I was barely 21 when I was married to a strapping Gorkha officer who was also called the 'snake charmer' of Commando Wing. My parents then lived in a small city where the Army had left a palpable imprint. In the 60's and 70's the Gorkha regiment were the only troops popularly known, hence getting married to a Gorkha officer was a matter of great pride. My mother also posessed a beautifully embellished 'Khukri' which was presented to her by the then king of Nepal, for teaching his two sons, at North Point, Darjeeling.
From the time I set foot into the regiment, till my husband retired, it was like living in a huge joint family. I can well remember the first day in the Battalion, to the last day. It runs like a film reel of great accomplishment. I feel I was really lucky to be with these brawny, robust men, for whom no work was too hard. They were not only ready to lay down their lives for the motherland but were also greatly possessive of the Officer and his family.
The Gorkha soldier was not just physically strong, but the antithesis was his childlike nature and simplicity. I have seen them through thick and thin during good weather and bad. His values and priorities always stood steadfast. I have seen him with wounds, blood oozing out, but not bothering about it. The onus of responsibility to push him to the MI room(Medical Inspection/First aid room) rested on our shoulders. Yet he would say that he had to complete his Saab's uniform, and go later. That was the kind of sincerity these men had. We could leave our children with them, without a second thought. He was fondly called 'Daai' (elder brother) by the kids which extended to the ladies of the Paltan (Battalion) too.As ladies we were supposed to address them as 'Bhai' (younger brother). All the children's secrets were shared with the Daai and he kept a stiff upper lip! I would always compare the activities of the children and the Daai to that of the eminent writer Enid Blyton's 'Famous Five'. This strong connect lives on to this day, with calls coming to and fro even after they have retired.
The wheels of life rolled on. Every new day was like a thriller or comedy film. Their general knowledge was very minuscule. Once when I asked the Daai, "Who was Mahatma Gandhi's wife?" , without a blink, he shot out "Indira Gandhi! ". As I reminiscence fondly, it brings to memory the lovely Dussehra celebrations which almost ran into a month of hectic activity, the vociferous football matches which the Gorkhas always won, and the boxing bouts. However much my friends asked me how I could enjoy a gory boxing bout, I had no answer. Every single one of us were there, cheering and screaming our lungs out, and finally we were left with no voice. Too much strain on the vocal chords!
Most of them lived in the hills and when I got talking to them, they would tell us of their home, old tales of battle valour and how they had to tread atleast two days from the foothills to reach their homes. The yesteryear Gorkha never haggled for leave even when there was a calamity of sorts at his home. He seemed to leave everything to destiny and continued as though nothing had happened. Fun times were endless. One of my husband's sahayaks didn't even know how to cycle. Yet when we gave him one, he did not divulge this information to us. Soon we saw him trying it out when we were on a walk. We saw a very familiar face coming down a slope at break neck speed and could not apply brakes. All he did was to wave his hands into the air to tell us to move out of the way. When we turned around , we saw a peculiar sight - a hanger on his collar! When we asked him what this fitment was, he told us, he had put my husband's shirt on it and had taken it to be ironed. Now all that was left after this spurt of adventure was the hanger on the collar. He had lost the shirt en route!
But don't be carried away by this soft hearted , sure footed Gorkha. He is quite an example of Oliver Goldsmith's 'Man in Black'. He has an extremely tough side too. All his heroism is on display when he is pitched against a foe. Then all he knows is the pride of his country, Batallion and officers. When he jerks out his Khukri, he can create havoc. This is when his patriotism and pride come into play. One such example was Sri Lanka - 1987. There was immense enemy fire and this particular Gorkha jawan realised that his Saab was hurt and needed to be pulled out of the trench. So he ran back through the fire and carried the officer on his back running again through the same fire. In this audacious act of bravery, he sustained 6 bullet injuries. Not only he, but the officer survived as well.
After my 32 year marriage in the Gorkha Regiment, I do not agree when people call them a 'mercenary force'. For them it is always India first. I do not want to elaborate on Gorkha valour anymore, since I could write volumes on it.
What prompted me to write this article is this huge depredation of life and property in Nepal. The villages we know like the back of our hands, seemed to have crumbled like a pack of cards, taking away with it gargantuan proportions of these simple folks. Majestic parts of old Nepal have also been annihilated. We have about 1.25 lakh ex-servicemen there. Somewhere in my heart, there is a huge fear lurking whether they are all safe. Long ago, I had seen a movie 'Himalay ke godh mein' . This little kingdom was indeed in the lap of the Himalayas. What also shocked me, is the Times of India Bangalore Edition, of 28 Apr 2015, which has shown pictures of people taking 'selfies' under the crumbled historic Dharahara tower. Just because some were fortunate to survive this catastrophe, does it mean that we have become so insensitive to the mutilation of nearly a whole country?
I end this article with a silent prayer on my lips and thanking our Prime Minister Mr Modi for forging ahead without losing time, to send enormous aid and setting the wheels of evacuation rolling. I also am thankful to Gen Dalbir Singh Suhag, our Army Chief and the Honorary Chief of the Nepalese Army, who happens to be from our Batallion for spearheading relief efforts in Nepal. The Indian Army is indeed doing a yo-man's service.
