The Last Cigar

My insatiable zeal for traveling berthed us this time in the vibrant state of Gujarat. We traveled the length and breadth on wheels and were mesmerized by what this land had to offer. We brought back with us a wealth of knowledge and a lot of winsome memories.

We landed in the quaint city of Diu, one wintry morning. Though the sun was sharp during the day, a cold breeze seemed to beckon us as if to tell a story of not so bygone an era.
We were drawn to the Memorial of a 'made to scale' memorial of a Frigate, encased in a glass case.

The prudently sited Memorial on a raised piece of land overlooks an unending expanse of the Arabian Sea. The tranquil aquamarine waters coupled with the blue sky above seemed to have a lot to enunciate. I decided to shut down, pick up my ears and scour out of the depository; a chunk of history that lay approximately 40 nautical miles off the coast of Diu.

This is the soul-stirring saga of the dauntless grit of a hero - Capt Mahendranath Mulla, MVC.

He was commanding INS Khukri, a blackwood class Frigate during the 1971 war. Diu was the assembly area for ships in readiness to attack the Karachi harbor. INS Kirpan and INS Khukri were berthed in the placid waters awaiting orders.
It was another routine evening with the sinking sun casting gorgeous hues of orange and yellow on the vast canvas of the sky. Work was as usual when the communique of the sinking of 'PNS Ghazi', a Pakistani submarine by the Indian Navy arrived. This was received with much gusto and jubilation. Very soon the crew gathered together to raise a toast to the sinking of the Ghazi.

It was a pitch dark night with the moon obscured by clouds. There was almost no visibility through the periscope. The crew was busy testing the improved version of the sonar on the ship. PNS Hangor, a Daphne class submarine had already left Karachi harbor in all readiness for an attack.INS Khukri was unaware of Hangor lurking stealthily underwater.
PNS Hangor fired their first torpedo at INS Kirpan which failed to explode. Unfortunately, INS Kirpan turned away from its location. Getting its act together, INS Khukri darted towards Hangor. A torpedo was fired at Khukri which unluckily exploded under the oil tanks and the boiler room.

During the pandemonium and chaos, fully aware that the Frigate was sinking, Capt Mulla was personally supervising the rescue of his men. Most officers were caught below the deck. The Capt along with others were pushing the officers trapped, through a small hatch door. Most of them got thrown into the icy-cold waters of the sea. They were insisting on the Capt to abandon the ship. But Capt Mulla was adamant and stayed on. According to Capt Manu Sharma, a survivor, the last words he heard from his Capt were "You go and don't worry about me." After going underwater and coming up, he could see from a far distance, Capt Mulla holding the top of the ship's railing and smoking a cigar. The ship was steadily sinking and he was seen going down with it true to the highest traditions of the Indian Navy.

What attributes go into the making of such brave men? Is it fearlessness coupled with unflinching patriotism, intrepidity, and the pluck to do the impossible? In the words of Mrs Ameeta Mulla Wattal, she says "Never call your best action a sacrifice. If one fights for a cause, it is because one cannot live with the way things are."

Those who knew Capt Mulla describe him as an officer who was extremely courageous, determined with a prodigious devotion to duty. At the same time, he was light-hearted with an exceptional penchant for Urdu poetry. he was a great inspiration to his men and had a way to keep them motivated. One survivor wrote, " he not only taught us to live but also how to die."

INS Khukri took along with her Capt Mahendranath Mula, Cdr Muktadavil Oommen, 16 brave officers and 176 sailors. She was the first ship to sink after the Second World War.

As a gust of strong wind swept through my tangled hair, a chill ran down my spine, I held on to my shawl, hugging it a little closer and read the name etched on the edifice, right to the last man. What a stupendous sacrifice. What dynamic people, who will forever embody the lofty ethics of the Indian Navy.

