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.

Water Woes

 

Disclaimer: The account is actually based on real life experiences. Names have been withheld on purpose to ensure there are no comebacks whatsoever.

I always thought I am entering the golden phase of my life, a ‘seenager', a term recently coined for people of my generation, who are teenagers at heart but are senior citizens by physical age. We are living life to the fullest with no responsibilities to tie us down, kids settled in their professions and plenty of time at hand with no dearth of resources. What more can one ask for, having toiled in our youth we have earned a decent bank balance which can finance our indulgences without having to constantly look over the shoulder. So I thought, but then, life has its share of surprises and in my case she derives a perverse pleasure in playing spoil sport.

It all started with the removal of the slum area right opposite our dwelling. These slums mushroomed over the years, where there was supposed to be an eighty feet wide road. These slums were the life of our colony, in our otherwise drab and dull life, they added colour and kept it vibrant. The late night rich baritone with the right bit of slurring throwing choicest expletives on everyone in general as though he was reciting the shlokas from the Vedas was our primary source of spirited discourse. The early morning fracas near the Municipal Tap ended up usually in torn lips and bruises all over for the gladiators. We of course were blessed and were witness to these incredible WWF level takedowns in person. Over the years, the usual politicking en- sured the shanties remained they were, although they were offered accommodation in flats in the vicinity which they dutifully took possession off. But these people are so selfless by nature that they immediately rented them out to other more deserving, while they continued to stay in the shanties right here itself, grateful to the govt for providing them the means for the daily evening ‘quarter’ and some chakhna (snacks) to go with it.

We had reconciled ourselves to our friendly neighbourhood as they provid- ed us with the domestic helps too. Then one fine day, the municipal corpo- ration armed with funds for smart city project did the unthinkable, actually uprooted them and we thought wow, ‘better late than never’! We presumed with the new road constructed, life would be a lot easier, real estate prices in our vicinity will go through the roof and we will draw huge satisfaction from the notional millionaires that we would soon be. Alas we were not privy to the trials and tribulations which the civic staff had in store for us.

One day, the taps suddenly ran dry, we presumed it must be an outage somewhere in the vicinity and carried on with our stored water in the underground sumps so thoughtfully planned for such contingencies, but when this spell continued unabated for a couple of days, we assumed the worst, the Third World War must have been declared, as we had heard the next war will be on water. Here we were led to believe that Indus Water Treat was under abeyance, but we sitting in the Malwa belt served by holy water from Ma Narmada suddenly felt as though Nimad Plains had declared war on the Malwa Plateau depriving us of this precious resource. Thankfully the TV anchors were still blabbering on with Sonam-Raja ‘honeymoon supari’ so obviously the world was still at peace though in pieces otherwise.

We decided to seek redressal and were informed that the water pipeline had to be relaid as it was passing through the alignment where the road was planned. So we trooped in to the authorities seeking an alternate source in the interim till they laid a fresh pipeline. The wheels of governance do not move by themselves, they require graft as lubrication. But since the wise neighbourhood comprised people in our very age group who thought other- wise, so we commenced our operation water supply restoration, so guess where the authorities sent us, to the road construction department and not to the water supply department for a clearance. Now going to the authorities is one thing, but getting them to act is something altogether different. That is a realisation which is akin to attaining nirvana, and requires penance in the form of daily morning evening calling them without any response emanating from their side. You know how you call out God in times of difficulty but He doesn’t seem to listen, so these babus too are Godlike in their manner. Then when you are in dire straits you trudge up to their offices, like you go to the temple hoping Gods would be pleased with your having taken the pains, but to no avail, a single visit is just not adequate, so you do that regularly, morning evening and finally they do decide to act as though they are acting on the complaint. But the act still remains an “act” and still we were without a drop of water.

Situation was getting precarious and desperate situations merit desperate measures, so levels were raised and the concerned Engineer was sounded about the plight of us senior citizens. He sounded concerned and immediately passed directions to his staff; finally there was some movement, so we thought and sure enough a team did visit the site, but after that again there was the same old water tanker dong the rounds, quenching our thirst. A friendly neighbour was kind enough to share his bore-well water with us , but ‘municipal water supply’ had done the Houdini.

