A personal loss!

About a week back, I lost a dear friend who passed away after a prolonged illness! This post is dedicated to him and I hope I would be able to do some justice to him even if my words fail me!

During one of our visits to US to meet our children, we became friends with an elderly couple.  A sprightly Sikh gentleman, Mr Santbir Singh and his wife Tej became our favorites simply because they were so warm and hospitable and looked forward to meeting us. They took a genuine liking for us. And it was mutual. Very elegant and well dressed, Santbir Singhji will always have a twinkle in his eyes when we met him. He would salute me every time just because I had served in the army. Senior to me by a few years, I called him 'General' and in jest warned him not to salute a junior like me;I told him that it was an offense for which he could be punished!

As time passed, we became close friends and we shared with each other our many memories. He confided in me the story of his life in bits and pieces. He belonged to a flourishing and prosperous farmer family in India. As a young man, he had travelled abroad to England for education where he took a degree in aeronautical engineering. Unfortunately, because of his aging father's illness, he had to return to India soon. After the death of his father, he took care of his siblings and family. 

In due course of time, he got married. As luck would have it, in a joint family, he and his wife had to make many adjustments. And then they decided to travel to distant lands. Full of an adventurous spirit, they went to many countries including Canada and the US. A large part of their journey was by road, he driving with his wife, which they enjoyed very much. Finally, they decided to settle down in US. They built a nice house in a small town in California where, decades later, we were the recipients of many excellent meals. The couple was always truly 'Punjabi' in their hospitality.

Santbir Singhji had a great sense of humor. He carried himself with a style and charm of his own. He narrated to me many stories of his eventful life. He was aware about my hobby of postings on Facebook (where I indulge in writing about my random thoughts on life in general, real and fiction!). Half seriously, he suggested to me to write about the story of his life for posterity. On my part, I seriously considered to do that because I found his life story very interesting, intense and worth the effort. So, during our one interaction, I suggested to him that we meet and plan as to how to go about it. As a starter, I needed to meet him more often over a period of time. Somehow, I could not manage to do that sooner and then it was time for me and my wife to return to India. I promised myself that I would undertake the project during our next visit to US.

We retuned to Pune, India in July. We knew that my dear friend was suffering from many illnesses even if he remained cheerfully galant as we saw him before we left US. But we never suspected that we would never be able to see him again, that his journey through life was about to end very soon! I hoped and wished that we would soon visit US again and I would be able to undertake the project of writing the story of his life to the best of my ability. 

To my eternal shock, that was not to be; I got the shattering mail from a common friend! Our dear friend, 'General' Santbir Singh had passed away, surrounded by his near and dear ones!

The great shuttlers of India!

As India rejoices in and celebrates the first ever silver medal won by Sindhu, I will like to share my two encounters with two players of badminton when I was very young. As a teenager, I was an eager player of this game and did not play too badly. So I entered our college championship at Gwalior  at the very first opportunity at the age of sixteen.

As luck would have it, my first very round opponent was the reigning champion of our college. And he was a family friend too, about four years senior to me. Needless to say, he literally toyed with me even when he gracefully conceded a few points to me. It was an humbling experience for me but I enjoyed it. My opponent went on to win the college championship for the third time. On the day of prize distribution, at the fag end, I heard my name being announced for a special prize. I barely heard it. Then, a friend of mine nudged me to go to the stage to receive a small cup which I treasured for many years.

About four years forward, I went to Hyderabad to study at the Osmania university, the home town and cradle of now world famous shuttlers, Gopichand, Saina Nehwal and Sindhu when they were not even born. On a Sunday morning, I visited an indoor badminton court with my racquet to have a game with anyone present there. When I entered the hall, I noticed a young man a few years senior to me, just hitting and tossing shuttles. So I casually said hello to him and asked if he would like to play a game with me. He looked at me, smiled and said, OK, let us play, let us just knock around without playing a real game. I was a bit surprised at his offer but soon found out why he said what he did!

We started playing and within a minute, I realized that I was totally out of my depth as well as my breath. He was just too good and I could hardly match him stroke for stroke even when he was giving me very easy returns and never smashed even once. And he was very nice, encouraging me all the time with good  suggestions and advice. After about half an hour, I felt very tired. I decided to call it quits with his permission, giving him some reason. As I thanked him for his time and shook hands with him, I asked him who he was, what was his name!

'Nandu Natekar' he replied. To my utter surprise and shock, I realized that accidentally and by sheer chance, I had the rare experience of playing with the top badminton player of that time who had already won many titles. A living legend, he went on later to win at many national and international tournaments. I never met him in person again but would always treasure that encounter with the great man on that Sunday morning!

A rootless wonder!

Lately I have started taking longer morning walks since I discovered rather accidentally, that I looked big, rather fat, if that is the right word, in a full size mirror. This happened when I visited bathroom at a friend's place which had a full size mirror. Why, it beats me!

