Editor,
One look at a recent government job advertisement broke my heart. It read: “Qualification: Master Degree, BE, BTech, MBBS, or PhD. Experience: 3/5 years. Salary: Rs 15,000.” I read it again and each time, the pain grew deeper. After years of study, is this the reward? Rs 15,000 a month, which is less than Rs 500 a day. Can you live in Shillong? Can you pay rent, buy petrol, keep your phone running, eat properly, or see a doctor when you are sick?
And while our youth lie awake at night, hungry and full of dreams, the same government treats Rs 15,000 as nothing but a transport allowance for defeated MLAs or party workers who are suddenly made Chairmen of government agencies. These people may have no qualifications, no experience, only loyalty to the party. And yet, they get lakhs in allowances, official cars, and bungalows. Meanwhile, that same Rs 15,000 is thrown at educated youth like scraps as if it can feed a family, cover rent, or honour years of struggle. Is this fair? Is this justice?
And yet, the same ad demands three years of experience. But where do we get experience when every job says, “No pay, no support, but you must have experience to apply”? Are we meant to gain experience in our sleep? Many of us come from homes where one meal a day is already a blessing. We cannot afford to work for free. We do not have powerful connections or rich relatives. All we have is our education, our hard work, and the belief that this land would value us.
While we are told to survive on scraps, the Conrad Sangma-led MDA government spends crores of rupees on consultants imported from outside Meghalaya, paid salaries of Rs 3 to 5 lakh per month, sometimes more. These are the same jobs our own graduates could do. But instead of trusting local youth, the government brings in outsiders, pays them big salaries, and gives them control over our development.
Meanwhile, our youth sit in waiting rooms, begging for Rs 15,000 jobs. This is not just neglect. This is betrayal. This is a system where power, jobs, and decisions are held by a few insiders and foreign experts while the sons and daughters of Meghalaya are left out.
The same government that says “Meghalaya First” spends our money on strangers, but gives nothing to our own people. Is this development? Or is it discrimination in the name of progress? How long must we watch as our future is handed to outsiders? How long must we go elsewhere just to be seen as valuable?
And while our youth sleep hungry, chasing dreams on empty stomachs, the Conrad Sangma-led MDA government opens the state’s treasury for outsider consultants — brought in from Delhi and beyond, given fancy titles, paid lakhs every month from the state exchequers. A local graduate begs for a Rs 15,000 job, while an outsider walks in with no duty, no love for our land, and earns in one day what our children earn in a whole month.
This is not governance. You talk of development but whose development? You speak of progress on whose suffering? While our educated youth wait in silence, you build your systems on imported brains and imported loyalty, leaving us with nothing but promises and pity. Is this leadership? To ignore your own people? To treat their degrees as waste? To treat their hopes as noise?
We are not asking to be rich. We are asking to be seen. To be valued. To be given the same chance you freely give to strangers. The pain is not just in being poor, it is in being betrayed. And history will not forgive you for choosing foreign faces over the faithful sons and daughters of Meghalaya.
Yours etc.,
Marbiang Rymbai,
Via email
Let there be clarity of purpose
Editor,
Welcome to Tura, where the 6th Schedule promises autonomy and the municipal budget promises… a yearly wish-list with better column spacing. The MDC elections are looming, and once again the big quarrel is over who should collect Household Tax (HH Tax) or property tax—GHADC, the Tura Municipal Board (TMB), or some hybrid arrangement. The real question, however, isn’t about labels on paper but what actually lands in the pockets of the people who pay.
Let’s be blunt. The 6th Schedule sets up autonomous councils for tribal governance, but it does not magically dissolve urban responsibility or guarantee better services. GHADC may be the umbrella for broader tribal administration, while the TMB handles street-level duties like cleanliness, drains, lighting, and footpaths. In practice, the lines blur, and the result is a chorus of complaints from residents watching taxes rise while the basics fall short.
A hard truth many rightly eye: governance isn’t a budget line; it’s daily life. If conservancy workers drag their feet, if the head assistant and frontline staff treat service as a courtesy rather than a duty, and if sweepers juggle dirt without actually clearing it, trust frays faster than a pothole widens. No amount of HH Tax or property tax should be waved in as a magic wand when the reality on the ground is clogged drains, dim streetlights, and sidewalks that double as obstacle courses.
That’s why any tax scheme must be tied to visible, verifiable improvements. People aren’t anti-tax by nature; they’re anti-poverty-level service and opaque spending. Before any new or revised tax is introduced, there must be a transparent accountability map showing who does what (GHADC, TMB, state authorities), a clear plan for how revenue will be spent, and monthly dashboards tracking hygiene, lighting, drains, and footpath maintenance. And yes, the ethos must start at home: offices that model service-first behaviour, staff who show up and perform, and a culture that treats citizens with respect rather than indifference.
One living emblem of public service deserves a nod: the garbage-collector truck that greets residents with cheerful reminders about cleanliness. To the drivers and crew who carry that practical message—that cleanliness is a daily obligation—thank you. If more of us could borrow a fraction of that spirit—neighbours encouraging neighbours, offices encouraging staff, officials modelling accountability—we might actually see the town transform.
Footpaths tell a different story. In Tura, a good stretch of public space is claimed by shanty stalls and vegetable vendors. Encroachments aren’t just a nuisance; they’re a symbol of governance that hasn’t fully claimed its urban responsibilities. If licenses and temporary permissions become a barrier to pedestrians, then the tax debate becomes a moral argument: should residents pay for a system that trades walkability for market space? The solution is straightforward in principle: a transparent, enforceable framework for footpath use that prioritizes pedestrians, with a predictable revenue plan that funds proper maintenance rather than quick fixes.
Payroll and accountability add another layer of drama. If GHADC’s executives and payroll have faced delays for years, that’s not just a salary issue—it’s a trust issue. A public body that can’t pay its own people cannot credibly promise timely services to residents. The same standard should apply to the TMB: reliability, transparent budgets, and consistent service delivery before any tax is accepted as a given.
Yours etc.,
Vero Amana Sangma,
Tura