DON'T CALL ME SIR

“Don’t call me sir!”

These words are like magic for an NDA cadet, which are uttered by a senior who is pleased to anoint his junior the coveted status of “pal”. Pal is actually a slang for a friend and is part of the lexicon these days, but in NDA, a pal is granted special privileges which is the key (pun intended!) to many a door locks.

For the uninitiated, NDA has a very strict semester based hierarchy with six months seniority bestowing privileges galore, for example, a simple ritual like the visit to the wash room has to be observed as per  a strict dress code. The best part is the striptease associated with these privileges. So the second termers, the lowest in the food chain, are to be dressed in a pyjama with a kurta and a dressing gown; mind you the undergarments for the upper and the lower torso too are mandatory. Third  termer gets to shed his kurta under the gown, however the vest underneath is a must, the fourth termer does away with the vest too and in addition can replace his pyjama with a lungi. Well, the fifth termer sheds all but the dressing gown…where does that leave the lord and masters, the final termers, well well… they do not have to follow any such rules can be in the state of dress or undress as they wish to.

The second termers are always short of sleep running from Asoka pillar to posts or rather avoiding the posts with sergeants, all errands are entrusted on the dukkis (second termers’  derogatory but endearing nom de guerre (!)), from fetching tea/ coffee snacks from Gole market to managing a freshly ironed KD uniform or simply for entertaining the senior. The poor chap thus avoids his own cabin and is always on the lookout to seek refuge in one of the senior’s cabin where he can’t be touched. More the pals, more number of cabins to seek asylum, the odds of being saved from the errands and the countless sessions naturally increase exponentially.

Getting back to the “palship” in NDA, when a senior grants this status, the junior is indebted to him forever and of course makes the most of this friendship. The largesse which comes along is unrestricted access to the senior’s cabin, his uniforms and of course his eats and cold coffee, which is the ultimate elixir for an ex NDA. Palship is of many flavours, the first and foremost is the school type pals, where one’s school type is a de jure pal, with no questions asked, then there are place type, ie belonging to same state/ city, which is not a right, like the “school type”, but largely depends on the magnanimity of the senior. Then there are the special bonds type, for example “punishment type”, when the senior and junior cadets are a regular at the periphery running restrictions, the senior finds in the junior his mirror image and out of sheer brotherhood and camaraderie goes the pal route to convey this feeling of affection. There are “CH or MH” types when the cadets happen to be admitted in the Command or Military hospital together and spend many a days ogling at the very same petite nurses and devising ways and means to extend their stay in the hospital rather than returning to the grind of the academy, naturally those bonds are for keeps and the palship merely formalizes it.

“Train types” are the ones who travel together during term breaks, so generally South of Vindhyas, or to the North East, cadets travelling by train to their respective hometowns used to spend forty eight to seventy two hours in the same train compartment which could result in the senior granting the junior this favour out of pity. The more bizarre variety comprised the “GCI” ( Cumulative Grade Improvement) types, where the cadets with compartment in the final exam had to return early to take the exam; the regular amongst these GCI types could empathise with each others’ plight and palship was a natural corollary. There were sports types when you played as part of the same team or you shared the same name or for no reason at all, not to forget the smokers, theirs was a bond where “fire” itself was the witness.

As everything else in the world has two sides, technology and anti technology, so “palling” also had a “de-palling”, ie unceremoniously throwing the junior back to the grind. This ignominy normally the junior brought it upon himself by indulging in any activity which was anathema for the senior or not par for the course in the academy. Even a court martial probably may not be that as humiliating as de-palling by a senior. Borrowing from the Bard, “Hell hath no fury like a de-palled senior”. He would set out to even all his grudges and settle scores by pushing you to the extreme limits of physical and mental stress. Thankfully this was a rare phenomena.

An interesting anecdote of palship came about, when my over study, Sherry Peter, an alumni  of Sainik School Kazhkottam, the terrors in the academy normally. He was raring to go having graduated to the third term, his understudy, a Rimcollian, had it coming. But as luck would have, he discovered that we shared the same "date of birth", 21st of March. Boy, he was so disappointed, now he had to make me his pal, but he did not let emotions get the better of him and bashed on regardless.......Finally in the fourth term he did grant me this exalted status, and we have been pals ever since.

During my second term, an incident changed the rest of my NDA tenure and left a lasting impression on me for life. Second termers were usually tasked with packing breakfasts for fourth termers who embark on the much awaited service subjects where the Army cadets were expected to be dressed in FSMO( Field Service Marching Order) with packs, water bottle and duly camouflage painted trying to be soldierly. Obviously all this make up and dressing was time consuming so the second termers were sent packing to pack the breakfast, which was packed in the handkerchief and it comprised couple of slices of bread with dollops of butter and jam and some cutlets, which was tucked in the pocket of the Khaki Drill shorts, which literally had deep pockets. Anyway, to cut the story short, while I was busy packing for Cadet Gandhi an Air Force cadet ( why did he need to get this packed??, God only knows.... Air Force cadets attended the service classes in the same attire, they didn't need to adorn all that camouflage etc), blissfully unaware that the Adjutant , (Maj Daniels , a short stocky gorkha officer who was a terror like all adjutants are supposed to be for the cadets) was keenly observing my activity , rather amused, assuming that I was packing it for myself. Looking at my lean wiry frame, he must have thought I was hell of a hog that I needed to carry additional breakfast apart from having my fill there itself. So he caught me red handed and asked what was I upto, shocked at having been discovered, I just confirmed his suspicion by taking the blame on myself rather than name the senior. As a reward, the Adjutant  awarded me seven days restrictions immediately. The fourth termers on the dining table who observed this act of bravery of mine were so impressed that I was accorded the status of "pal" for the fourth termers of the squadron. Naturally this made my life a lot more comfortable with a fifth of the squadron was on your side apart from another fifth which were your own course-mates. Any case fifth and sixth termers were hardly interested in second termers, too piddly for their taste(!).