The team of senior citizens again marched towards the Engineer’s office, he again gave us a patient hearing and immediately called the concerned staff and enquired about the situation. The staff clarified that this part of the project was not with the road construction team, this was with the water supply team itself and the layout of pipeline was not explained clearly,

hence it had to be disconnected lest it result in damage to the pipeline and wastage of precious resource, i.e water. The engineer of the project also raised his hands and we set out to look for the water supply services engineer in charge, who had apparently gone on urgent leave and was expected back in a couple of days. There was no one else there who could apparently address the issue in his absence. We were back to the tankers and bore- well, waiting for the engineer to return. He did finally return and we cornered him and threatened him with dire consequences, now that we had had enough. He was kind enough to let us vent our ire and asked the super- visor to provide an alternate temporary connection forthwith. The connection was provided and we were waiting for the elixir to flow out of the pipe which was left without any valve or tap, just the open pipe out on the road- side. Sure enough water supply resumed but we had to connect our own pipes to direct it to our water tanks. We couldn’t keep the pipe connected as the road under construction also had some traffic which would simply crush the pipes and carry on. So we had to wait, till the first droplets emerged and then rush with the pipe, attach it there and in the bargain get drenched as this operation was being executed when water supply was in full force.While we were grateful to the Municipal Corporation and the Water Supply Department for their act of kindness as this system ensured we were bathed fully clothed twice over and in this peak summer it did provide some respite. Well, the ordeal is far from over, we are still waiting for the road construction to be completed, when they will again dig up the road for the water pipeline! 

Umbilical Uniforms

  

Uniforms are glamorous and men/women donning these do not just stand out but outshine  all the others in a gathering. In the Armed Forces we take great pride in our uniforms and have the highest respect for this as well.  Now that I have finally shed the Olive Greens for good, it seems as though I have been skinned, the uniform was  de facto the papillary dermis (the outermost layer of the skin). Having been cocooned all our lives, retirement felt almost as though our umbilical cord was severed. From the age of 11 when I joined school, Rashtriya Indian Military College based at Dehradun, this protective layer has been my most faithful companion. 47 years is practically a lifetime, without it I feel like a dressed chicken, well almost!! The associated issue of a life sans uniform is the inadequacy of our wardrobe, as we practically lived our lives in uniforms and now we have to perforce dress up in the civilian clothes only. Most of us find ourselves  challenged in this aspect.

Uniform does change colours though, sometimes it is black (Cavalry, NSG), Olive Green or even Khaki (NDA), and in the good old days even overalls (dungarees); then there is the pomp and show of the Ceremonial dresses with complete regalia swords, medals, peak caps or in just the bare essentials the Camouflage pattern or Combats as they are referred to in our parlance for us Pongos (Army). Then we have the silent service (Navy) who in their immaculate whites and the fly-boys (AirForce) in their blues, we are literally head turners or show stoppers wherever we are. Quite a few of us fell for this glamour and even in the current generation many continue to do so today. We are not the only one who have been bitten by this bug, ask the damsels as they are smitten by the men in uniform and watch them swoon over the handsome hunks. 

Uniforms  and striving for  uniformity  is quite natural for us humans, right from our school uniforms days to the blue collar workers in the factories, doctors in their white aprons, policemen and firefighters in khakis, the uniformity helps distinguish the personnel for their respective roles. Each of these roles are unique and essential for a civilised society but all said and done, the aura of the Armed Forces is in a different league; ‘awe inspiring’ and citizenry by and large remains grateful for the never say die spirit of these men and women. The honour associated with the military men worldwide is because this profession requires guts, extra ordinary resolve and the fact that they face bullets in order to safeguard their nations. No wonder when they walk in, there is genuine respect in the eyes of the general public.

Our uniforms  also have a dominating kind of effect which is exactly what one political leader confided in me. He said while they were clothed in simple kurta pyjamas, the military personnel by their attire invoked an envy which does result in they trying to avoid interactions. I am not so sure of that any longer though, especially the way our brethren have been ill treated in the recent past, be it the Odisha Nightmare, Chandigarh high handedness or lawlessness in Lucknow they are a poor reflection of the civil society as a whole. It is high time, the  issue is addressed in right earnestness.

Donning this uniform is a privilege accorded to the few lucky ones like me. There are many whose lifelong ambition goes unfulfilled. A uniform has to be smartly maintained, whether it is the shining shoes or the neatly ironed uniforms, the  gleaming brass on the shoulders, or the tilt of the berets, every aspect has to be just perfect. This practice of perfection is the potion which works as the panacea for pongos. Guess why? Well, there are no runners up in the war.

