MAN-BAG THE GOOD OLD NDA SATCHEL

 There is a new accessory which is making waves and making heads turn, for a change this one belongs to the unfair sex. Funny isn't it; as traditionally it was the females of the species who could boast of a repertoire of clutches, purses, ornaments, danglers, necklaces and so on... Menfolk had to be satisfied with their watches and may be an odd bracelet barring of course late Bappi Lahiri whose collection of gold chains is legendary.  So what is this new kid on the block, well it is called a ‘Man-bag', and is fast acquiring a fashion status with their rich collection of colours, hue and styles.  

The ladies purses and their contents can best be described as "Bhanumati ka pitara" a box which contained all kinds of stuff, ranging from a safety pin to credit cards, watches, matching bindis, wearable accessories, mobile phones, lipstick, eyeliners, cash, combs, brushes, the list is endless. A lady without a purse appears severely handicapped, this piece keeps them  ready for the show forever. The masculine gender took pride in the fact that theirs was a simple life with no attachments of any kind and thus they were not required to carry anything other than their wallet which remained tucked in the back pocket invisible and unobtrusive. But "times they are a changin'"

Getting back to the man-bag, it may surprise you that we can claim some credit for having introduced it for mankind in general. In NDA, the cadets are issued satchels, the predecessor to this duffel. The satchel and its legendary capacity could house almost anything from a change of dress, from PT rig to Drill order or vice versa, swimming trunks, towels, eatables such as buns left over from the morning tea and of course books notebooks which is what it was meant to carry. Now those unlucky ones who have have not had the privilege of crossing and uncrossing the satchel, in other words the uninitiated, let me explain, since our daily timetable at times required us to attend PT in the morning and then move to the Drill square after having changed the dress without going back to our cabins, so all the items of dress had to be carried with us. Now Drill order, or the dress for Drill isn't simple, it comprised apart from Khaki Drill (KD) shorts and KD shirt, a pair of stockings, the garter flashes and of course, belt, boots and cap beret. Sometimes we had a swimming period scheduled after Drill and naturally we had to carry our towels along with the swimming trunks. 

An NDA cadet is perpetually hungry and some eatables such as buns and biscuits which we got with the morning Tea was also carried by some of us who with their ravenous appetites could put Kumbhakarna to shame. We carried these to the Gole market our own captive supermarket, where we could get hold of pastries, samosas, jalebis and stationary too which could all share the space in the satchel quite amicably. There were times when we packed breakfast for our seniors who were too busy and then it could contain toasts with butter, jam, fried eggs, cutlets, with no qualms for any stains anywhere.

The satchel and its mode of carriage conveyed your status in the steep hierarchy of the cadets, the lesser mortals carried them crossed on their shoulders, but the high and mighty, the venerable sixth termers carried them uncrossed on their shoulder even if threatened to slip off once in a while but the satchel couldn’t be crossed lest he be mistaken for a lowly second/third termer. The sergeants appointed during their fifth term are also accorded this privilege of carrying the satchel uncrossed. Merely crossing and uncrossing was not the only way to discern the seniority, the graffiti on the satchels also conveyed a lot not just about the cadet’s place in the pecking order but it provided a glimpse into his personality as well. The graffiti by itself calls for another blog, but suffice to say, the stars on the strap, one for a Brigadier and two for a General was a harbinger of their  future aspirations to the world at large. Although these one star and two star attained these exalted positions by virtue of losing a term or two, thereby earning the privilege of enjoying the hospitality of the academy for seven or eight terms as against the normal six which most of us did.

The satchel thus was every inch a man-bag and more. Incidentally those of us who were fans of “Friends”, the hilarious American sitcom may recall that even Joey Tribbiani (Matt leBlanc)took fancy to one in one of the episodes when Rachel introduced it to him.
Frankly with the host of things that we carry these days, especially the mobile phone with its ever increasing screen size which has outgrown our pockets and demanding a separate space, we may as well start carrying one, only thing to watch out for is whether we can cut the clutter.