Pal or not. the bonds of the academy are unique, anywhere in the world your squadron types are your best friends, who go out of their way to help you. The same senior who was a terror in the academy turns out to be your benefactor later in life. May our tribe prosper and grow….. today Wg Cdr Abhinandan has been declared a universal pal by the whole country and not just by service personnel.

What's in a Name?

What’s in a Name

    “What's in a name”, the Bard put it across so innocuously; a lot , I hope most would agree. It wasn't always so, history is replete with examples where they took pride in simply anointing the names of their parents, ancestors on the new born. Wonder if they were really short of names(!) This practice is prevalent in the West, with just a suffix of junior is considered adequate to distinguish the two individuals. The senior George Bush and the junior one, both were proud occupants of the Oval office of the White House, the only case of father and son occupying the same office in US.

In India we name our kids with lot of pride after Gods and Goddesses, film and Cricket stars and or going with the latest fads of being different, highly Sanskritised tongue twisters, which the poor child takes a couple of years to pronounce correctly. Others of course twist the name to suit their vocabulary or acquired skills in pronouncing. Even numerologists tinker with the spellings of the name to seemingly assuage the Gods into showering their bounty on these poor souls. So Ayushman Khurana becomes Ayushmaan Khurranna, the name essentially remaining the same with just the spellings being stretched to the limit for pleasing the Lords...

Pre-independence and immediately after that historic event, the flavour of names was obviously quite patriotic, with kids being named after Subhash Bose, Azad, Bhagat and even Jawahar were quite common. Girls were Kamla (Nehru's not so famous spouse) and Laxmi (after Rani of Jhansi) if not Saraswati, Gauri or any other goddess. They took care to avoid naming these girls “Seeta”, having read about the tribulations that she had to endure in Ramayana. But gradually the Film industry and cricketers stars/ starlets dominated the firmament and Dileep, Dev, Raj, Amitabh, Sunil, Sachin, Kapil were dime a dozen. Similarly there were only Hemas, Rekhas, Meenas and Sadhnas amongst girls.

 Our idol worship has been taken to a different level altogether by some Tamilians, who have taken  ownership of many a foreign dignitaries' names, the most famous being Stalin, supposedly named after Comrade Stalin in the hey days of communism. Can you imagine any Russian naming his kid Stalin? But our DMK patriarch apparently felt that naming his progeny after the Russian dictator was a testimony to Indo-Russian friendship. Or maybe he wanted to prove his communist credentials and did not want to leave anything to chance. The prodigal son today is the undisputed leader of DMK at least if not of TamilNadu, his allegiance to the ideals of Marx and Lenin are at best restricted to lip service. Similarly Kennedy, no not JFK, but our very own indigenous Tamil anna, my driver in Wellington, is another on with a famous name. But why single out the Tamilians, Punjabis are no less with their penchant for abbreviating the names to suit their happy go lucky lifestyle. So every second or third child is “Happy”, the first one is “Lucky”, of course ,and mind you they are gender neutral, so “Navjot” Singh is married to “Navjot” Kaur, both are “newly illuminated” literally and metaphorically. A friend of my son is “Marshall Goldsmith”, a strange and peculiar name in the land of Happys and Luckys…. So out of curiosity when I asked the kid, he said his father is a cricket aficionado and a fan of Caribbean Cricketers; Malcom Marshall was amongst the most deadly pacers in the world in the 80s. Since he named him Marshall, he thought a Singh as the surname would be out of place and Goldsmith sounded power packed.

I have had my share of brush with names; when my parents decided to name me Suyash more than half a century ago, I wish they had patented it, as it was not just unique and different, I think I was probably the only homo sapien with such a name. Yash was quite common but a mere prefix of “Su” went on to qualify the fame associated with this innocuous sounding name. Little did they realise then that I will probably be called by similar sounding names all my life, the bane of having an uncommon name…… right from early childhood, the first name one was mistaken with was “Suresh” which of course could be pardoned after all it sounded alike and was much more common, except that more often than not, the person at the other end refused to understand the subtle difference the “re” made to my name and my very persona. After all with such a unique name I had to be special! Then the modified version of my own name spelt with an “e” rather than the “a”, ie Suyesh in place of Suyash. The name took a different twist with the Yesh sounding as though one was the spoilt brat indulging in the vices, as “Aish” in Hindi is synonymous with pursuit of hedonistic pleasures. This tryst with twisted names continues till date….

