Raksha Bandhan:A Lifelong Bond

 Today is ‘Raksha Bandhan’, a unique festival in Indian culture, unparalleled in any other society in the world. This sacred ceremony  essentially commemorates the bond between a brother and sister. Brothers eagerly await this festival to show off their wrists tied with beautiful ‘rakha sutras’ and sisters are overjoyed as it provides them an opportunity to shower their love and affection on their siblings. I am sure each one of us has sweet nostalgic memories associated with the way we celebrated  Rakhi. 

It transports me back to the days when we would all gather at my grandfather’s place in Indore, we didn’t have this concept of ‘real sibling’ or ‘cousins’, just brothers and sisters. By the end of the day our hands were full of rakhis, right till the elbows and we would strut around like peacocks it with pride. It was also time for getting to eat as many laddoos as the number of rakhis, so it was pure bliss. Sisters were richer with all the gifts which they collected and of course, the fact that there were so many brothers who were at their beck and call. Traditionally this thread was meant to signify that the brother would protect his sister at all costs, but honestly, I feel this ‘thread’ manifests itself as a  ‘kavach’ (shield) that protects the brother from all evils. 

As the story goes it was Bhagwan Krishna who nicked his finger and Draupadi tied a piece of cloth from her Sari to bandage him, He subsequently  protected her honour when Kuravas were trying to disrobe her. Historical accounts also mention that Alexander’s wife Roxana  also sent a Rakhi to King Porus and Porus honoured it by not attacking Alexander and in the bargain lost the battle. Rani Karnavati of Mewar is also reported to have sent a rakhi to Humayun when her kingdom was under attack by Bahadur Shah of Gujarat and Humayun sent his military and restored the kingdom to her son, as the aid reached late and by then the valorous Rajput ladies had performed the jauhar.

For people like us, who have spent their entire life in uniform, away from their kith and kin, the celebrations were mostly through the letters containing these precious Rakhis delivered by the Postal Department. Since the festival is celebrated during the monsoons, the full moon day of Shravan month of Indian calendar, it fell during the academic/training term in RIMC as well as NDA/IMA, I missed all the fun back home. But we as a family were quite progressive in this regard, so my Rakhi was always tied just before I embarked on my way back to school/academy, sometime mid July. I also received my share of Rakhis by post, as on the auspicious day, I loved to flaunt all those pretty looking threads, some of which were crafted artistically  by my sisters themselves. Siblings are God’s gift to the children, who are not just playmates but are soulmates who stand by you even in adversity. As a famous quote goes, “A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost.”

The bond between a brother and sister in India is so special that even after her betrothal, she retains her special status in the family. Traditionally sisters’ presence is a prerequisite in all auspicious occasions be it a wedding, house warming or any other sanskaras (roughly translated as rituals). Mind you their presence is not just ornamental or perfunctory, they are the edifice on which the family bonds rest. They carry with them the ethos and values which nurtures her own family. Richa my little sister, is a neurosurgeon and she has been truly a saviour by taking on the mantle of keeping everyone in the family healthy. This blog is dedicated to her and my cousins, late Pragya, Rekha, Sulekha, Sheela, Seema, Ruchi, Avni and Ami, who have  always made it a point to shower their love and affection on us brothers wherever we may have been, in the wilderness of Africa or high altitude deserts of Ladakh, in Kashmir Valley during the worst period of insurgency, providing me with their good luck charm, the “Rakhi”. Happy Raksha Bandhan folks

KARGIL: SAGA OF THE SOLDIERS

 

Kargil, the sleepy looking idyllic heaven nestled in the lap of Himalayas, where it was reported that pure Aryans were still the inhabitants. A place which was hidden from the world, a Shangri-La, quiet peaceful, just a transit point for travellers  moving from Ladakh to Kashmir via the Zojila Pass. Until 1999, other than the Army personnel and locals, the rest of the country was not even aware of this region, or its inhospitable and challenging terrain. Our friends across the border, having successfully fomented trouble in the neighbouring Kashmir valley and Siachen regions over the last two decades, were on the lookout for some action here as well. We Indians have proved to be gullible and hopeless romantics for peace, whether it was taking the Kashmir issue to UN in 1948, or returning Haji Pir in Tashkent in 1965, Simla Agreement in 1972 repatriating 93000 prisoners or the Lahore declaration of 1999. Hoping against hope that some day, good sense will prevail on this rogue nation and ‘we will live happily ever after’. 

