherness that once seemed both real and sustainable.
A recent call from two old friends, one Kuki and the other Meitei, brought it all back with surprising clarity. Both had once received prosthetic limbs through a camp we organised with the Shree Bhagwan Mahaveer Viklang Sahayata Samiti of Jaipur. As we spoke, I was reminded how small, sincere acts, when carried out with fairness and empathy, can quietly rebuild trust in fractured societies.
When I first took charge, I sensed a subtle but undeniable distance within my own ranks. There was no formal discrimination; none is tolerated in the Army or the Assam Rifles, but there were invisible divides. Barracks were informally clustered, and conversations tended to remain within familiar circles. It was not the ethos I had imbibed in 27 Punjab, a unit that prided itself on its mixed composition and shared identity.
Breaking that inertia required something simple yet consistent. We introduced a “buddy system” with a deliberate twist: each pair would comprise one Kuki and one Meitei. They would train, patrol, and dine together, sharing not just duties but daily routines. To lead by example, I restructured my own office, with a Kuki personal assistant working closely with a Meitei radio operator.
The results were gradual but unmistakable. Within days, hesitation gave way to conversation; within weeks, a sense of camaraderie began to take root. Encouraged by this shift, the approach was extended across all six battalions under my command. In the field, this trust proved invaluable. During one encounter, a Kuki scout instinctively exposed himself to enemy fire to shield his Meitei partner, an act of courage that transcended identity.
Beyond the camps, the impact was equally visible. Villages began reflecting this growing ease. Festivals were celebrated together, and social interactions became more inclusive. It was a quiet but powerful reminder that cohesion, once nurtured, can travel beyond institutional boundaries.
It was in this environment that we organised the artificial limb camp. On the final day, a shortage left us with six prosthetics for 12 patients, equally divided between Kukis and Meiteis. The dilemma was immediate and sensitive.
As we deliberated, an elderly Kuki man stepped forward and suggested that the younger Meitei patients be prioritised, saying simply that his generation had already lived its life. Before we could respond, the Meitei group declined the offer with equal humility. In that moment, what could have been a point of tension turned into a rare display of mutual regard.
We arranged for additional prosthetics the following day, ensuring that all 12 beneficiaries could walk away with dignity restored. Yet what endured in memory was not the resolution, but the instinct of each group to place the other before themselves.
In today’s troubled context, such moments may seem distant. Yet they serve as a reminder that beneath layers of conflict, the capacity for empathy and coexistence remains intact. Manipur has known what it means to say “you first” and truly mean it. That spirit, if rekindled, can still light the path forward.
(Advitya Madan is an Army veteran)
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