My first Commanding officer  Late Brig (then Col) Subhash Datta was a hard core Punjabi who could never get my name right and addressed me as "Piyush", "Siyush", "Sayush" everything except Suyash. My senior subaltern Capt ( later Col) Kulkarni  started calling me “Soyuz” as at least that my CO would get  right. So Soyuz I was in the unit. This ordeal of name calling (pun intended) has gone on ever since, I am not one to give up, so dutifully correct everyone who goes about mispronouncing my name. This has taken alarming proportions specially with the Information revolution suddenly empowering the masses with the ubiquitous smart phones. The mere possession of smart phones does not in any way make them smart is obvious as they leave no doubt in my mind when they address me by the myriad versions of my name and I have to get them to spell out the name and correct the pronunciation, even if he/she is a tele-caller.  

I have always believed that names play a very important part in the shaping the personality of an individual. A unique different name bestows on the individual an egalitarian persona, motivating him/her to strive for excellence in order to stand out of the ordinary in every sphere. I am obviously extremely proud of my name, for which the credit squarely goes to my parents. Sure enough, I went ahead and named my kids also with unique names, son being christened Abhijat, different from the common Abhijit, the "a" making him quite "original" . The daughter is "Ananya", which means unique, as she goes about explaining very proudly to everyone. I have not made their life easy…they have to endure their share of name distorters…..

Extra Judicial Encounters

The honourable Apex court has been on an over drive for the last couple of months. One is always circumspect when it concerns the judiciary, after all who wants to be slapped with a 'contempt of court'. The mere mention is enough to scare the s*** out of most of us who generally steer clear of these temples of justice. After all we are law abiding citizens barring of course the occasional traffic violation, which in any case is hardly considered a crime, with the traffic policemen as willing accomplices for their chai-pani or rozi-roti.

I had a brush with the judiciary once very early in life, just commissioned young army officer, I was asked to mark my attendance for some MACT case, motor accident for the ignoramuses. I of course had no clue about the case or the procedure at the court. The briefing by the venerable Adjutant of the regiment, a tall Punjabi whose claim to fame was basketball and keeping us youngsters on our toes literally, comprised just couple of syllables...... Go to the court, the dealing clerk was to explain the issue to me. Unfortunately he was summoned by the second in command just then, so I embarked on this adventure rudderless. I was attempting to glance at the file briefly on my way to the court in the proverbial one ton Nissan, which of course did add it's two penny worth by breaking down mid way, and the driver dutifully opened the bonnet and started the famous chapati drill, assuring me that he will have it on road soon. The drill went on for a while and not wanting to get late for the duty, I decided to take the first available cycle rickshaw which passed by, mind you I was in uniform and was naturally quite self conscious travelling in a cycle rickshaw in the market place. We in the uniform normally avoided such means of transport, which were used by the commoners, snobbish, may be, but the decorum of the uniform had to be maintained. Anyway, this cycle rickshaw did serve the purpose as I did manage to make it in time to the court.

Now the next task was to find the lawyer, as those of you who are familiar with the legal fraternity will understand, was a herculean task, obviously he was not in his chamber, because there are no chambers really, just a chair with a small table and a typewriter under a tree was the office, where he was supposed to have been, but alas, he was missing. The enquiries with neighbouring "offices", yielded no clues as they were either keenly involved with their clients or feigned ignorance, envious of our lawyer, having netted a case which with least bit of effort gets him a decent packet. Finally I located him at the tea shop, actually it was he who spotted me and put two and two together, my uniform again  coming to my rescue. He said we were getting late and hence must hurry to the court of the honourable judge.

We made our way to the court, but not as you would imagine, but with frequent stops for gossip with his colleagues and some chit chat with the judges and their staff. Finally we reached a room, yes to my utter shock, this couldn't have been a court, it did not look like any of those that we saw in umpteen Bollywood movies. Just a room with a couple of benches and a table and chair at the head, with crowd milling around, some policemen with presumably a convict in handcuffs, lawyers in black robes and in general a scene straight from any Street side tea shop barring the tea vendor. The lawyer asked me to find a place and make myself comfortable, while he got busy. On my enquiry about actions at my end , he said he was being paid to take care of this very issue, so just relax. 

For sometime I just stood in a corner not wanting to attract attention, which of course couldn't be avoided, standing out in uniform, the odd one out, who just did not belong there. Then the wait got longer for the judge to appear, so decided to find a place to park my rear. Having waited for close to an hour suddenly there was some commotion and then the honourable judge made his appearance at the head of the table. He looked around and saw me seated in the corner, ignored me thereafter and one after the other the cases were being disposed of with most postponed for next hearing on another day. This went on for almost two hours and I waited patiently waiting for our turn. Finally I spoke to the lawyer as to why our case was not being heard, to which he just responded by asking me to be patient.

Soon it was lunch time and the judge again disappeared . Now I got hold of the lawyer as to what exactly was going on, as he had promised me that it was a five minute job.  He said there appeared to be some issue and he would check with the judge and get back. He went into the judge's chamber and returned immediately, asking me to meet the judge, apparently he had asked for me. Not too sure of the goings on, I told the lawyer I really had no clue about the case, then what was it that the judge wanted to talk about. Anyway I ventured inside the chamber with trepidation, without the lawyer, blissfully ignorant of the case at hand, cursing the Adjutant for detailing me for this stupidity without any briefing, cursing the driver of the 1ton for breaking down.