Pursuing everlasting peace is a noble agenda, no doubt, but not without keeping our guards on, for the inevitable stab in the back. Kargil too was to meet the same fate, where we were caught totally off guard. Then languishing in absolute denial, we kept ignoring the intelligence inputs about the incursions, which obviously did not happen overnight. Indian Army has proven its professionalism every time and has risen to the challenges posed, but we also have a history of overconfidence, recall the brash claims of Gen Sundarji of flushing the terrorists out in just 48 hours in OP BLUE STAR , or the OP PAWAN fiasco. Similarly Kargil too was initially perceived to be a minor incursion which could be addressed at local formation level itself.

It was only when we suffered casualties that the grimness of the situation facing us became evident. Having realised the gravity of the challenge posed and in the nuclear overhang with severe restrictions on trans Line of Control operations, it was akin to fighting with one hand tied behind our back.  ‘Cometh the hour, cometh the man’, it was now the turn of the humble soldier to redeem his honour. Despite severe constraints in terms of weapons and ammunition, where he outdoes the adversary each and every time is in his ‘indomitable spirit’ and ‘abundance of courage’.  Highly unfavourable terrain where  the enemy was perched on top of the hills and he was faced with climbing up all the way under observed fire, as these hills were barren with no cover, other than the fieldcraft which he had honed his skills in, over the years.

Units also faced another major challenge, which was the change in tactics from Counter Terrorist operations to conventional ones.  The last war having been fought in 1971, the troops had to reorient themselves without the luxury of any preparatory time. In fact, many units had to be launched into the battle even without the laid down acclimatisation period.  This did not in any way deter him, undaunted he rose like a phoenix, vanquished not just the peaks physically but also the foe with such ferocity that at many places they scampered, despite enjoying the inherent advantage as defenders in mountains. Despite the barbarism on display by the nemesis, he maintained our age old ethos, honouring the traditions of respectfully burying the fallen enemies in marked contrast to the Pakis who refused to even acknowledge and accept the mortal remains of their own comrades.

There are many lessons which have been driven home in this war, the most important one being staying on guard against the skullduggery of our nemesis. While technology is playing a major role in the warfare today as evidenced in the recent OP SINDOOR, but it would be a grave mistake to undermine the prowess of the soldier, who has proven his mettle time and again. In our context given our geographical compulsions, “victory will still be measured by foot”

WHATSAPP WARRIORS

 

WhatsApp Warriors’ is the term I have coined for my friends who wage their own war on all and sundry utilising their most deadly weapon, the smart phone. This war is non violent in the kinetic domain but in the vitriolic one, it is deadly. The only difference being it is in the virtual world, the old adage which went something like this, ‘if looks could kill’, here this has been replaced by ‘if posts could kill’, ‘we would have a genocide’ at our hands on a daily basis. These warriors are typically not the ‘shoot and scoot’ types, they will stand their ground and the barrage of posts will continue unabated till hunger pangs makes them part with their weapon system, ‘the phone’. In Punjabi, the term for ‘good for nothing’ people is ‘velle’, these velles indulge in their favourite pastime, ‘vellapanti’, in other words ‘while away the time’ at hand. These guys are typically either retired folks with plenty of ‘gyan’ on all subjects under the Sun and which nobody at home is prepared to even acknowledge or the actual vella youth of today tutored in the WhatsApp University.

WhatsApp provides them with this outlet which keeps them occupied for better part of the day or night. The issues could be as diverse as OP SINDOOR to Digital arrests, Cyber Security to Performance of Indian Cricket Team or the F35 stranded in Kerala, healthy foods, weight loss and even surefire  cure for cancers and baldness. We all have  watched the ‘Fastest finger first’ challenge in the KBC shows, well these guys can beat those winners who get to the hot seat, any day. The moment they cursorily even glance at a message, it is their duty to immediately post in the scores of groups that he/she is a member. As though a moment’s delay will invite the wrath of the Admins of the group, which may jeopardise their very existence. The funny part is the members  of these groups too are common and receive the same messages in all the groups. As if that is not enough, there are many others who don’t even bother to peruse what has been posted earlier in the group and just go ahead and do the needful. So the same message of someone gone missing will appear number of times in the group posted by anyone who came across the same post in some other group. The guy has been found and restored to his kith and kin may be an year ago. In fact in some cases these people have been forcibly got hold of again and again to send them back home, as the finders have just seen the message for the first time.