I would urge each one of you to provide help to these afflicted people in whichever way possible. There are many channels through which you can contribute. Let not the human being within us be a mute spectator.
From the time I set foot into the regiment, till my husband retired, it was like living in a huge joint family. I can well remember the first day in the Battalion, to the last day. It runs like a film reel of great accomplishment. I feel I was really lucky to be with these brawny, robust men, for whom no work was too hard. They were not only ready to lay down their lives for the motherland but were also greatly possessive of the Officer and his family.
The Gorkha soldier was not just physically strong, but the antithesis was his childlike nature and simplicity. I have seen them through thick and thin during good weather and bad. His values and priorities always stood steadfast. I have seen him with wounds, blood oozing out, but not bothering about it. The onus of responsibility to push him to the MI room(Medical Inspection/First aid room) rested on our shoulders. Yet he would say that he had to complete his Saab's uniform, and go later. That was the kind of sincerity these men had. We could leave our children with them, without a second thought. He was fondly called 'Daai' (elder brother) by the kids which extended to the ladies of the Paltan (Battalion) too.As ladies we were supposed to address them as 'Bhai' (younger brother). All the children's secrets were shared with the Daai and he kept a stiff upper lip! I would always compare the activities of the children and the Daai to that of the eminent writer Enid Blyton's 'Famous Five'. This strong connect lives on to this day, with calls coming to and fro even after they have retired.
The wheels of life rolled on. Every new day was like a thriller or comedy film. Their general knowledge was very minuscule. Once when I asked the Daai, "Who was Mahatma Gandhi's wife?" , without a blink, he shot out "Indira Gandhi! ". As I reminiscence fondly, it brings to memory the lovely Dussehra celebrations which almost ran into a month of hectic activity, the vociferous football matches which the Gorkhas always won, and the boxing bouts. However much my friends asked me how I could enjoy a gory boxing bout, I had no answer. Every single one of us were there, cheering and screaming our lungs out, and finally we were left with no voice. Too much strain on the vocal chords!
Most of them lived in the hills and when I got talking to them, they would tell us of their home, old tales of battle valour and how they had to tread atleast two days from the foothills to reach their homes. The yesteryear Gorkha never haggled for leave even when there was a calamity of sorts at his home. He seemed to leave everything to destiny and continued as though nothing had happened. Fun times were endless. One of my husband's sahayaks didn't even know how to cycle. Yet when we gave him one, he did not divulge this information to us. Soon we saw him trying it out when we were on a walk. We saw a very familiar face coming down a slope at break neck speed and could not apply brakes. All he did was to wave his hands into the air to tell us to move out of the way. When we turned around , we saw a peculiar sight - a hanger on his collar! When we asked him what this fitment was, he told us, he had put my husband's shirt on it and had taken it to be ironed. Now all that was left after this spurt of adventure was the hanger on the collar. He had lost the shirt en route!
But don't be carried away by this soft hearted , sure footed Gorkha. He is quite an example of Oliver Goldsmith's 'Man in Black'. He has an extremely tough side too. All his heroism is on display when he is pitched against a foe. Then all he knows is the pride of his country, Batallion and officers. When he jerks out his Khukri, he can create havoc. This is when his patriotism and pride come into play. One such example was Sri Lanka - 1987. There was immense enemy fire and this particular Gorkha jawan realised that his Saab was hurt and needed to be pulled out of the trench. So he ran back through the fire and carried the officer on his back running again through the same fire. In this audacious act of bravery, he sustained 6 bullet injuries. Not only he, but the officer survived as well.
After my 32 year marriage in the Gorkha Regiment, I do not agree when people call them a 'mercenary force'. For them it is always India first. I do not want to elaborate on Gorkha valour anymore, since I could write volumes on it.
What prompted me to write this article is this huge depredation of life and property in Nepal. The villages we know like the back of our hands, seemed to have crumbled like a pack of cards, taking away with it gargantuan proportions of these simple folks. Majestic parts of old Nepal have also been annihilated. We have about 1.25 lakh ex-servicemen there. Somewhere in my heart, there is a huge fear lurking whether they are all safe. Long ago, I had seen a movie 'Himalay ke godh mein' . This little kingdom was indeed in the lap of the Himalayas. What also shocked me, is the Times of India Bangalore Edition, of 28 Apr 2015, which has shown pictures of people taking 'selfies' under the crumbled historic Dharahara tower. Just because some were fortunate to survive this catastrophe, does it mean that we have become so insensitive to the mutilation of nearly a whole country?
I end this article with a silent prayer on my lips and thanking our Prime Minister Mr Modi for forging ahead without losing time, to send enormous aid and setting the wheels of evacuation rolling. I also am thankful to Gen Dalbir Singh Suhag, our Army Chief and the Honorary Chief of the Nepalese Army, who happens to be from our Batallion for spearheading relief efforts in Nepal. The Indian Army is indeed doing a yo-man's service.
I would urge each one of you to provide help to these afflicted people in whichever way possible. There are many channels through which you can contribute. Let not the human being within us be a mute spectator.
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