 The judge who resembled the Jolly LLB magistrate, Saurabh Shukla, with a similar balding pate and a rather obscene tummy, his white shirt doing its utmost preventing it from taking a peep but failing nevertheless. In fact the button finally gave in and was martyred, the ponch  made its presence felt. The judge was taking a bite from his tiffin, rajma rice was on the platter, with a grain of rice reluctant to become part of the meal and sticking to a corner of his mouth. He took another spoonful and without even bothering to look at me, asked me, " What's your name Lieutenant?" I gave him my name and waited, while he took another spoonful and then finaly looked up  from his plate and asked me, " Why didn't you rise when I entered the court?" I was nonplussed, not knowing if that was the norm and moreover no one in the court rose, so that appeared to be a decent defence and was immediately offered. He would have none of it. He mentioned that being a military officer I was expected to follow the norms and protocols.  He said I could be charged with contempt of court for this offence. I immediately apologized in all sincerity, just wanting to get out of this mess at the earliest. Having finally obtained permission to leave, I rushed back to the lawyer and asked him as to why didn't he brief me earlier on this issue. His defence was that this was a rather unusual feature for him as well. Anyway, having been chastised by the judiciary I vowed never again to get into these judicial quagmires.

I have a confession to make here, judiciary has a very old connection with me, my maternal grandfather was himself a judge. Some judicial blood obviously runs through my blood too.As luck would have, we found a dwelling in Luyten's Delhi right next to the Delhi High Court in Bapa Nagar, this tenure in Delhi. Nestled amidst all the monuments and greenery  the kala coat fraternity takes pride in the fact that they have usurped the complete road space in Bapa Nagar with residents at their mercy even to get their own vehicle out. No wonder we got this dwelling, unoccupied for almost six months, no takers obviously. Who in his right frame of mind would get into a hassle with the legal eagles. Mind you, the neighbourhood is teeming with the who's who of the bureaucracy, but even they choose to ignore this menace. The lure of Luyten's is too strong and so even we took the plunge and studiously avoided any interaction with these attorneys lest we invite a contempt being flung at us. It was not just us the residents, even our pets abided by diktats meekly. What was astonishing was that even the normally indisciplined strays too took the matter very seriously. It was a pleasant surprise the day article 377 of the constitution was given a burial, suddenly, the strays became very friendly with the pets, without any gender biases. Buddy our 10 year old lab was the object of affection by the neighbourhood stray  who until the previous day was perpetually growling at him, itching for a fight. How the tides have turned ever since that day, this guy starts to follow him prostrating before him in surrender, leaving no doubt about his amorous intentions. Buddy of course continues to ignore him.......class conscious.....may be.

UXORIOUS

Perusing the lexicon I came across a very interesting word 'Uxorious', which literally means 'one who is excessively fond of one's wife or submissive to his wife'. Although not a very frequently used  word, I presumed there has to be similar  word which would describe a wife who is similarly excessively fond of her husband. To my surprise there was no such word in any language leave alone English. The conclusion you would naturally arrive at is since  such a species doesn't exist there is no  such word either. The uxoroius variety  of course find myriad ways of expressing their love to their objects of affection, but the age old method of the written word had its own charm. A letter from the beloved would set may a hearts aflutter. Today's generation would find the whole idea quite bewildering....in the world of instant gratification the snail mail is obviously a relic of the past.....an anathema. 

It wasn't always so, we in the armed forces or old fogies know their true worth, more so hostellers like us  Rimcollians and our country cousins from other lesser privileged public schools as  in all other things about "catching us young", even here we were literally caught young. The battle of letter writing was learnt in the dormitories and classes of RIMC ( with due apologies to the Duke of Wellington, "Battle of Waterloo was won on the playgrounds of Eton") and subsequently honed over the years, when we stayed away from our loved ones. Writing of letters was almost a ritual for us, every Sunday dutifully all of us wrote home, the letters were collected section wise with one of the dormitory commanders designated to check which he promptly delegated to one of the junior cadets for counting and subsequently posting it in the letter box behind the Cadets Mess near Pratap Section dormitories. In junior terms invariably we would be writing more than our quota and hence would be in demand to hand over the surplus letters to seniors who had been too busy in other pressing activities.....leave out, movies and girl friends (at least they claimed so) etc. These borrowed letters were prized commodities as they saved the skins of many a bullies, in return we benefitted from their largesse on some other occasions or just a swap of the dessert on the same evening. In senior terms one learned some more techniques of avoiding getting caught on the wrong foot, one such was the blank inland letter with just the address which met the requirement of the Section commanders, which was smartly recovered in an ambush of the cadet posting the letters, before he could reach the letter box itself. 

The contents of the letter initially ranged from home sickness to later days description of various activities in the college. Since ours is a quasi joint family with the uncles and aunts being close knit though not living under the same roof, every one expected a personal letter. When I was being bid farewell at Indore Railway station for joining RIMC, there were almost a hundred people on the platform to see me off ... The onlookers were perplexed at seeing a young lad in knickers being garlanded by so many and many ladies teary eyed. One of them even asked me if I was going on to be a monk or something, which was quite a common phenomenon or may be I was headed abroad. I was oblivious to all the emotions and sentiments... Just overjoyed at the prospect of going to Dehradun to study in a school where the princes were supposed to be studying before independence. So all these uncles and aunts ensured that I was receiving maximum number of letters and in reciprocatiion received as many letters as well. I probably would have been the most prolific letter writer of my class with at times upto seven to eight letters on a single Sunday or a holiday being despatched. These letters contained vivid details of the college routine, an account of my studies, the friends I had made, the desserts that we ate, the games we played and the movies we watched apart from the weather and of course the beautiful Mussoorie lights which were visible each evening and so on. I tried to include a few of these things in each so that when they met each other they too had something to share.