This ‘compulsive forwarding syndrome’ which is afflicting almost the whole country has now assumed epidemic proportions. We the veterans are equally guilty as we are part of our course groups in all the training academies that we have been to starting from school which may be RIMC, Sainik School, Military Schools or even KV, APS etc to National Defence Academy, here too the squadron types have their own separate group and then IMA,  Young Officers course, Degree Engineering course, Staff College, Higher Command, National Defence College, then institutions  and Units, Regimental groups and so on. Then there are the family groups, in laws, outlaws, the immediate siblings, the cousins, the distant cousins, friends and the residential society etc. One doesn’t even need to imagine, as each one of us has been subjected to this frightening tyranny of forwards almost daily and it takes us better part of the day to delete these messages, resisting the temptation to delete all in the vain hope that there might be some useful message which is likely to be lost. Perhaps the inner journalist in us in our eternal pursuit of Pulitzer for exclusive scoop, like our TV Channels claiming to be the only ones and the first ones, to report an event, imagine that the Group Admins will reward them in a similar manner.

I am sure we recall that famous story about ‘Whose Job is it Anyway’ Everybody thought that Somebody will do the job, but Nobody did which Anybody could have done. Here everybody  is convinced he is the only one and hence he must do it. If we go back to our typical Inertia of rest state, where we are loath to get up and pick up even a glass of water, preferring to order around, just be rest assured this forward will reach the millions even without your push. So just relax read it but don’t forward it, the WhatsApp Cup is already overflowing.

PS- Just one request though, this ‘don’t post’ doesn’t apply to my blogs, these you must post ;).

KISS CAM

 There are two kinds of people in this world, one who kiss in public and one who don’t and there is a clear cultural divide between the two types. The public kissers are from the Western hemisphere and the private kissers are from the Eastern. So no surprises when a term called ‘kiss cam’ originates in that part of the world. Frankly I hadn’t heard of this term, till this kiss became the kiss of death, you know like the Vish-Kanyas of ancient India.

 These girls for the ignoramuses of the West were supposed to be specially trained and groomed with doses of snake venom to kiss their target literally to death. Here unfortunately, there was kiss cam but no kiss, but it did end up devastating the love life of Andy Byron and Kristin Cabot. The kiss of death for their professional, personal and social life.Kisses have played havoc even in our parliament, some of you may recall, else just to jog your memory, you may like to revisit (https://thesuyashsharma.com/kissa-kiss-ka/).

I became aware of Cold Play only after their concert tickets in India became more precious than gold and diamonds this January. It was reported that the going rate at one time was almost Rs 10 lakhs. While I do enjoy English music, but my tastes have got stuck with the Old Country songs and the music of the 60s to 80s. A Frank Sinatra, Jim Reeves, Kenny Rogers, Don Williams or Abba, BoneyM, occasionally Michael Jackson or Bruce Springsteen, Bryan Adams or Paul Anka, John Denver, Cliff Richard types. We just didn’t evolve after that, so Cold Play was given a cold shoulder till first, the concert ticket prices in India, which reminded us of the 70s again where ‘paanch ka dus’ (black marketing of cinema tickets) and now this ‘kiss cam’ scandal.

The term itself is a ‘scam’, imagine you are enjoying the event in the company of that someone special and like a ‘Peeping Tom’, you not only disturb their pleasurable moments but go ahead and splash it on the ‘Jumbotron’. The Peeping Tom goes about Tom‘toming’ it to the world. ‘Kiss cam’ for the uninformed or those born in the 50-60-70 decades, like me, is that

 moment when a couple is homed onto by the roving eye and then when they appear on the ‘jumbotron’, they are expected to kiss in full public view, the public in turn applauds this sporting gesture of theirs. This activity is typically conducted during the breaks in the event to keep the public glued to the idiot boxes. Incidentally Obamas too have been at the receiving end once and they dutifully played to the gallery. Celebrities perforce need to oblige. We Indians are known to have given this kiss a miss in many a Bollywood movies, with two flowers symbolically conveying it so oh so subtly. If only these Western guys understood, Andy and Kristin would have been spared the blushes. After all it was just an embrace which ended up embarras-sing them. Embrace and embarrassment reminds me of that jhappi which was far from being magical(jadu ki jhappi) turned out to be quite grumpy (https://thesuyashsharma.com/the-embrace/).

Andy and Kristin were the top honcho of ‘Astronomer’, they ought to be looking for a good astrologer now to save their skin.