WHO LET THE DOGS OUT

 I wonder who coined the phrase, "Leading a dog's life" implying that he/she was in the dungeon and obviously not happy about it. I am sure the person had not dealt with dogs in general or it must be an alien, not familiar with their traits.  Dogs are happy and contented animals by and large, very friendly and adorable pets. We can count ourselves amongst the lucky ones who have had pets since we were kids and then as adults also, we had our own Buddy for almost 12 years, a Lab who finally bid us adieu during Covid times. We haven't got another one, knowing fully well the responsibilities which go with keeping one and are not in a position right now to shoulder it. But then wherever we are, dogs and cats adopt us and naturally the association is a win-win except that it is limited to our period of stay. 

But getting back to the dog's life part, there is royalty and there are dogs, who are no less, they are fed, taken for walks fawned upon and they decide to play with you or humour you when they are in a mood to, otherwise  they just laze around. No tension of foraging for food, just chill. Of course there are some hardworking types, the ones who are destined to serve the nation like soldiers, they are a breed apart but these are naturally an exception rather then the rule. Pets are privileged, no doubt  but even their country cousins, the stray or street dogs lead a decent life in India, as they lie sprawling on the streets, refusing to budge even after repeated honking of the horn, and these days the PETA brigade is on an overdrive and consequentially it is the humans who are second class citizens in this universe. Dogs are not to blame even if they attack kids, stalk oldies or charge at innocent bystanders, about time we replace "cows" with "canines" the phrase ought to be "treat someone as a holy canine". They are pampered by the pet parents, a new coinage, most of these generation zee yuppies are quite content being just that, a pet parent, so having human kids is so "middle class". 

Recently we were at the receiving end, we had just moved in and were greeted by three of them wagging their tails greeting us, welcoming us to their abode. Obviously they were the permanent residents, we were the tenants, here just for the mandated period. Naturally we were adopted and we dutifully obliged by reciprocating in kind by feeding them. The arrangement was quite satisfactory till one of them turned rogue and decided to occupy an exalted position and plonked himself atop my newly acquired Kia proudly surveying his kingdom. Now that was stretching it a little too far and he had to be shunted out. But he was way smarter and he just waited for us to retire for the evening and then again he would be upto his tricks. Not content with the Kia throne he jumped across the fence and occupied one of the sofas in the verandah, which I discovered when I came out in the morning to pick up the newspaper. I saw him jump across the fence like a professional executing it with finesse. I was impressed but couldn’t digest the sofa bit and had to take a tough decision to send all of them away. 

This triggered a chain of events which caught us in a bind between dog lovers and haters; on one side former team got after us for having shunted the dogs away to the extent that we were at the receiving end of curses. The other side went ahead and reported against us for feeding the dogs. I asked them to get the dogs out of the residential area through the Resident Welfare Association, when I was informed that the Honourable Supreme Court has directed that dogs can not be displaced from their habitat, we are not that privileged and can be shunted out anytime unceremoniously.  Dogs naturally are the prima donna that realisation has dawned on us,  we are at our wits end to get out of this imbroglio…. any ideas? 

BOOKWORMS

 

"Books are our best friend”, so goes the age old adage, but like all good things must come to an end, books are also on life support system these days. Books are synonymous to creativity, they give wings to our imagination and are handy, always available for inspiration or even just for jest. Alas the days of yore are no more, today shelves in the libraries stare at you emptily, as there are many amongst them who have retained their virginity, remain untouched by hand. Even the classics are languishing in the same state with nobody even making a superficial enquiry. Occasionally there are a few oldies who still trudge on and lovingly pick an odd one, handle it with utmost care and may even borrow it for a while. By and large quite a dismal scene, it appears as though it is time to finally write their epitaphs. If it was not for text books, probably by now the printed books would have become extinct like the dodos. Text books are also hanging on by a slender lifeline as laptops and tabs have sent shivers down their spine literally. The dictionary, encyclopaedia, atlas, thesaurus have already disappeared from the scene. 