 Letters as the vital means of communication have historically played a major role. If it was Kalidas and his "Meghdootam" where the Yaksh had utilised the services of clouds to convey his love lorn state to his beloved, it was Pandit Nehru while exchanging letters with his darling daughter Indira, used these to impart lessons in history and culture of India, fulfilling his duty as a doting father even though he was incarcerated. There have been many great men whose letters have assumed epic proportions...have gone on to become collector's items, Gandhiji being the most prominent among them. My father also made it a point to educate me on all kinds of issues, sometimes spiritual, on other occasions, it was life lessons, at times we would even exchange thoughts on current events. There were no telephones those days, forget about mobiles, so this mode of communication was the only one and we made the most of it.  There were times when my father would leave hardly any space in the inland letter and my mother would use the sides of the inland to just convey her blessings. I dare say these letters were extremely valuable, actually priceless in shaping my personality in these impressionable years. My vivid descriptions of the events, sports , cultural, adventure, hikes and the Rimcollians reunions over the years helped my parents and siblings live these events through me and my letters. After all, those days my father was posted at Dhar in MP with no TV or even English newspapers, the place was sort of back of the beyond. My letters contained a brief on my academic achievements also which my father very proudly shared with his friends and colleagues. All in all this system worked and worked quite adequately provided both the sides were active. Although more often than not the cadets as they came into senior terms avoided letter writing as far as possible and that resulted in confusion and misunderstanding at times leading to further grave consequences. The hierarchy was conscious of this fact and thus tried to ensure no lapses on this account. After all they were responsible for the well being of the cadets. All this letter writing was very stressful for my younger brother Sujay, an outdoor person who did not believe in this elaborate exercise, the parents would invariably coax him to pen down , which he dutifully did, filling up the page in just two or three sentences conveying his well being and wishing me good health and cheer. On the odd occasion when he did try to go about describing his adventures, it was so laboured that he simply gave up, relying on his old format instead.

Oh for the sheer beauty of the  calligraphic handwritngs that were inscribed in the letters as also the covers. In fact handwriting provided a very important psychological clue about the personality of the writer. A neat beautiful hand depicted a  systematic methodical dependable person, where  as the barely legible variety were supposed to be confused and unreliable. Those of us blessed  with a decent hand would naturally show off and try and impress the reader with the artistic touch this trait provided us. The  graffiti on the envelopes and inland letters was interesting too, "fly letter fly bring a quick/ sweet reply" depending on who the letter was addressed to. Stickers would be affixed on the covers to make them more colourful, and yes postcards were a strict no-no, firstly it was considered un-officerlike and yes the contents were all too visible. Occasionally there would be telegrams enquiring about the welfare  of the ward addressed to the Commandant himself, God save the cadet when such a telegram arrived apart from immediate response in the form of a letter, it sometimes led to impositions of writing 10 or 15 letters just to discipline the cadet. It sure acted as a deterrent.Obviously the postman was eagerly awaited as he was the harbinger of news from home and relatives and sometimes even goodies in the parcels which too were quite a regular feature for may of us. Apart from the usual letters, greeting cards and Rakhis were the other articles which were received by the cadets. Birthday, Diwali and Holi greeting cards were exchanged regularly. Rakhi time was also another occasion when the sisters' love and affection overflowed with envelopes bulging with beautiful exquisite Rakhis. Some of us had our forearms gleaming with Rakhis of all hues and colours, naturally envy of those not so lucky ones.

Letter writing continued in NDA,IMA and later on in service as even then telephones were a luxury, so one had to rely on good old field area inland letters which were provided free and had to be censored by the unit Adjutant. NDA and IMA did not lay down any strictures in terms of weekly letter writing as they presumed you were a grown up man. Of course that was an exception else every other place we were literally spoon fed.  The highlights in NDA letters were the Queen's parade when Queen of England Her Highness Elizabeth ll visited NDA, or when India's first cosmonaut Wg Cdr Rakesh Sharma came calling on the Alma mater, these events were described in great detail for the folks back at home till we could go home and wax eloquent on these grand events. Our camps Greenhorn, Rovers and Trishul, inaugural Pune marathon where I participated, junior National Squash championship held at NDA, our riding escapades, my breaking my wrist and subsequent hospitalisation....all found a mention in the correspondence. All this while my younger siblings were growing up and also joined the bandwagon, expecting individual responses to their letters, so the number of letters also multiplied. One event in IMA, where in the third term final camp, I had got caught up in an incident of loss of fired cases leading to a court of inquiry's, tested my letter writing skills, as I had to convey this issue to my parents without sounding very alarming, though the outcome of the court of inquiry could have been disastrous. I must grant it to my parents and our connect and mutual understanding that despite such a grave incident the letters we exchanged together helped us overcome this crisis.In fact my father himself was a prolific letter writer, his letters were so motivating that in the most ardous times in life one just needed his letters and I would be ready to take on the world again.

The next round of letter writing commenced during the period of courtship, as is typical in all such cases, this period brings out the poet in most of us and the verses flow in letter after letter, the responses were stamped with different fragrances and sealed with kisses. On one such occasion l even compared the ordeal of that of Yaksha of Meghdootam with mine and claiming that the poor Megh (Mr cloud) would not have been able to bear my plight and would have ended up as a torrential rain instead being the messanger.