References:
- Tehelka _ khukri
- Transition to triumph by Vice Admiral GM Hiranandani
- INS Khukri survivor stories
- Why they chose to go down - Ameeta Mulla Wattal

The Migratory Birds

Many of us moms feel that the smaller your child, the bigger the problem. But actually it is not so. The problems are there at every stage but differently poised. You are most often at the receiving end and the Shakuntala Devi to solve them all ,the best way you can. My son is 33 now .Born to me when I was 21 years old. He has been an excellent student and all rounder. Is a senior product manager with a US firm. We came to settle in Bangalore because of the children. People used to ask me how in this age two generations can live together so amicably ? In fact a lady doing a research on modern day joint families had a questionnaire for me too. First week of last month we got a jolt when he told us that he has been given an intra company transfer and promotion with a great package to California. Decision was theirs and they decided to go for the exposure etc, etc . I also told them to move on. But inside I could not accept it at all. I feel so down and out and cannot imagine a house without the lovely holidays, weekends, movies, discovering new eateries and above all the noise and the din. My husband brainwashes me every day. But not very effective. Now it is counting hours and the day after , my two most beautiful birds will migrate . I will wait for the next season impatiently when the same birds will fly back here for that short spell of migration. Friends console by saying , these days there is skype, they are just a call away and give me all the moral support. Yet a MOM will still remain a MOM. The touch and feel and din of your children can never be replaced. Instead of leaving you on a sordid note, I must tell you of the phrase my husband coined today ! He said " When he was born, he cried. Now when he flies to make a nest of his own, you cry " !

The 'Special' Train

Even during a long sojourn in the Army, we ladies have to be exceptionally lucky to embark on a journey on an 'Army Special'. When I got this unique opportunity in 1985, not a single lady in our Cantt seemed to have ventured into this unchartered territory. Hence they had nothing to contribute towards this subject. It was just another general question "When is the paltan moving? Are you families also travelling by the train? " Some soggy squid squelched "It is better you ladies go home first and join your husbands later. It would be too tough for you" To me, it was a pot of befuddlement which was on a constant boil! It was only my better half and the other officers and ladies of our Paltan who put my fears asunder and were emphatic that I must chug along on this  'Choo-Choo train' with my three year old son; a chance I may never get again.

My husband had not taken annual leave for a long time because of this impending move.The CO unexpectedly sanctioned leave and we left for home after packing our abstemious belongings in a jiffy with the help of Man Friday (the Sahayak) . After a 20 day break, we were journeying back to the paltan. The route was long with two trains to change - one at Allahabad and one at Cooch Behar. When we reached Jalpaiguri Station around 0700 hrs and I was still in my slumber, we suddenly saw our Batallion Jawans, at least 6 of them rush into our compartment. There was a quick exchange of words with the Major and soon I saw my child being carried out, bedsheets crumpled and taken out , followed by the luggage and me following in a flurry. With bewilderment, I was closely watching the proceedings. My husband then told me that the 'Special Train' was berthed here and was being loaded ahead of schedule, hence this disembarkation .

We were taken to the Army area, where each family was allotted a room. A rousing welcome awaited me. A senior Comapny Commander's wife, who was put up in the next room had already catered for boiled water and milk for my son. She went few miles further to keep two comforters for us, since she knew that ours would have been already packed.Those were the days of Company commanders of 16-18 years of seniority, with 11 bachelors to chew our brains out!

The ladies were given standing notice that once the loading was complete, we had to be ready to leave in two hours time approximately, and thereafter be the 'mehmaan' of the Indian Railways, till we reach the new destination. It was just not the Fauji, but his wife too, who is disciplined, to be in a state of readiness always and every time .Two to three days went by. Due to the proximity of the rooms, I would suddenly hear "Aaj jaana hai kya ? " A quick retort - "Batadenge". The men were never to be seen. It was a woman's world. No cooking , no washing - just eating off the mess with an odd whinge " Aaj khaana theek nahi bana Bhaiya! " "Samuel ( the chef extraordinaire) nahi hai kya?"

The ladies decided to surprise the officers at the Railway Station next evening, where the train was bunked. We wanted to have a first look-see of our ' Palace on Wheels ' .A surprise awaited us. After a hard day's toil, the officers were happily perched on chairs, with their fatigues still on ,right in the middle of the railway platform. Being a Gorkha Paltan, lot of yummy snacks and liquid assets were flowing by. We spent the rest of the evening with them and returned to our nests when the children started sniveling. That was our first group outing at Jalpaiguri. Next day, early morning, one of the senior most Company Commander's wives decided to approach the CO to request him for his 'blessings' to send us shopping. Those days, CO's were treated like Demi Gods. Not a whimper in his presence. He would walk around with a stiff upper lip ,most of the time with a suspicious look. To make things a little worse, the Gorkha Hat in our Regiment is worn with the strap coming upto the lower lip. The meaning was loud and clear - 'should be seen but not heard'!