Some oldies still can’t do without them though, some of us have gone ahead and got ourselves a kindle but still miss the smell and the feel of the books. Reading was the first “R” in the three “R”s that we all strived for and a prerequisite for the other two. When we learnt how to read, it was such a joy that we went about reading anything and everything including hoardings aloud to the chagrin of our parents. We progressed and got addicted to story books, comics, novels, fiction and the love affair with books continued; text books naturally were given a step motherly treatment as they would be picked up only as a last resort. We would visit libraries, pick up choicest books, sit there cursorily glance through the pages of classics as there were only finite number of books which we could borrow.  Books were exchanged with friends, they also served as carriers of love letters and bore testimony to many blossoming puppy love affairs. Most of us as kids kept our precious bird wings and flowers neatly closeted in the pages of our favourite books. We even had Mobile Libraries , some enterprising guy who would carry a box full of books and magazines and deliver them at your doorstep for a fee. During the summer vacation we would eagerly await his arrival. 

The more we read, the hunger and the appetite increased multifold, we were the classic bookworms, what an apt moniker, alas we are also on the verge of extinction. Sundays and holidays were spent glued to books, meals were delayed, tea would go cold as we were engrossed in the suspense eagerly turning the pages, waiting to solve the mystery. Some of us would turn the pages and cheat to check out but most of us would savour the edge of the seat thrill. In school we played book cricket, where we or our favourite cricketers would go on to score centuries or grab hat tricks galore.

 As we grew older, we started to buy books as these were a prized possession and worth displaying in the bookshelves. A healthy bookshelf was a mark of a well read and groomed person, one cursory glance and one could discern his/her tastes, philosophy, likes and even culture. There was poetry, drama, short stories, novels, epics, classics, thrillers, mystery and all the genres of written word were available and each one had their fan following. Poets were love lorn so were their fans, drama was the favourite of people who were attention seeking, short stories aficionados were short on patience and the novels and classics guys were typically philosophers and so on. 

Ironically there are more books available in the market today, purchasing power has multiplied and though we buy books but hardly read them even if we start, the attention  deficit syndrome has effected us all in such a way that we can’t finish them. Why am I writing this, even I am a culprit, haven’t been reading enough and as an author know the fate that awaits my books as well, but then we are incorrigibly optimist. There are still some minuscule minority who would still prefer the written word as the last word on the subject.

MERRY XMAS

 Merry Xmas folks! It’s Christmas time, a week of festivities world over, irrespective of the region, race, warfare or strife. During First World War, one Christmas in 1914 widely known as Christmas Truce, (unofficial of course) as the Armies were still at war, the British, the Germans and the French Armies stepped out of their bunkers  exchanged greetings, sang carols, celebrated Christmas and then returned to the business of war. How I wish, the Russians, Ukrainians, Israelis and Palestinians would all bury the hatchet, take a breather and give peace a chance.

Our exposure to Christmas commences when we learn “X” stands for Xmas and not Twitter like these days. We studied in a Hindi medium Missionary school in the Primary as my father was posted in a tribal area and that was one of the two schools, the other one was a little far and there were no school buses there. We were exposed to the carols in Hindi for the first time, I can still recall, “Bethlehem ki gaushale main Jeevan ka ujiyala hai..”( Christ was born in the cowshed in Bethlehem..). We would of course hum the hymns at home which were met with amused looks. We looked forward to Christmas, as it was the harbinger of the winter break and school teachers were generally quite benevolent and generous. Our Santa was the bell man Benjamin who would dress up in the Santa attire and distribute greeting cards to the kids. The cards though were the ones which were received from the Western countries, “used ones” addressed to their near and dear ones in previous years which were discarded. But a greeting card was a greeting card and the wishes were genuine.

As I grew older and moved on in life, did not get to study in any other missionary institution so the celebrations were more traditionally Indian with Jalebis. Incidentally my grandfather was born on Christmas Day and we celebrated the occasion with my mother’s hot piping Jalebis every year. Later years, we would scout for them everywhere, be it Leh Ladakh or Wellington and the tradition carries on having just binged on them during breakfast. 