Fd Marshall Erwin Rommel was reported to be a very prolific letter writer himself, he apparently wrote letters to his wife  almost daily from the battle zone. Trying to emulate him even l promised my better half while I was in Kashmir  that I would do the same. The valley did provide me with enough material to keep her engaged for a couple of weeks, the pristine beauty of the place, the enchanting hills and forests and the swirling and swooning Jhelum  did help me in keeping up with the Rommels , obviously I couldn't have matched up to the blitzkrieg....so soon fizzled out. Then it became the mundane and soon even the weekly dates were missed out on some excuse or the other. Once I found some birch trees in the Kashmir valley, I promptly peeled out the bark and set about writing letters on these to provide some novelty, after all that bark of the birch tree precisely was used for all kinds of writings in the days gone by, many a manuscript would still probably on these barks of birch trees themselves. All this while she responded in her own way keeping me motivated letting me focus on the task at hand never ever mentioning anything negative, always cheering me up with the progress of my son and his antics. It was through her letters that I saw him growing up. This of course is the story of all men in uniform, of losing out on seeing their their kids growing up.

I am reminded of an interesting anecdote, I became a father at a rather young age, one month short of 25. My wife, Preeti was at her parents place as is the custom for better care at home under the love and care of her mother. On 28 Feb 92, a week prior to the delivery date, my son Abhijat entered our world, with both sets of grandparents and the complete extended family to cheer them up  and celebrate the grand occasion except the proud father and his younger brother. Both me and my younger sibling were in Pune waiting for the D day to arrive. My father in law dutifully called up the duty officer at College of Military Engineering Pune, whose number I had shared with them for precisely such an event. My course mate, a brother Rimcollian was the duty officer who was probably too sozzled to have registered received the call and slept off. Two days later on the next Sunday morning, I called up from the STD booth (an era when there were no mobile phones) and got to know of the birth on the 28th itself. My immediate reaction was to enquire as to why was I not informed about it, to my utter surprise the accused was my own Coursemate, who mumbled something incomprehensible when confronted. How I wish my father in law had replied on the post and telegraph department and sent me a telegram instead, I would have not been at the mercy of a drunk forgetful coursemate. 

Soon it was the turn of our kids to start emulating us, in their unique inimitable style they scribbled, drew pictures and posted them along with Preeti's letters. I would wait for those priceless pieces of art, some of them are still treasured by me. When I went to the UN as part of the Peace keeping force, the snail mail have way to e mail. I would send these mails, which would be opened in the cyber cafe and print outs taken these would be carried home to read at leisure. Once again my letters were full of description of the place, the people, the culture, peace keeping and so on, in response I would be rewarded by the activities of both the kids, Ananya too had joined the family a couple of years ago and the gala time they were having being spoilt by the grandparents. Alas Skype was launched too late, so we missed out on video chats which became the norm soon.

The memory of those letters is still alive , quite of a few are still being preserved, for sentimental reasons, like looking at old photographs bringing back the memories of days gone by......don't have the heart to destroy these....after all those were labours of our love. May be some day, someone may find something interesting in them, apart from our own reminiscences and 'chewing the honeyed cud' in old age, as John Keats had described in 'The Human Seasons'.

  

False Icons

We need to get out of our cosy cocoons more often and connect with the holloi polloi of the heartland. Sitting in Delhi and other metros we are no longer connected to the masses. The India Bharat divide comes to the fore almost immediately. We happened to visit Lalitpur a small town in BUNDELKHAND in MP although culturally and socially the town bears affinity to UP. Time seems to have stood still over the last seventy odd years or actually may be even a couple of decades earlier. The overgrown village is very much one even today, with cattle tied in the courtyards of practically every other household, cow dung cakes plastered on the walls of the huts, the flowing open filthy drains, mounds of plastic adorning every street corner making a mockery of the Swachh Bharat initiative, the narrow lanes where the odd kid is still openly defecating with dogs and piglets for company. All in all quite a dismal state of affairs.

It is not just the place but also it's people who too are steeped in archaic traditions in this age that one wonders whether the development train has simply bypassed this hamlet. In this day and age the crematorium is still divided along caste lines. One always thought that at least in death there can be no discrimination, but even that privilege is denied. Interestingly at the crematorium also there are plaques displayed for the philanthropic deeds, we are an obsessed race, obsessed about seeing our names anywhere and everywhere. So we even spotted the usual graffiti which is again the last thing you would expect to find here.
The silver lining in this morass are the people themselves. The town itself is a family, where irrespective of your relationship with the neighbours, they are all together in times of distress. An old lady, a widow whose kids and grandkids are all in different parts of the country, feels so much at home that she spends her last days right here, even at the cost of poor medical facilities, which is a mandatory requirement in old age. She relates to the love and affection, the sense of belonging and the camaraderie and of course the fact that this is the ancestral dwelling make it literally impossible to even think about any other place as a home.
Some days ago  on our way to Lalitpur we passed through Jhansi, its mere mention  brings alive the Rani of Jhansi Laxmibai.We  need icons, as a society, in religion, in politics, sports and more so in spirituality. Once we understand this the controversy associated with Padmavati will be crystal clear.  She and her valour have been part of the folklore since 1857. While the existence of Rani of Jhansi is beyond doubt so are the stories of her valour, courage and indomitable spirit, the ballads composed and sung by the Bundelkhandis will obviously be exaggerated to some extent. History  always  represents the victor's version, but since the saga is of relatively recent origin, it is still fresh in people's memory. Moreover there are written records available, hence the chances are that her gatha would live on.