Honeymoon Supari

 Honeymoon was all honey albeit many moons ago, after the recent Sonam-Raja one which resulted in the

groom being despatched to his heavenly abode while the coy bride did the disappearing act till the real long arms of law finally caught up with her and her accomplices. The arms turned out to be really long for a change, from Indore in Madhya Pradesh to Shillong in Meghalaya and finally it was Gazipur in UP where she did emerge as though from thin air. Honeymooners are known to indulge in occasional pranks, but this one took the cake really. 

I casually asked our domestic help a young lad all of 25 who had just got married, as to where was he planning his mooning, the poor guy is yet to recover from my suggestion. He made his wife swear not to utter the 10 letter dirty word ever, after all he has no intention of landing up in some deep gorge being gorged by the wildlife. Parents of the newly weds are naturally overjoyed as they have been spared the additional strain on their precarious budget, mother in laws in particular have heaved a huge sigh of relief. The reasons are many but the primary one being spared the blushes of witnessing their dutiful ‘संस्कारी बहू’ (cultured daughter-in-law) turn into Urfi Javed, roaming around all the hills and beaches barely clad and their images plastered all over the social media. These photos are the most embarrassing  bit, where the Saasu Ma is forced to suddenly acquire a broadminded persona.

In our family we have religiously followed this ‘no honeymoon’ policy quite seriously, after all my grandparents didn’t, nor did my parents, so we too followed suit. Guess what we have always been known for our foresight and farsightedness, so steered clear. “ना रहेगा बाँस ना बजेगी बाँसुरी”, as they say in Hindi. Honeymoon incidentally has a strong lunar connection, the period was almost that of one lunar cycle, i.e. if it starts on full moon day, then it culminates on the next full moon. The first couple of days are supposed to be all tenderness and love and this is expected to last at least the complete cycle, hence the name. But poor Sonam, she misunderstood the duration, 12th May was a full moon day and she presumed the honeymoon was over that day itself, so the faux pas. 

Many old timers like me are now wary, as our second honeymoon is supposed to have commenced, happily retired, kids settled, no liabilities. We are looking at and treating our worthy spouses with new found respect after this episode and are at her beck and call. In our professional life our appraisals by the superiors always mentioned that we were ‘go getters’, which has been latched onto by the boss at home who keeps us engaged by, you guessed it, getting all the stuff from the market and in the household to make ourselves useful. The sword of honeymoon is enough to scare us into quiet domesticity.

Travel agents have been caught in a bind, if they so much as mention “H” the groom scampers. Business is taking a hit, the smarter ones are repackaging the deal instead of “honeymoon safari”, with separate negotiations with the bride about the other necessary arrangements as well, ‘honeymoon-supari’ obviously.

The Nation Needs to Know

 

“It is the best of times, it is the worst of times”, Charles Dickens wrote that in the past tense, in his classic novel, “A Tale of Two Cities”. Here we are literally living in these very times, interesting and intriguing at the same time. In the last week we have been bombarded by the news channels and social media about the ghastly murder of Raja by his wily wife Sonam, the gory details being shared as though each one of us was the investigating officer and also the judge. Oblivious to the happenings in the world, we were in our cocoon till two incidents shook the world, which was just about recovering from the India-Pak skirmish. Israel went ahead and bombed the nuclear facilities of its nemesis Iran and the Air India AI-171 Boeing 787-8 Dreamliner crashing within minutes of its take off in a Medical College Hostel premises in Ahmedabad killing 272 passengers and several doctors and the staff there.

While we are still numb with the shock, the electronic media vultures are out to make a killing. Like a mob, they swarm to the accident sites and start their non-stop coverage which does not help the rescue operations at all, instead becomes the greatest hindrance. Air Force Pilots are in “Cockpit readiness”, as the highest degree of alert in operational situations or sometimes they even have a ‘Combat Air Patrol’ flying in the area to address any adverse situation within seconds. Our media personnel are giving these fly-boys a complex as before one can say Jack Robinson they are at the site with the microphones being thrust in the face of victims asking inane questions and repeating ad-nauseam, that they are the first to break the news and theirs is an exclusive report. I am sure they have their own terms for this high level of alert, my guess is they must be calling them, “OB Van Readiness”, “Media Patrol” and may be even ‘Media Ambush’, where they target hapless officials and survivors and launch their barrage of questions without even a breather.