So I had to start early for a longer walk and one morning I  met another early walker. I extended my hand for a shake which he took rather stiffly. A serious looking guy, I learnt that he was from Chennai. He was a doctor, a Ph.D. In Indian philosophy. His wife too was a Ph.D. In some subject. Both served in a university and now retired. Obviously a very scholarly family! When I told him from where I came, exclaimed with a curt oh! Disappointed, he looked at me, I think, very pityingly. Was it my imagination, I am not sure! Nevertheless, to improve my image in his eyes and also to boost my own self esteem, I boasted that one of my aunts had actually married a proper South Indian in days much before when Chennai was Madras. And my sister once lived for a few years there, I added. To which he responded by saying, 'that does not mean you belong there, do you?'

During my army days, I passed through another metro in the east many times, Kolkata when it was Calcutta, many times just to change my flight for Gauhati further east. During such one stop, after walking many miles, I boarded a tram car. I found an empty seat and sat down. And then to relax my tired legs, I stretched them in the vacant front area. After a minute or so, I heard some people talking agitatedly in Bengali which I did not understand. Then, a well meaning copassenger softly whispered in my ears that they were talking about me. 'He thinks he is sitting in his drawing room! No culture' or words to that effect. I had understood the last part and quickly pulled in my legs! Bengal has been the birthplace of Tagore and Bose if I am not mistaken and I have high regard for the people from Bengal. But it never passed my mind to settle there ever!

I had a couple of postings in Punjab and enjoyed our time there very much. The culture of khana, peena aur dance, balle balle was very tempting except the last part; I just can not dance even to save my life! So there was no question of my feeling of belonging to this area and it's remarkable people. I could never visualise myself settling there after retirement!

I had a stint in another city, this time in Gujarat, a state which gave us many great leaders. My dear daughter in law is originally from this state.I was posted at Baroda now Vadodara. One evening, my wife and I went out for a bit of shopping. Among other things, we wanted to buy a few hand towels. We entered a shop which prominently displayed the item. We were talking with each other in Hindi. And then we asked the shop keeper the cost of a better quality hand towels. To which he rather curtly  answered,'you can not afford them'! To say that we were stunned will be an understatement. So much for the gujju people's much vaunted salesmanship. In retrospect, I thought I had upset the guy by talking in Hindi. Clearly, I did not 'belong'! Next time if I have to shop in Gujarat, I would prefer my gujju daughter in law to accompany me.

I retired from work while posted at Mumbai, erstwhile Bombay. Why we keep changed names of our cities is a riddle to me. Maybe to get back to our culture! The most well known city internationally, we really. enjoyed our stay there. Only sometimes, the constant harping of 'aamchi Mumbai' was jarring. And even though my dear wife comes from Maharashtra, it has not stopped some Marathi speaking people from treating me like an outsider. I did not simply belong! It is a different matter that I speak Marathi like a real native.

The bottom line of this story is that I do not have a sense of belonging to a particular place. I am like a rolling stone which has gathered no moss. I am a rootless wonder!

Yours for ever!

YOURS FOR EVER!

It had been a long day, and not very pleasant! He returned to his bachelor’s den, a one bed room apartment, after having dinner at a nearby eating place. Now was the time to unwind and relax! Absentmindedly, he picked up the book with the title 'Yours For Ever' and opened the cover. There were a few hand-written words on the opening page, ' do keep in touch’, a phone number and a date about two years old. He thought he better call the number, especially after what he had witnessed in the morning!

The call was answered by a woman with a 'hello'. He said he just happened to see this book which he described. Before he could proceed, he heard the woman exclaiming with obvious joy, 'Oh, it is you! First you stopped writing to me. And now you call me after such a long time, almost an eternity! I had given up on you! I missed you very much lately but you forgot all about me too fast!' He quickly hung up saying he will call her in the morning. She was disappointed but decided to wait for his call.

She had met him in a library first and then every Wednesday evening where they shared their reading habits. After that, it was a matter of a few meetings when they became close friends. In due course of time, friendship gave way to romance. And then as luck would have it, she had to move to another town in another state. They parted after promises to keep in touch. It was at that time when she presented him with this book, 'Yours For Ever'.

After abruptly terminating his conversation with her, he gave full thought to the whole situation. Next morning, he called the woman as he had promised who eagerly answered. ‘Tell me what you have been up to all these days and why you broke off with me? And why were you in such a hurry yesterday evening when you barely spoke? You, who used to say that we are made for each other!’

He wondered how to break the terrible news to this woman that he was not the man she thought she was talking to. He still had not got over the accident he had witnessed in the morning when this young man was hit by a speeding car. Paramedics and the cops had arrived immediately on the scene and took him to the hospital. He had picked up this book ‘Yours Forever’ which was left behind at the scene of the accident by sheer chance. He saw the phone number and instinctively called. And then after hearing her response, he cut off and rushed to the hospital and found out that the man did not survive and was no more. Now he wondered how to break this heart breaking news to her!

And then he spoke in the phone, ‘Tell me how much you missed me lately as you say?’ The woman replied, ‘Very much! You do not know how guilty I felt when I decided to get married six months back. You see, you stopped talking or writing to me for whatever reason. It was your fault! Then I met another wonderful man. It took some time for me to get over you and fall in a new relationship. Please do not mind and please forgive me. I never wanted to hurt you in any way!’