We could not sleep that night . Cups and saucers, dragon soup bowls and the Pink Lady dinner sets were playing merry hell .We collected all the notes, change what ever else jingled in our bags . Coerced our husbands to donate wholeheartedly, which they did with a heavy heart. We got into two cycle rickshaws and were off on this obscure trip sitting one on top of another to the Siliguri Market. We just about spared the rickshaw puller, by not sitting on the handle bar! Unfortunately our lucky planets were not in the right conjunction that day - Rahu and Ketu seemed to have emerged from nowhere. There was a shopkeeper's Bandh! But no doubting the Army man and his wife's tenacity .No Shani, no Rahu , no Ketu !

We found a shopkeeper sitting outside his shop with the shutters downed ,sipping a cup of chai. We forced him hammer and tongs to take us to his dingy godown. That turned out to be a hattrick! The grubby backstreets led us to a piled up, dimly lit stockpile - a potpourri of all kinds of articles, which seemed to be waiting to fall on our heads anytime. Finally we collected our ware in a scurry and hurried back this  time with an extra cycle rickshaw ! A sight to behold -  Tea sets, Crystal ,Soup bowls,  slippers etc stacked on everybody's laps. It seemed we were in a rickshaw with an invisible puller! When we reached, the CO was standing right in the middle of the road, with his arms on his hips giving one of those contemptuous looks. He almost snarled that we are too late and he made the gravest mistake to send us on this spree! No time to pack our ware and show it off to our husbands .They were already giving dirty looks and nudging us. Some were hisssing like reptiles into their wives' ears. All said and done, our ' Operation Shopaholic' was a super success. No casualties reported except for the COs high blood pressure -  a win - win situation!

We were hurried to the railway platform and jostled into our bogies. There were 3 coupes in our compartment. One extremely private and special for the CO and his family with those two scary alphabets CO stuck on the door. But the dispirited moment came when we were told that we were in the next coupe, with an 'OC Train' tag on our door. All the fun and frolic we had planned came shattering on our faces, with strict instructions from the husbands that noise pollution was a strict NO, NO  in a VIP compartment. Also applicable to our ' bacchas ' !

I did not know what this 'OC Train ' was all about. Soon, our friends explained that it was an honor bestowed on my husband! ! At that inexperienced age, every occurrence was either euphoric or a revelation. The train finally left and slowly it unfolded to me that this supposedly honorous task was going to be our headache for the next 10 days!  The JCO from the engine room seemed to have become my husband's soulmate from a previous  ' Janam'. His queries were never ending. the husband's phone would ring incessantly. An hour before the next halt, the OC was intimated about the impending stop and I would see my husband jump into his uniform. My mind's eye started working overtime - Was this the Gemini Circus? Or was it that my husband had taken over as the  guard temporarily ? I could almost see him flagging the train off !

The first halt next morning was for breakfast. We were told that the train would halt for three hours. Three hours at one station? Never ever heard of it! Every day was a new beginning with a box of surprises. The train would halt on secluded platforms, the buglers would come out and start playing their bugles and at the same time the riflemen would jump out to cordon our train. We walked on the platform  and saw feverish activity in the pantry car. Soon the Mess Havaldar in his regalia announced to the PMC "Bhojan taiyyar cha Srimaan! " We would make a disciplined single file, not according to height as in school, but according to our husband's seniority! Food on the train was not in the least gourmet, with Philadelphia cheesecake but was tasty and fresh. The exhaustion of the journey poured in more digestive juices into our stomachs for a sumptuous meal.  It seemed to be like the 'Recipes from the Royal Kitchen'! 

The other couple in our coupe was the just married variety. Wonder who thought of this combo? A starry eyed couple and us, with this OC getting up at all unearthly hours passing messages or receiving them. To add to it, our bachha had to be accompanied for his nature's calls, with his little unhappy whimpers. I had advised the couple that this was not the ideal honeymoon suite. But destiny seemed to prevail on them. Now we became their permanent 'kabab mein haddi' . 