It leaves me pondering as to why we Indians are so keen to enjoy all the festivals, irrespective of religion, caste or creed. After all Christmas was the festival of our oppressors, the Britishers, something which should logically have been an anathema. Is it because we were so enslaved psychologically that we could not get out of their shadow, or is it because our constitution mandates we are a secular country and hence we must celebrate a Christian festival also in the same spirit. How is that our parents did not object to our humming of the hymns, when we are Hindu Brahmins? So much so that when I was in the UN on deputation as a peacekeeper, my colleague a Jordanian was flabbergasted when he discovered that I had no qualms in saying, “Ya ilaha illallah, Muhammadur Rasulullah”, which literally means “I bear witness that there no deity but Allah, and I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah”.  But when I asked him to recite a shloka after me, he refused. It comes to us naturally to respect each religion and not just tolerate it, after all we firmly believe in “Ekam Sad Vipra Bahudha Vadanti”, the ancient Vedic wisdom of the reality of one supreme deity and myriad different ways of worshipping Him. In the Armed Forces we are the true torch bearers of these ethos, our war cries echo our call to our traditional deities but our temples are universally “Sarv Dharm Sthal”, where Ram, Christ, Mohammed and Guru Nanak are happily sharing the space and the evening Aarti includes all of them without exception. Merry Xmas again!

MA

"God made mothers because He couldn't be everywhere", so said John Rudyard Kipling; in Sanskrit, "Janani janmabhoomi Swargadapi Gariyasi" meaning mother and motherland are greater than even Heaven itself, I am sure all of us express similar sentiments when it comes to their mothers. "Ma" is a universal word, syllable and a complete sentence in itself because merely calling out and the manner of calling out she understands the needs of her children irrespective of species, whether it's a cow or a human. "Ma" is one of the primal sounds, even the word "Om" comprises two parts, "Ohh + Ma", no wonder our world revolves around our mothers. Her mere presence is so soothing and comforting almost as though we have got back into her womb, safely ensconced where none can touch us and she will protect us. As kids whenever we got into any situation where we felt threatened, we just leapt into her lap where she covered us with her Sari aanchal and then we knew we were safe. As the song goes, " Meri duniya hai Ma tere aanchal mein.."!

My mother was special, she was pretty as can be, so gentle, soft spoken, loving, caring, graceful and dignified but she was more than just these, she was a very courageous and brave person, who would not shed a tear when in pain herself but would not be able to hold them back if it was one of the kids who suffered even a scratch. Well read, she was a post graduate in Hindi and sacrificed her career for the sake of her kids, as she was a Lecturer in a College in Indore, then she took up whole-time motherhood. Mothers can so easily let go their own aspirations because they always put everyone else before themselves. 

Born on the auspicious day of Sharad Poornima, (full moon day of Sharad Ritu in Indian calendar) she was aptly named  Sharad Bala, in a family where she was the third amongst five sisters, my grandfather was in the judiciary and raised her to be a simple, independent, confident, modern girl who was equally grounded and a woman of staunch principles. People who met her came back very impressed with her quiet dignity and grace, which left a lasting indelible impression on them. All mothers are great cooks, but mine was special as she could conjure exotic dishes out of the most basic ingredients and remained a lifelong student in the kitchen, always on the lookout to hone her culinary skills. My Signals  course mates still recall the treat 44 of them enjoyed on their way back from Mandu Cycle trip. Yes she could feed 44 young brats, who were a pack of hungry wolves having cycled 30 odd kms before reaching Dhar, single handedly without any help whatsoever. She loved reading and would leave the librarians gasping with her phenomenal speed. Wherever I went, the librarians had a field day as these days hardly anyone reads books so they were overjoyed at their subscriptions multiplying manifold. 

When we were growing up she was a friend you could confide in, seek refuge in her lap when there were any threats as she was there to protect us from the world and a teacher who inculcated the right value system in us kids.  She was tough when we erred, no not getting physical, just that she was angry worked as a punishment for me and I would dare not repeat any misdemeanour. When I was headed to RIMC Dehradun as an 11 year old, my complete clan was at the Railway Station to bid me farewell and all the ladies were in tears but not her, not in my presence,  as she did not want my resolve to be weakened, but later shed copious ones the moment the train chugged out of the station. 

