Myanmar is still under military rule, while Nagaland is in the world's largest democracy, yet Dimapur is far behind Yangon, be it cleanliness or dignity of ordinary people.
Cities have a fragrance of their own. Some are remembered by the aroma of food, others by the smell of flowers or the sea. Yangon leaves behind a different kind of scent—not one that comes from perfume or incense, but from discipline, cleanliness, and the quiet dignity of ordinary people.
It is often said that development is measured by skyscrapers and highways. Yet the true character of a city is revealed in the everyday conduct of its people. In Yangon, what stood out was not merely the buildings or landmarks, but the discipline that had become part of daily life.
The first impression was the warmth of the people. Strangers greeted one another with genuine courtesy. Hospitality seemed woven into the culture, not displayed for visitors but practiced as a way of life. Such encounters inevitably raise a difficult question for us in Nagaland. Have we slowly lost the warmth for which our people were once known? In places like Dimapur, suspicion often replaces trust, and hurried transactions have taken the place of friendly conversations. A society cannot thrive when kindness becomes the exception rather than the norm.
The streets of Yangon offered another lesson. Roads and public spaces were remarkably clean. One could walk without constantly encountering piles of waste or the unpleasant odour of neglected garbage. Cleanliness was not merely the responsibility of municipal authorities; it reflected the civic consciousness of the people themselves.
The contrast with Dimapur is painful. It is difficult to find a locality where overflowing garbage bins, roadside litter, or foul-smelling waste are absent. The stench that greets residents and visitors alike has become so familiar that many no longer notice it. Yet such conditions should never be accepted as normal. Clean surroundings are not a luxury—they are a reflection of collective responsibility.
Perhaps the greatest irony lies elsewhere. Myanmar continues to live under military rule, while Nagaland is part of the world's largest democracy. Democracy promises freedom, participation, and civic responsibility. But freedom without discipline easily descends into disorder. Yangon demonstrates that public order is possible even under difficult political circumstances. Nagaland, blessed with democratic freedoms, should surely be capable of cultivating greater civic discipline.
One of the most striking experiences was the silence on the roads. Vehicles moved efficiently, yet unnecessary honking was almost absent. Drivers appeared to understand that the horn is a safety device, not an extension of impatience. The atmosphere was calm, orderly, and respectful.
Dimapur presents the opposite picture. From bicycles to auto-rickshaws, commercial vehicles, and private cars, everyone seems eager to announce their presence. The constant blaring has become the soundtrack of the city. Excessive honking reflects more than traffic habits; it reveals a culture of impatience and disregard for shared public space.
Even nature seemed to expose the difference between the two cities. During heavy rainfall in Yangon, the drainage system functioned efficiently. Rainwater flowed through clear channels without turning the streets into muddy streams. It was evidence of proper planning, regular maintenance, and civic care.
Anyone familiar with Dimapur knows how different the picture often becomes after rain. Muddy water, clogged drains, overflowing waste, and waterlogged roads quickly appear. Such scenes are not simply the work of nature; they are consequences of neglect and poor civic habits.
Yet the most memorable lesson from Yangon was not found in its infrastructure but in its people. A simple interaction between a bus driver (tour driver) and a security guard (at the visiting monuments) revealed mutual respect, warm smiles, and genuine courtesy. It was an ordinary moment, but it reflected an extraordinary culture where respect is freely given regardless of occupation or status.
Nagaland has much to learn from such everyday civility. Progress is not achieved merely by demanding better roads, larger budgets, or new government schemes. It begins when citizens respect one another, keep their surroundings clean, obey traffic discipline, and recognise that public spaces belong to everyone.
The scent of Yangon is not something carried by the wind. It is carried by disciplined citizens, clean streets, quiet roads, functioning public systems, and gracious human interactions. That fragrance lingers long after one leaves the city.
Perhaps the time has come for Nagaland, especially Dimapur, to ask not how to become a bigger city, but how to become a better one. Only then will our own cities carry a fragrance worthy of being remembered.
Mughalu Kinimi,
Mokokchung.