One hilarious incident I must narrate - Once during the wee hours of the morning, the train stopped suddenly , with a jerk - an unscheduled stop. My dear husband after downing 'few' was fast asleep, dreaming in Army land. After a little while, from the upper berth, the newly wed officer called out " Sir, Gaadi ruk gayi hai! " By then we saw a familiar face at the window - one of our most humourous officers. He was knocking feverishly at the window saying " Gaadi kabka bandh ho gaya. Hum pohonch gaye kya ?" The CO with his cane was hitting the wall of our coupe from his side. I was so scared that my son would wake and join this melee. Altogether sheer pandemonium. Finally the OC got up to find out what went wrong and to sort it out. Even today, when we all get to gether, we have a hearty laugh on this !

I was overwhelmed to see the length of the train pulled by two engines. The unique compartments - Yorkshire pigs in one, the stray dogs who had become the property of each company - Jhumki, Hitler et all in the other. We had our families, the shaktimaans, jeeps and jongaas, the LMGs, mortars, the quarterguard in tow. These days we speak of 'Haute Couture' . Our officers then suddenly seemed to become very fashionable, wearing shorts and T shirts. Denim jeans were not even heard of in the uniformed forces those days. This was high fashion for us. Many of them could not even be recognized!  Every evening , an ' all OK report' had to be given to my husband who would then transmit it to the CO. Suddenly one evening, it was reported that one 'Sungur' ( pig ) had run away. There was no question of continuing our expedition ! There was a dragnet thrown to catch the 'runaway'. More time at the same place and a little more chaos. Finally, a panting Jawan ran to say that 'the piggy on the railway was picking up stones' and securely brought back to the fold !

The usage of bath facilities was also as per seniority. If the CO was in and there was an emergency (which thankfully there wasnt), maybe we would have had to hang on to the Chain! Hot water would be brought for each saab by the sahayak and a 'safaiwaala' would clean the bathroom after each visit. I suppose this was the privileged comparment. The soiled clothes were sent to the dhobi. At the next stop, it would be washed and hung in bright sunshine. By evening, the ironed clothes would be back. So in case you travel, do get a new wardrobe for yourself to show off your clothes which will distinctly stand out !

The long breaks would see a total transformation of an ordinary railway platform. Dining tables set up with damask sheets, Bridge tables set up, nets put up for throwball, ladies and officers bursting into Antakshari, it was indeed an excursion of 10 days - A saga of unforgettable lifetime memories. Beautiful sun rises would give way to brilliant sunsets. The frangrance of fresh breeze, wet earth and the hint of the warm winter sun were mesmeric. Scenes changed like a kaleidoscope. The most masaaledaar stories would make the rounds from one bogie to another. I had carried along a few books to read, but did not even open them. I was going through one of the most ecstatic phases of my life. Here is where I saw the true zest for life. The Army fought hard, worked hard and played hard. A lesson for everybody. It was a luxe life with sweet indulgences.

Finally we reached our destination. We were told to be ready semi formally, three hours prior itself, to meet the Battalion  who was coming to receive us at the station. The band played the welcome tune, bouquets were exchanged, and we strutted off, feeling a bit disoriented and light headed. It was the beginning of yet another tenure, a new life, in a different part of our country. Now if anybody asks me if I have ever travelled on the Palace on Wheels, my answer is an emphatic YES!. Our trip was nothing short of it. If you ever get a chance, dont miss it for dear life!

"The adventures that seem the most difficult and scariest

 are usually the ones that you will look back on, 

 smile and remember forever"

                                                - Craig Guillote

Written by Mrs Sarah Koshy Johnson

GLOSSARY OF TERMS

CO - Commanding Officer

OC Train - Officer Commanding Train

Mehemaan - Guest

Aaj jaana hai kya - Do we leave today

Bata denge - Will inform

Officers Mess - Where the Officers dine

Aaj khana theek nahi bana bhaiya - The food is not very well made today

Cook Samuel nahi hai kya ? - Isnt the cook Samuel there?