Unfortunately that is not the case with Padmavati, she may or may not have existed, but majority of Indians have been brought up believing in this character. So does it really matter whether she actually was a person, she is an icon and every society needs their icons. Since we are a relatively young nation with an ancient civilization, the need for icons real or fictional is all the more essential. These icons are also not permanent, some fade away with changing socio-political milieu and new ones get invented/created. Dr Ambedkar is a case in point, he had his place in the history as the man behind the constitution, but today he is the messiah of the Dalit and backward community. In the days to come he shall rival the father of the nation himself. Mahatma Gandhi's efforts towards eradication of untouchability already stand negated. The achievements of Nehru and Indira Gandhi are similarly fading away from people's memory, their failures are being highlighted thus reducing their stature.

 Getting back to this Padmavati controversy, icon she is, that is something which no amount of propaganda can diminish. However, it by no means implies that any motley group of people can hold the state to ransom. After all every account of historical events will be open to interpretations, as long as the main theme is retained, the minor issues such as exposure of mid-riff by the queen being unbecoming or her reflection being shown in the mirror to the villainous Sultan have to be left to the storyteller. It is his or her version, which we are at liberty to accept or reject. The "banning democracy" is not a healthy one and all right thinking citizens must join hands to address this issue. Mind you the political parties pander to such blackmail out of electoral consideration only, which itself is doubtful at best. The goons are a minority and the majority will never support the irrational and illogical act of bans and rioting over such acts. As was evident by the success of the movie itself at the hustings. So much so that the Karni Sena itself did an unashamed volte face supporting the movie. The Rajputs have been glorified, their sense of ethical war waging has been eulogised, although at times they seem to have been depicted as rather naive thus easily led up the garden path. The facts of course aren't as shown, it is movie after all and not an authentic historical account, which can be quoted in research. The flip side though is the masses do not read history nor do they undertake any serious research, their beliefs get strengthened or negated by such fictional accounts. It stays on in the memory long after they walk out of the movie hall. The story of Anarkali owes its origin and life to Mughal e Azam. Once again there were no historical records confirming existence of such a courtesan in the Mughal Darbar of Akbar the great forget about her being buried alive in the walls of the fortress. But majority of Indians believe such an event occured. Obviously it is the impact of the movie itself.

Should the movie makers then not be more careful embarking on these  fictional accounts loosely based on historical characters? After all it is tremendous responsibility to shoulder, where they can play with the faith and beliefs of not just one generation but many ensuing ones as well. Anyway the controversy surrounding Padmavat has faded into oblivion, it has served its purpose, the film maker is a hero, espousing the cause of freedom of expression and taking in the moolah as well, having his cake and eating it too. The political ends have also been met, the polarization along community lines did serve its purpose and the Karni Sena, which no one had heard of before this episode, has had its moment of glory. People have already moved on...so has the media. Sridevi, Nirav Modi........false icons!!!!!

The Embrace

"Alingan" is the Hindi synonym for hugging, which our PM Narendra Modi ji had made his personal trademark while he embraced the heads of states over the last four years. This "ashwamedh" of embracement was exclusively reserved for the dignitaries and executed with warmth and camaraderie overflowing between the two most powerful people of their respective nations. This form of welcome or greeting is normally reserved for personnel who have been  great friends over the years. It conveys a lot without the need for any verbal communication, although at first some of them  ( the dignitaries) appeared surprised but gradually it became a measure of the warmth exuded thus revealing the nature of relationship between the heads of state and naturally their respective nations.

Every society and culture has its unique method of greeting specially the formal one, in India it has been the folding of hands for 'namaste'  which is the accepted norm internationally . The western method is the hand shake, which too has been adopted by the Orientals and is customary. Some hand shakes have reserved their place in the annals of history, some of you may recall the  Yasser Arafat  Shimon Peres hand shake at Camp David of 2001 with President Clinton looking on. Similarly some hugs too have history written allover them, one such was the famous Bear hug of PM Indira Gandhi  by Fidel Castro in the NAM summit in New Delhi in 1983. The charismatic tall and impressive persona of Castro and the diminutive petite  very poised Mrs Gandhi made a memorable picture which defined the relationship between Cuba and India and also the Prima Donna that India was in the NAM then.

So with such a history behind the 'alingan' as an embrace is called in Hindi, no wonder PM Modi ji decided to make it his signature style of charm offensive in diplomacy. It has a huge advantage against the hand shake because while the former is more personal and friendly the latter remains highly formal and at times even curt. Today the intensity of the hug is the measure of depth of relations, the recent visit of the Canadian PM was one such occasions, where the embrace was  quite cold and not spontaneous.
It was however the famous 'jadu ki jhappi' of Munna Bhai  which took this to a different almost spiritual level,  jhappi is how Punjabis do it.  A loud guffaw followed by a very spirited slapping of the backs....... usually followed by more spirits flowing with the tandoori chicken.Greetings are a socio-cultural thing and there are many  peculiar greetings which go onto depict an intimacy beyond the mere formality. I recall that in during my stint in the UN peacekeeping in Co'te d' Ivoire Akwaba was the greeting but more interestingly the embrace was replaced by joining the two heads together.