She was blessed with green fingers, plants loved her gentle touch and would bloom in her presence. She could tend to our family cow despite having been a city dweller with no exposure to such activities, never considering anything to be below her dignity. She could cycle down, indulge in skipping with kids and if needed climb trees to grab a guava straight from the tree. A lifelong lesson for all of us, we could rough it out when things got tough. A pure vegetarian she would not hesitate in cooking up egg dishes for us when we were growing up, but refrained from  getting the hard core stuff in the kitchen. Her gulab jamuns were worth dying for, her pickles and chutneys were unparalleled, she could serve us dollops of lip smacking ice cream and also  traditional Dal-Bafla Laddoo with  her special touch. Nutrition was always healthy with sprouts, nuts and seasonal fruits always in abundance. Having been married to a Professor, she knew the importance of quality education and encouraged us to strive for excellence. My father was suffering from ill health for a while, but she was rock solid in her support and care, which kept him in good stead, theirs was an association of six decades plus.

We never heard her complain about anything, she bore it all in her own understated manner so much so that even the dreaded Cancer could not make her flinch.  An optimist always, she was looking forward to waging this battle also successfully as she had with her cardiac, hypertension, sciatica issues, emerging stronger with each encounter. But alas as things seemed to be going as per her wishes, it made a comeback with such vengeance that she finally succumbed despite the brave fight that she put up. She knew the end was near and was crystal clear in her instructions about the rituals to be followed and the actions to be taken on her demise. She lived for her kids and grandkids, who also doted on her, my brother and sister had set up their camp here itself to be with her in her last days. The clan descended here for Diwali as the end seemed to be near, a most memorable Diwali was celebrated this year. Finally she breathed her last only when her grand kids turned up, literally waiting for two days when she was unconscious and quietly passed away with her grand daughter holding her pulse. This is a loss which can never be filled and the void will remain forever, the only solace is she will remain with us always in our memories, her eyes imploring us through her photo to remain true to our cause, be humane in our approach and above all be loving and caring. 

THE RAT MINERS : GREAT MINERS

There is an old fable about a rat and a mountain which many of you may have read as a kid. The mountain boasts to the rat that "you are such a tiny creature and see how majestic and huge I am", in response the rat smiles and says I can bore holes into you but you can't do that." Guess what? It is the rat miners who again came to the rescue of the 41 trapped labourers who were at the receiving end of the wrath of the mountains for boring these gigantic tunnels in them. Since last couple of days, the whole nation was glued to the TV sets for updates on the rescue and evacuation of these unfortunate labourers. Electronic Media as usual goes overboard and covers the details with funny looking animations and if it was not such an emergency, one would probably have enjoyed their rather ludicrous efforts at depicting the happenings. 

Tunnels have acquired a different kind of notoriety, with the labyrinth of Hamas tunnels in Gaza, the paparazzi chasing Lady Diana and Dody Fayed resulting in a fatal car crash in the Pont de l'Alma tunnel in Paris, and now this one in Uttarakhand where it left no stone unturned, pun intended, for another tragedy, which human intervention finally averted. 

The tunnel at Silkyara in Uttarakhand is now well known in the country and has also  as also acquired international fame, as this rescue effort involved not just the best brains and the resources in India but the specialists from world over were lending their hand, with Mr Arnold Dix,  the President of the International Tunnelling and Underground Space Association  himself directing the efforts. There were American augurs in use, the Govt machinery including the Army Sappers, Air Force Helicopter pilots, the Chief Minister of the state, Mr Dhami, Union Ministers Mr Gadkari and Gen VK Singh were themselves present to supervise the rescue effort. In fact Mr Dix was all praise for the cooperation amongst the various agencies and the spirit displayed by all concerned.

Be that as it may, we have our own tunnels to contend with, the techies amongst us will recall the Zener effect, which is a type of electrical breakdown that occurs in a reverse-biased PN junction when the electric field enables “tunnelling” of electrons from the valence to the conduction band of a semiconductor, leading to a large number of free minority carriers which suddenly increase the reverse current.  This technical mumbo jumbo was just to elucidate that tunneling of any kind is a complex task. Computer whiz also exploit the 'tunnelling' for virtual private networks. Most of us in any case suffer from “tunnel” vision, though ophthalmologists would diagnose that as a loss of peripheral vision, a condition which if temporary is curable however if permanent then you may as well kiss your driving licence good bye. 