Paltan - Hindi word for batallion

Bandh - A strike

Chaai - tea

Janam - Birth

PMC - President Mess Committee

Bhojan taiyaar cha Srimaan - Food is ready, sir

Kabab mein haddi - instrusive element

saab - sir

Sungur - pig, in Nepali

masaledaar - spiced up

Gaadi ruk gayi hai - The train has stopped

Hum pohonch gaye kya - have we reached already?

 

An Open letter to Mr Chetan Bhagat as a reply to his article on OROP

Article dated 20 Sept 2015 in the Times of India.
For your reference http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/The-underage-optimist/its-time-to-analyze-orop-with-our-head-not-our-heart/

Dear Mr Chetan Bhagat,

Before I shoot straight from the hip let me elicit few accolades which you certainly deserve. I love the way you write and the manner in which you involve us with the characters in the book. I have read a few books authored by you like 'Five point someone' and 'Two states' . Two States was fantastic. You seem to have researched the two communities brilliantly. Currently I am reading your book 'Making India awesome'.

I was amazed and shocked at the article you wrote in the Times of India of 19 Sep 2015 on OROP. A person of your caliber I feel should not have written such a distasteful, ill researched piece. Being one of my favorite authors I suddenly realized that you too have clay feet. Let me take you on point by point -

1. You say that 'with the Army's selfless sacrifice, the Army enjoys a lot of support from the civilians' . You are wrong Mr Bhagat. An average Indian civilian citizen has scant knowledge of the Forces unless that particular generation had witnessed a war. Compare our forces with that of the US and UK. Don’t you feel that their civilians feel much more for their  forces and are extremely well  informed? Three or  four patriotic Hindi films do not make a difference to our population.

2. OROP a misnomer according to you. Why do you think the IAS, IFS get the OROP without a fast unto death at the Jantar Mantar. Why is their 'Over the table' component so different from ours. Let me not elaborate about their 'under the table' dealings since it would be quite a mean thing for me to do. Why did the previous pay commissions not have a single member from the armed forces. Is this justified.
3. You speak about the 12 Crores to veterans as OROP. Do you know that out of the 60000 Crore Defence budget, 45% of it goes to the civilians. And what about the crores written off by successive governments to pursue their political agenda. We have an example glaring into our faces right now. Bihar has been given 1,21,000 crores, just before their elections. The deed is indeed very large hearted but the timing is questionable. The Telengana chief minister's maharaja kind of visit in crores, the 'Pravasa Yatra' from Karnataka with families to foreign lands at the cost of our ex-checker to learn how to milk cows, as one foolish 'leader' nonchalantly said on media, indeed is thought provoking. The subsidized Biryanis and Mutton Roghan Josh at the Parliament's canteen is also praise worthy!
4. 'To pay veterans more or new hires more': My take on this is that the veterans too have given the prime of their lives in those ancient days with the same challenges with hardly any facilities for a paltry sum of money. That generation of veterans had also fought wars. One  in 1947-1948 against the marauders, 1962 the Chinese debacle, 1965 the Pakistan War, 1971 - Independence of Bangladesh and 1998 the Kargil War. The pension the earlier veterans are drawing is so miniscule and cannot be even termed as a payback for the services rendered. Do not forget our PoW's, still languishing in prisons unknown, across our borders. What is the state of their families, have you given a thought to this?

5. 'Soldiers retired safe and sound' -Does not mean that at some point or the other these soldiers have not faced life threatening situations and many a narrow miss. It is not you and me, but God's benevolent grace that has brought them back home. I am sure you believe in the life line, don’t you.