 As Modi ji had embraced almost half the world leaders, our very own Rahul baba was naturally feeling left out so  he really can't be blamed for this episode. After all Modi ji has been very choosy about his "hugmates" if you can call them that...very few Indians have been blessed with this embrace. Rahul baba wanted to be counted amongst the haves.....all his life he has got what he wanted except this unique greeting, so how could he be denied that, what he doesn't get in the routine he has to snatch it......snatched it he did.
Incidentally the word embrace traces its origin to the French verb "embrasser" which is what Rahul Baba finally ended up doing ....but only the English version........ embarassed.

Kar "natak"

Could the Karnataka drama have had a different climax than the one that we have just witnessed? Well may be yes maybe no depending on what are your expectations and sensibilities or maybe which side of the political divide you are on, the secular/communal or the pseudo secular variety. Is our election process akin to cricket what with the glorious uncertainties bit and match fixing and "winner takes all"? You could be excused for this comparison ...yes cricket today with IPL BCCI etc is quite tainted and so is the political system.
Well the drama unfolded rather uncharacteristically this time around with the pre poll pundits and the exit polls all generally predicting a hung assembly with Congress as the single largest party. Namo was the party pooper as usual, came down at the last minute and almost turned the tables.  All the eyes and ears were at the Raj Bhavan, although it was anybody's guess that he would invite the single largest party to try and explore the govt formation, then why this speculation, why the hype! Governors are appointed by the ruling dispensation and they shall obey their masters has been the unwritten postulate. I don't recall a single instance where they have gone against the interests of the party in power, be it Buta Singh in Bihar or Mr Rizvi in Jharkhand or Romesh Bhandari in UP not to forget Mr Krishna Pal Singh who was instrumental in dismissing the Gujarat govt when Vaju bhai Vala, the current governor in Karnataka was a minister in the BJP govt then. So, please don't expect that things will be different the next time around, it will just be an action replay with the players exchanging places. Of course the talks of this morality is hog wash because even the ones who profess are not convinced and argue without any semblance of conviction in their facile indignation, they are all play acting and well their prowess in the field of dramatics too is rather pathetic.
Who had the last laugh though, JD(S) getting the crown, well they, the father-son duo have made it a habit, after all Mr Devegowda was the PM with just 46 MPs, so with 38 MLAs being the CM is par for the course. Will this govt last it's term, the odds are stacked heavily against them, Mr Kumaraswamy himself has been highly unreliable on the last two occasions that he donned the mantle, once ditching Congress and then the BJP; Congress, though deriving some satisfaction in paying BJP in it's own coin, after all they were the aggrieved party in Goa, Manipur and Meghalaya. They are also happy that they have successfully stalled the BJP juggernaut for the moment, but will they learn their lessons, is the moot question!
Where does this leave the people of Karnataka, for whom this dance of democracy was played to perfection? I have always wondered, the plausibility of  theory of people's mandate, do you really think that people of a constituency leave alone a state actually decide they will choose a particular person or a party and vote accordingly? Well if this theory is disproved the complete edifice of our caste based politics will crumble. The media has played a major role in playing up these divisions in the garb of reporting facts, which we are aware is far from truth, after all they too have  their masters to serve. Yes people are influenced by the charisma of leaders, sometimes certain communities may even vote strategically, but this phenomena too has been played up by the fourth estate to the hilt so that where it could be an isolated incident, now it has become the norm. As if this divide was not adequate, the caste conundrum muddied the waters further thereby giving objectivity a quiet unceremonious burial. The fatwas,  and diktats of khaps became gospels, so elections became more about management of the caste, religions based equations rather than the merits of the candidates and their parties. Governance is last of the concerns or so it seemed, till the so called anti incumbency theory was paid to rest by state after state where the govts returned to power starting from Gujarat to Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Orissa, Tripura and so on. The bottom line was that the people were convinced that the govt of the day had made an honest attempt at governance, obviously name and f these states produced any miracles, but our people were used to the Lalu Yadavs and Digvijay Singh whose govts were the worst possible govts in the history of the country, where only corruption ruled the roost and development was simply not even on the agenda. Parroting platitudes of secularism, they just ruined the economy of the state and did not have any qualms about it either.
Anyway, could the script this time around have been altered, what if the governor had invited the JD(S) Congress coalition to form the govt, would the BJP have emerged a moral victor, with its vote bank in tact, just the ideal state for the Lok Sabha elections next year. Also the party leaders in the next three states to go for elections in December this year, Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh and Chhattisgarh would have had their task cut out, no half measures. A clear unambiguous majority what with the opposition ganging up to challenge the onslaught of BJP. They do not have any other choice either, it is a do or die battle for them, because if BJP roms home in 2019, many of the present crop of leaders will have to seek political sanyas. Congress without power at the centre will be totally splintered; obviously a scary situation where there is no opposition worth the name. To that extent, the joining of forces by the opposition is a welcome step. However, in the same breath, we must not forget their past history with respect to honouring the 'coalition dharma' as Atal Behari Vajpayee called it.
Hoping against hope that this govt survives till 2019, it might be a ray of hope for the health of democracy in this country.