Boundaries in Space

 

Space travel, once a fantasy in the 19th and early 20th century is now no longer such a novelty. It is no longer just travel but also covers stay and conduct of experiments in Space Stations, where Gp Capt Shubhanshu Shukla, a qualified test pilot with over 2000 hours of flying experience  too spent some time and where Sunita Williams, a veteran of three space missions, got stuck and stayed on for full nine months. While Sunita Williams is a veteran US Naval officer of Indian origin, there is another Indian American, who we are extremely proud of, Kalpana Chawla, born in Karnal, she dreamt big and made those dreams come true by becoming the first woman Astronaut of Indian origin to travel in the Space Shuttle Columbia in 1997. She unfortunately died in the 2003 last flight of Columbia itself during the reentry into Earth’s atmosphere in 2003. 

We have a small anecdote of our own with India’s first cosmonaut himself.  Meeting with Sqn Ldr Rakesh Sharma has been a part of the highlights of my memories of NDA when both he and Wg Cdr Ravish Malhotra called on their Alma Mater in 1984. We were overawed by the occasion and considered ourselves lucky to have seen them. Circa 2010, I was in Wellington in the Unit CSD Canteen purchasing the regular monthly grocery and guess who do I bump into, Rakesh Sharma himself, doing exactly the same thing with not a soul
even recognising him. I immediately walked upto him, introduced myself and my better half and reminded of our brief interaction from the NDA and that he  was from my Squadron Juliet too. I asked him if I could get my kids to meet him, he magnanimously invited us for a cup of tea and my kids Abhijat and Ananya too got to shake hands with this legend and get themselves clicked with him. There were no smart phones then, so selfies were still unheard of and yours truly had the privilege of capturing this moment. He has settled down in Coonoor post his premature retirement. His humility and spontaneity left us totally floored, here was such a celebrity who had no airs whatsoever hosting us.

Now of course Shux is back, welcome home India’s first astronaut, yes you read that right, the first cosmonaut was Sqn Ldr (later Gp Capt) Rakesh Sharma,AC. We know that the world is divided by boundaries of states but we humans have not spared even the celestial space and gone ahead to carve that out also. The Russians were pioneers in the space as most of us recall Yuri Gagrin being the first man and Valentina Tarashkova the first woman in Space, they coined the term ‘cosmonaut’, from ‘cosmos’ and ‘naut’ depicting the sailor. I think the term could have become one which could have been adopted by all, as it is for soldiers. But unfortunately this maiden space trip triggered a race between the US and erstwhile USSR, which eventually culminated in Jul 1969 when Neil Armstrong became the first man to step on the moon. The Americans to be different from the evil Commies called their space travellers as ‘Astronauts’. When it was the turn of European nations to hitch hike with the Americans they called them spationaut and the Chinese not to be left out named them “taikonauts”. So far Indians are still taking lift with either the Russians or renting a paid flight, (I believe it was Rs 548 Cr) with the Americans but soon we shall have our own “Gaganyatri” or “Vyomonaut” as Gagan and Vyom both mean the ‘sky’ in Sanskrit and Yatri is a ‘traveller’. Amidst all this trouble over finding suitable names for them, I was reminded of the artificial language boundaries within our country also the Marathi-Hindi or Tamil-Hindi conundrum.  Hey, some of us old timers may recall the Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong song from the movie “Shall We Dance” “You say tomato, I say tomaato, you say potato, I say potaaato, let’s call the whole thing off..!” Truly let’s call the whole thing off!!

Trumped Up Ceasefires

 

 “Friends, committee members and my subjects, lend me your ears, I come to claim Nobel, not to seek it…..I am an honour”Nobel’ man and I have always said it” Inspired by Mr Donald Trump and to emulate him I am nominating myself for the Nobel Prize for Peace. My claim to fame is that I too am an honest peace broker at home, I declare a ceasefire even before the first salvo is fired, simply by surrendering to the mistress of the house. Even when it comes to strife within the family or on the streets, I too go ahead and announce to all and sundry that I was behind the truce even if no one else is prepared to give me any credit for the efforts undertaken.

Alfred Nobel himself was the paragon of peace, as the man who literally dynamited the world and brought peace upon many who laid down their lives in the countless wars in the last century. There are many more equally qualified contenders like Trump for this coveted prize, the various Terror groups like the Hamas, Lashkars and Talibans of the world, who with their acts have been delivering the gospels of peace in their own style by putting people to sleep forever. A dead man is the most peaceful man, as the violence too is buried deep with him. Then there are the Putins, Zelenskys, Bibis, Munirs of the world who have not been sitting idle themselves but have a been treading this inglorious path for a little longer. 