6. There is no emotion behind asking for OROP -  It has been the soldier's right since 1973 when pensions of Armed Forces were brought down from 70% to 50%, while the civilian pensions were increased. Thereafter successive pay commissions diluted what was left including our stature in the hierarchy. You will be surprised to know that one of our veterans Maj Dhanapalan had to go to the Kerala High Court for the correct interpretation of the 'Rank Pay'. Despite the verdict in favour of the soldier, the babus made sure that the entire amount was not paid. There are cases in this regard being fought in the Supreme Court even today.
7. 'Politicians Bad and Army Good' - You seem to have used a broad brush technique here. No one will ever say that all politicians are bad and all soldiers good.
8. You don’t have to do much now to disrespect soldiers, you have already done the needful. The rest of it has been taken care by gagging the press. Free press is a democratic right. Your peer, Mr Arnab Goswami, another alumni of the IIM , who I thought was bold and upfront seems to be muffled too. He fights vehemently for every other issue under the sun and the least  for the OROP. I am confused, Mr Bhagat, are we still in a democratic nation or a dictatorial one?
9. You have missed the crux. This is not an agitation to increase pensions. It is to give our veterans their dues, which have been wrongly denied to them by successive governments. Your questions are no more amusing. It challenges your basic intellect. You also seem to be trying to cut wedges amongst the Armed Forces with your do's and do not's. But you did not know that we are more grounded, disciplined and can walk shoulder to shoulder  with our comrades.

10. Your motive in writing this article seems suspect or you have fuddled somewhere. Being the son of an Army officer, please ask your dad whether he agrees with what you say. Thank you for speaking against us. A noteworthy writer like you is being used as a pawn in the game to spread misinformation. You could enjoy a blooming romance in the IIM  because there were soldiers without their families standing guard watching over us, as we ate, slept, played, studied and worked. If not for that soldier, leave alone romance, considering our invaders, even looking at a lady would have become a crime. You may take Afghanistan as a good example for this. Don’t get me wrong on this please. I too love romantic novels and movies. This subject has been already analyzed by the heart. While I agree with you that we need to think with our brains, may I also add that the cobwebs that have gathered on it  have to be cleared to allow rational and justified thinking. Let the heart fall in love while the brain starts to work. 

Written by an Army Veteran's Wife.

Mrs Sarah Koshy Johnson 

FINDING ' FENNY ' !

It was our college batch of 1980 reunion, an important milestone in our lives. This laborious task of searching us out, sending invites, booking our hotel, planning our programmes was accomplished only because of the four musketeers, who flew in and out of Goa tirelessly to make it a grand success. No table was left unturned! It was also about blowing the whistle to keep us mad caps sane, because most of us mentally were in college once again !!
It was one of the most rewarding and inspiring experiences of my life, when we felt unbuckled and celebrated our togetherness.For me it was a good thirty five years which had slipped by, a toast to our great camaraderie. A trip we were looking forward to with bated breath of excitement. Three days of merriment and getting to know each other once again!
I have visited Goa many times before, but for me this time was very unique and special. Movies with a Goan backdrop always fascinated me.like : Bobby, Sagar and Finding Fanny . This time we were lucky enough to see those parts of Goa which had stood still in a time warp.The 18th century Palacio Do Deao , Quepem  where a priest from Portugal set foot few centuries ago and later became a Cardinal. In fact he was the founder of a little town on the bank of the river. He blended the Portugese and Goan culture and taught the people many trades for their upliftment. The palace was known for its tiered gardens and the awesome beauty of its river. A place to stand still, close your eyes and reminiscence the yesteryears.
We looked beyond the lashing monsoons, the gusty winds and the tidal waves.We had so much fun and frolic packed with cruises and sightseeing, all boxed into a treasure trunk for keeps. Around midnight if you were an owl you could see a bunch of a staggering 40,stomachs filled to the brim looking out for antacids and crashing into beds like sacks of potatoes, only to resurrect the next morning!
I love Goa for all its good things, it's chilled out people, music, exotic food and it's therapeutic sea breeze. We were lucky enough to dine and wine at a few gastronomical temples like ' NOSTALGIA ' at RAIA and 'KUDOS' . Bibinca, my favourite, high - calorie dessert is made best by the owner of    NOSTALGIA. 'COCONUT CREEK' was fantastic with superb food. We were also fortunate to dine at Wendell's beautiful bungalow. Jerome and Wendell made the evening very special for each of us.