Getting back to the ‘rat miners’, although rat mining as a practice  has been banned by the National Green Tribunal (NGT) for being  very dangerous, it was these men who finally emerged as the heroes. Rats also known as “Mooshak” in Sanskrit are revered in our country for being Lord Ganesha’s chosen mode of transport. With Ganesha’s blessings, he is after all the “vighnharta”, the one who removes all the hurdles, this landslide at Silkyara had to finally be rid of all the impediments.

TWO LIVES EXTRAORDINARY

The morning of 23rd Nov broke with heartrending news of casualties suffered by Indian Army in an ongoing operation in Rajauri in Jammu and Kashmir. This Counter Insurgency (CI) warfare has been taking its toll since last about 24 years now. We have been losing smart, bright youngsters who are full of josh, leading from the front, bashing on regardless of the outcome and it is their courageous leadership which has saved us the day so far. Kashmir is with us and turning a new leaf is all due to these highly avoidable sacrifices. This encounter was a little different, apart from the fact it extracted a very heavy price in terms of loss of lives,  Capt Shubham Gupta and Capt MV Pranjal,  both followed the Chetwodian motto to the word,  putting the safety of others before their own. The two officers who made the supreme sacrifice in order to prevent collateral damage to the civilians were both trained by our Alma Mater the Military College of Telecommunication Engineering Mhow in the Cadets Training Wing (CTW). Both of them chose to join the Corps of Signals being graduate engineers, however Capt Shubham Gupta decided to switch to the Special Forces later. 

Although Shubham hailed from Agra and Pranjal from Manglore in Karnataka, both of them were first generation faujis, as their parents were from a civil background. Mr Gupta, Shubham's father is a legal luminary and Mr Pranjal is a retired MD from MRPL, Manglore Refinery Petrochemicals Ltd. Two totally diverse backgrounds, one from the North, the other from the South, different languages and customs but what bound them together was their zeal to lead a life  extraordinary, not a mundane corporate life which both of them could highly have opted for. In the Counter Insurgency environment joint operations are conducted quite often, due to the highly inhospitable terrain, kind of operations, the threat envisaged etc. Rashtriya Rifles units are specialist CI units and Special Forces are elite units who are always at the forefront providing that  x factor which makes them stand apart.

A cursory glance at their profile and what stands out are that despite being the normal guys that they appeared, theirs was a steely resolve and their endeavours were extraordinary. Pranjal was second in the order of merit when he joined CTW and excelled in sports and bagged the “Gentleman of the Course” trophy during the YOs.  Shubham displayed a ‘joie de vivre’, ran cross country and sang well, in fact there is a clip available on social media of him crooning Mehdi Hassan’s famous ghazal, “Mujhe tum nazar se gira to rahe ho, mujhe tum kabhi bhi  bhula na sakoge”, by his deeds he has ensured that a grateful nation can never forget him. 

Why was their sacrifice so glorious; young officers of the Indian Army have excelled in all kinds of operations always, but theirs was different, they were gentlemen first even in such an operation, Pranjal’s prime concern was saving the lives of the civilians who were being targeted by the militants. Obviously aware that this would put him at great risk but he chose the “harder right” against the easier option and thereby saved lives at the cost of his own. We hear the words collateral damage very often and accept them as sad but integral part of such operations conducted in close vicinity of civil population, but these outstanding leaders of men chose not to accept any such casualties, protecting them in the highest traditions of Indian Army.

In the Indian Army we are known to cover the backs of our comrades and unlike our adversaries never ever leave our casualties behind. When Shubham saw Maj Mehra  and his buddy getting injured he in a daredevil act evacuated them and engaged the terrorists who were trying to get away.  We salute the brave hearts, ironically the media has latched on to the martyrdom aspect but we in the Indian Army do not address our heroes as martyrs, as they do not fight for any religious cause, they have made the supreme sacrifice protecting our country. Let us honour their legacy, put our narrow short sighted interests aside and work together to rid our nation of this menace of terrorism and make our nation great again.