May be these awards are also somewhat in a similar league as Bollywood awards, which are known to be manipulated.  Incidentally President Wilson was awarded for brokering the flawed Treaty of Versailles and spectacular failure of League of Nations, resulting in the Second World War in just two  decades. Obama for may be indulging in multiple conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya and Syria. So obviously befitting the legacy of Alfred Nobel himself, the military industrial complex is kept busy with orders pouring in, then Peace award follows.

We all know that great leaders inspire confidence and motivate others by setting a personal example, so here he is! His citation would probably go something like this, “Donald Trump showing clear disdain for rules and orders,  with utter disregard for the safety and sanity of the rest of the world, he has single handedly plunged the world into a turmoil by ensuring that the world peace is now actually in “pieces”.” Don doesn’t appreciate anything in the singular, his principle is obviously, ‘more the merrier’, in his perception probably ‘pieces’ is the plural of ‘peace’ itself, so there you have it, ‘Nobel Prize for Pieces’ and he is the deserving winner.

My Friend Reuben

 

 

I met reuben in Jul 1983 when we joined NDA Wing at Ghorpuri. He was the NDA Entrance Merit List topper, a tall dark and lanky fellow with a beaming 32 carat smile and we were allotted the same room in 49 Division of Mike Squadron. We were roomies with three others with us, which was probably the biggest of them all, we naturally became great friends. The other three were Sameer Anukul (who stole a march over all of us (*Sameer you will be missed – SENSE IN THE NON SENSE* https://thesuyashsharma.com/sameer-you-will-be-missed/), NA Vinod and KPS Rana. Reuben and self landed up in the same class as well, Class “D”, which stayed put for the next two and a half years even in NDA main Campus. Incidentally the other Class D types here in Mhow are Akash Bhanot and Ashok Vasudevan also.

 

We sixteen year old lads were blooded together, rolled and riled (cribbed) laughed and lampooned, indulged in gluttony and gimmickry and lived every moment we spent in the Academy in the three  formative years. Reuben was a prankster, always upto his tricks, playing the fool, keeping all of us amused through some of those difficult times. His antics would invariably take the pressure off us and we would all be ready to take on the challenges head on together once again. But when we moved to the main Campus we were allotted different squadrons, he was assigned  Alfa, Rana went to Bravo, Anukul to Foxtrot, Vinod and self landed up in  Juliet. Since the Academic Class remained the same, we stayed connected, as almost half the day was spent in these very class rooms.

Class D in NDA is for the guys who were not the torchies (brightest sparks) of the Course nor at the bottom of the pyramid, Class F types, the ones who made getting GCIs (compartment) a habit and then managing to squeeze past without losing a term, into an art form. We were fortunate to have a Dr AB Rao as our Maths Professor, he was the most benevolent and empathetic teacher I have come across. He would never wake us up in class as we would invariably be dog tired after all the ragda. Reuben was his favourite. We would often play ‘battleships’ in class, would make our own crossword puzzles and scramble the words, he was a wizard with unscrambling. Soon it was time to move on to Indian Military Academy Dehradun. This one year we were in different battalions so the interaction was relatively less. He did well, was an appointment, a Junior Under Officer and joined Infantry, 5 Madras battalion while I joined Signals.

We stayed in touch via letters and Christmas / New Year greetings, and got to know about his marriage to Sheeba, his stint in NSG and the epitome of his professional acumen when he passed the Staff College Entrance. We again met up when I landed up at Secunderabad after my course and his unit was also with us. He commanded 8 Rashtriya Rifles battalion with distinction in Jammu and Kashmir and went on to tenant a number of other coveted appointments in his career spanning 33 long years. 

One vacation when I was here in Indore, he specially called me and asked me to move in the neighbourhood at Sumeru Hills in Mhow, where he and Sheeba had made their own dream house. A sprawling 10000 square feet plot and a palace for a home very thoughtfully done up, away from the hustle and bustle of life, his own abode where he could witness the sunrise and sunset at peace. Since I belonged to Indore, I chose to stick to that place but definitely resolved to keep coming down to Mhow over weekends. 

 

A regular at the DSOI here, Reuben was a passionate Tambola player and a  keen gardener who would spend hours in his garden tending to each and every blade himself. A dog lover, who would go out of his way to look after all the dogs in the neighbourhood, get them vaccinated and even attend to them in sickness. A lively fellow, who we thought was defying ageing as he retained his youthful looks even as he turned sixty, so the news of his illness was a terrible shock for us friends and course-mates. His time had come, the Almighty was pleased with him and sure enough He wanted him back there. A compassionate soul, his infectious smile is all that is left for us to remember him by. One seat in the “Class D bench” will continue to be reserved for him forever.