It was Nirvana sitting under the swaying coconut palms in that balmy weather holding  a bottle of  chilled beer. Our foggy brains were cleared and definitely a few more years were added to our lives !
The reunion we were looking forward to with such gusto, counting every second that passed is now history, but we are already waiting in anticipation for the next get together.
My immense gratitude to Shatbhi, Wahid, Wendell and our ever enthusiastic treasurer Rajiv Malla  who tore the skies to make this happen. Also, a BIG, BIG thank you to our HUSBANDS who stayed back  and allowed us to have such great fun!!! Another word of appreciation to the government of Goa who are doing up the facades of old Portugese buildings thereby trying to preserve their culture.
Some of us have done well in various professions and are celebrities now, we are immensely proud of you Shatbhi, Wendell and Ashrafi. Please pardon if I have missed out on any other eminent personalities (including me ;) )
Those of you who missed out on the reunion for frivolous reasons, the loss is entirely yours. We are
proud of those of you who crossed the barriers of continents and made it to the reunion. Oh! By the
way guys, we did find 'FENNY' , the coconut and the cashew on this trip!!!

My Tryst with the Gorkhas

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.

A very special WOMAN

Women's day came and went like a breeze. I suddenly realized there is one special woman whom I see day in and day out with a cheerful smile , come hail or storm.  I thought it necessary to bring her inspiring story to all of you, before the season fades away.

She is the  domestic help in my house, ever since I came to the 'CITY of GARDENS'. People had warned me that it is very difficult to find a good domestic help here, unlike the north and being a cleanliness freak myself,I was wondering how tedious a task it would be to find a good helping hand. One morning, walks in ALUVELAMMA seeking domestic work. There was something in her that impressed me instantly. She was neat to the hilt, hair oiled and braided neatly. She had left her hometown on the coast of Andhra Pradesh to seek a more lucrative salary in the city of Bangalore. She said she had four children, all of whom she was educating, with the help of some charitable institution. There was a conviction in her voice of how important it is to have educated children. I was amazed to hear that come from an uneducated woman.

The next part of her story indeed bewildered me. She said she had lost her husband, a fisherman by profession, at sea when one of those horrific storms hit the coast. He had gone out for a 'catch' on one of those storm tossed nights, never to return. I had goose pimples all over. She said she was supporting a specially-abled younger sister and her younger brother who had just met with a major road accident and had an incapacitated leg. We have read these gory headlines many a time on the front page of the Newspaper screaming the statistics of loss to life and property ,year after year in coastal Andhra. But while we rest on the arm chair with a steaming cup of filter coffee reading the morning news, we so easily turn the pages not feeling even a pinch of any sort. But when we do go into the lives of such people, we realize the cruel games life can play at the spur of a moment. Life is indeed transitory and mysterious.

She assured me that she would do a good job and I employed her instantly. Days and months passed, Aluvelamma would reach my home at the dot of time, neatly dressed spreading a breath of positivity and a pleasant countenance. She easily adjusted  to our home and as I got to know her better, I found that indeed she was struggling to make two ends meet. I started helping her in whichever way I could even finding her an extra employer.

It seemed that bad luck had chosen her as one of its favorite victims - soon her mother was down with cancer and she passed away in the course of a few weeks. There was no stone left unturned by her. She would rush from the workplace to make fresh food and carry it to the hospital. She would spend sleepless nights keeping awake there. She would rush back home at the break of dawn, just to have a bath and get back to work. She sold almost every possession she had, including her earrings, to pay the expenses of the hospital. She never complained once about her fate. She took her mother from one hospital to a better one without thinking of what it would cost her. That day I realised that God had sent her to me with a purpose.  In the Bible it is said that 'what the right hand does, the left hand should not know' hence I would not like to list out the help we have been able to render to this poor soul. The other day she told me emphatically, that even if I shift home, she would give up her other job to continue working for me.

There is a reason why I wanted to bring this to you all. There are enough number of people who are suffering right around you, yet you may not know about it, unless you make a special endeavour. Everybody is placed in a particular position. You can help anybody the way you want and choose the means to do so. It is not enough to just celebrate a women's day. It is equally important to bring up the lot of the WOMEN!

Let's celebrate each and every WOMAN. She is Lakshmi - the Godess of Wealth, Annapoorna - Giver of food and nourishment, and a part of Brahma - the Creator of Life resides within her, called the Atman. In the present day context, she works outside as well inside, thereby playing the role of Lakshmi, she provides food and nourishment for her family and those around her, thereby being Annapoorna and continues the legacy of life. If there was no woman, there would have been no life.

Happy Women's Day!