We were in the middle of the 11 days training programme and our group was the controlling group of punctuality and smooth functioning of the days proceedings. And like in most training programmes, we presented some ice-breakers. I volunteered that day and this was when I made the biggest mistake of life: telling a tragedy joke.

It was one of the most popular jokes in the campus of RIMS and we have been enjoying the joke for years again and again. It was medical joke. Although I had lots and lots of such jokes which were for sure to make the participants laugh their hearts out, somehow I chose that joke. Perhaps I was destined to meet the tragedy that day. The joke goes like this.

It was exam season in RIMS and the subject was Forensic Medicine. The external examiners were enjoying with all sorts of questions in their minds. One such popular way of asking was, "Well, boy, where are you from?"

"Sir, I am from Arunachal Pradesh"

"You know the biggest river there, Siang River. Suppose you are posted there on the banks of Siang in a PHC as a medical officer. One day the villagers come running to you saying that there is a dead body floating in the river. As a medical officer, how would you go about it? How would you proceed?"

The examiner laid the bait. He was waiting for the minute steps to be missed by the candidate. He knew that the student would miss to mention about the police inquest or make mistakes in enumerating the steps of determining whether the injuries were antemortem and postmortem. The examiner was enjoying with his tongue smacking his lips.

The meek candidate looked at the examiner through his narrowly slit eyes and answered, "Sir, in Arunachal we do not have Forensic Department. So, we just throw away the dead body."

Every time this line of the story is told in the typical Arunachal accent every body had roared in wild laughter. But that day in Hotel Havelli during the TFI (training for Instructors) and HOPE (Hospital Preparedness for Emergencies) training nobody except a few laughed. They were decent enough to force a smile on their faces just to save me from committing suicide.

The day’s activity went on and I could not understand why they did not laugh in this Western India. The training programme continued and was nearing conclusion. On the last day, Dr Dinkar Pai one of the trainers from JIPMER Pondicherry ran through the slides of photos he managed to capture during the tsunami relief where he was one of the medical doctors deployed there.

Then I knew why those people did not laugh. The picture showed scores of dead bodies strewn all over, in different stages of putrification.

Some photos showed a father searching for his family in the water, some searching for their near and dear ones in the makeshift mortuary; some running after the relief supplies, some mass burials where Hindus and Muslims lay side by side leveled by nature’s fury.

The photo session was followed by another session of photos of the Bhuj earthquake. Similar story was told by those photos. The hand of a girl reaching out of fallen debris of a building. The colourful bangles of the girl told the happy story of a bygone days which would never return.

I could feel tears rolling up in my eyes. I knew then why the group did not laugh at my joke few days ago. I knew I made the mistake.

Here people had faced the dead in its worse state. With thousands of bodies strewn all around you, you would never be able to laugh at a joke which did not respect death. I had no intention of disrespect. We had laughed at how the innocent looking Arunachali escaped the well laid trap of the typical medical examiner.

Today, as I drove from home in West Delhi towards my office in Central Delhi I took my usual road, the straight road of Shanti path. It was not just because it was a shorter route but also because the road is extremely beautiful with the line of trees hiding the embassies and the seasonal flowers showing their multiple hues in the lined flower beds.

The road would hit the Teen Murti which again was a unique beauty in itself. I would then drive around the Rastrapati Bhawan and kiss the Raisina Hill rise and then turn right towards my office in Nirman Bhawan. Every day this drive rejuvenates me.

But today, I see the full blossom of life. Most of the trees which were all barren last week were today full with the brand new tender leaves of a colour between blood red and chocolate.

It was the celebration of life. Life has come back to them after the fall. I was always happy to see this from my childhood days.

On my trip home few years ago, I would look out of the Blue hill buses to get a glimpse of these trees: the Chumbrei mapal and the heikha mapal. Year after year it has gone on like this.

But today there is a mellow feeling inside. Many year have gone by. I have left my home town for employment. I keep hearing stories of the kidnap, deaths, killings and the ambushes.

My home town is bleeding and crying like all those autumn trees in Shanti Path. I have seen them celebrate life today. I am yearning to see life in full bloom in Manipur.

Thinking all these I reached my office. As I park my vehicle near a tree, I saw the black faced Langur monkey tied to the tree. He was meant to drive away all the other monkeys who have literally invaded our office building.

I took a shot of him with my mobile phone camera. It was meant for the bedtime stories of my two little daughters Blessy and Leerie. I will gradually teach them how to respect the dead and not to make mistake like their dad.

More than that I would teach them how to respect the Living for always before death it is the LIVING that counts. I will teach them the resilience of the Manipuris.

I will show them the new leaves of the trees in Shanti Path and pray with them that we see new leaves on every tree in Manipur in full bloom of life, celebrating life.

I am coming home, my darling daughters!