The race for TRPs has degenerated the level of reporting to such an extent that even social media appears more responsible in comparison. We have seen our media going overboard countless number of times, I think it began with Kargil when a certain media celebrity gave away our defensive location, inviting enemy shelling within minutes causing casualties to own troops and jeopardising our operations. It got even worse during the Mumbai 26/11 attack, when our media in their exuberance helped the terrorist handlers in Pakistan guide Kasab and his ilk towards those areas in the Hotel, where guests had taken refuge, getting them killed in the bargain. 

Unfortunately our  electronic media has refused to learn any lessons which was evident in their conduct and coverage during recent Operation Sindoor. The fact that their credibility is at an all time low does not bother them one bit, all that matters is that they have something supposedly exclusive. With the advent of AI, their imagination too has run wild, now anything and everything can be peddled as truth and beamed. Our media has been running a campaign where they have declared the Third World War ever since the Russia-Ukraine conflict  which commenced three years ago. If it was upto them we would have had a nuclear holocaust many times by now, and POK captured couple of years ago.  

Most of us have given up watching any news whatsoever, as even Western Media have their pronounced biases, so there is no objective reporting at all. Print media still retains some sanity, as their credibility still matters, plus they are not the minute to minute warriors unlike their electronic media friends. It is high time the government reins in these channels and issues guidelines on ethical reporting and penalise the erring ones. I know we will be treading a dangerous course here as media will be up in arms about their freedom being in peril, but when it comes to national security matters, we ought to be more responsible. As was demonstrated by the All Party Delegations which had gone around the world recently, a similar Audit Committee could be constituted with representation from not only major political parties, senior retired bureaucrats and defence officials who could take a call when there are reports about media misreporting facts. By no means am I advocating any kind of censorship but even an audit post the event could penalise the defaulters to the extent of  barring them from covering such events or even revoking their licences in case of grave misdemeanours endangering national security.  The Press Club of India acts as the Ombudsman for print media, but there is no such body for electronic media whatsoever, high time the government gets its act together as responsible news reporting and coverage helps the people as also their representatives. The nation does need to know the Facts, after all.

Modern Day Quixote

Fd Marshal Asim Munir can be compared with the seventeenth century fictional character, Don Quixote, who lived in his make believe world, having read about the exploits of tyranny of the Islamic invaders who plundered our country in the last millennia. Quixote, also assumed the title of Don as his modern day avatar Asim Munir has anointed himself Fd Marshal. Quixote tilted at the wind mills, and declared himself the winner, so did the Chief of Army Staff of Pakistan. Anyone else in his position would have quietly resigned having suffered the ignominy of being reduced to suing for peace within four days after having sworn to deliver a resounding victory for his forces. 

He also reminds me of another fictional screen character, Soorma Bhopali of Sholay fame, I am sure most Indian readers would be familiar with his name. ‘Soorma' meaning brave  warrior in Urdu, would narrate stories of his valour to the hangers on as to how he single handedly caught two ruffians by the scruff of their neck, when the heroes Jai and Veeru suddenly make an unannounced appearance forcing him to change his tune totally. Asim Munir too has sold his own narrative firstly to himself, and then to his gullible countrymen. His country as we all know is famous for only two kinds of export to the world, one of course is terrorism and the other being donkeys. Having been rearing assess for so long their wisdom too has gone on a long recess, wonder whether it will ever find its way back.

Terror organisations and extremist groups have their own self styled rank structure with many of them donning the mantle of Generals. That is reason enough for Munir too to declare himself a Fd Marshal, as when these rag-tag forces can have their very own Generals, Pakistan Army ought to have a Fd Marshal. Genuinely intrigued by this promotion, I started to peruse the etymology of this rank itself, and to my surprise I discovered that the term traces its origin to the Middle Ages, where the keeper of the horses was supposed to be Field Marshal. Horses are now only for ceremonial purposes in modern armies, so may be in keeping with the age old traditions, this ceremonial rank was bestowed upon him as well. Interestingly Pak Army is supposed to be a big business enterprise and their Quarter Master General (QMG) must be a highly coveted appointment and sure enough Munir had tenanted that very same appointment right  before becoming the Chief.

Not satisfied with this elevation, he went ahead and invited himself to the Washington Military Parade itself till the White House Administration was forced to issue a clarification to the contrary. If there is one award that he truly deserves that would be the Goebbels  (Nazi Propaganda Minister of the Third Reich during Second World War) Award for spinning the wildest possible propaganda yarn of the millennium.