‘I am very sorry, my dear! As you rightly said, it was my fault. Please forgive me!’ he replied. ' Does not matter' she replied, 'where are you speaking from? Let us meet for old times sake. My husband is a very nice person. He will not mind'. 'Not possible, I am sorry! He replied.'you see, I am going abroad tomorrow early morning to join a company. Please do not mind!'

And he hung up abruptly!

In defence of alcohol!

The other evening, there was a party at my son's place which is a frequent happening. The main purpose of such parties is to meet friends and it goes without saying, eat and drink or rather drink and eat. The stress is on drinking with friends which creates the right atmosphere for a joyful evening. Dost aur daru is a great combination. And most of drinking buddies also bring in a bottle of wine or a crate of beer. So there is never a shortfall of this elixir of life. As Benjamin Franklin has famously said, 'beer is the proof that God loves us and wants people to be happy'. No dispute on that!

Friendships blossom when you drink with friends. At the same time, it helps to make them more interesting. Another famous person Ernest Hemmingway has confessed, 'I drink to make people interesting'! Conversation flows effortlessly, anecdotes are exchanged and life with all the usual problems, becomes rosy. Nothing like a chilled beer on a warm afternoon which will change ordinary mortals into thinkers and philosophers!

My son is lucky in having a friend circle who think likewise. And he is more lucky that his wife, our daughter in law does not mind and joins him for a glass of wine occasionally. And they are pretty moderate most of the time, let me assure you. Made for each other I guess, this has made their bond stronger. No marital tiffs because of an occasional binge in the company of friends. This brings me to my own indulgence in this activity once in a while, my tolerance level having gone down with age. But it was not always so!

Back in time, as a young subaltern in the army (do not mind if I always talk about my army  life simply because that WAS my life), I could stand a fair quantity of alcohol without getting drunk. And mind you, I have almost never been drunk, believe me! Once at a party in our mess at a small Cantonment, as normal, we were having drinks. On that evening, one Capt Andrews, was the senior most officer present. He was fond of drinks and we juniors were giving him company as best as we could. It was already dinner time but he kept drinking. When I hesitantly reminded him, he strangely announced, 'we will have dinner when Rajput is drunk'! And he ordered the barman to serve a drink to me. I dare not disobey a senior, so I took the drink. But that was not the end;he ordered another drink for me and of course one for himself. This was rather too much for me but I still did not feel drunk.

And then an idea struck me;I will feign that I was drunk. When Capt Andrews ordered one more drink for me, I took a sip and then just slumped down on a chair talking gibberish. This tactic worked and Capt Andrews looked happy. He asked everyone to proceed to the dining table for dinner. I continued with my pretense and slowly shuffled to join others for dinner. As we sat down on our chairs, we noticed that Capt Andrews would never make it;he was fully and totally drunk!

Okra versus me!

'By and large, during my lifetime, I have generally ignored vegetables except a very few. The ones I have left alone are usually full of seeds, really 'seedy' variety. You see, I have really nothing against vegetables as long as they are not forced on me by misguided hosts who in their zeal misunderstand that I am being formal or shy on the dinner table. Nothing like that, I can navigate my way to my favourite dishes, mostly nonvegetarian, which are so easy to spot, whether at home or at a buffet outside. Vegetables, I know are very good for health. At the same time, let me confide that I have no major health issues!

This post is about my battle with one particular vegetable called okra which is supposed to be a delicacy, at least by my son in law, Neeraj who simply loves it. As for me, it is too full of seeds for my liking and avoidable. Okra, also called ladies fingers or plain bhindi in Hindi, (rhyming so well) has been my nemesis. I had survived without it, rather thrived, till Neeraj arrived on the scene!

Soon after Neeraj and our daughter Savita got married in Pune, they spent a few days with us. The very second day, I went out to buy some groceries including vegetables and Neeraj accompanied me. At the vegetable shop, he suggested that we buy some okra. So I asked the vendor to pack half a pound of the stuff. Only half a pound, Neeraj remarked! And then, he told the guy to make it two pounds, that is one full kg!

Now we all know Neeraj who is such a fine guy! I have very high regard for him. But that morning when he quadrupled the amount of okra which I had to buy, well, it set me thinking about him! How can he like okra so much, I wondered but kept quiet like a good father in law in the famous Woodhousian tales. We returned home after a while with the vegetables and a bit of gloom in my heart. I was already visualising the dining table loaded with dishes of okra. My wife was thrilled to see that her favourite vegetable okra was there in the bag. And she easily guessed who was behind this coup. From then on, she and our son in law really bonded if that is the right word as I watched from the sidelines. For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed various dishes of okra and the best way to make them. As if there was nothing else to talk about in this whole wide world! I also realised that Neeraj was an ardent chef, loved to cook. So they became natural allies in the kitchen. I was truly sidelined and excluded from this divine world in the kitchen where all that mattered was okra! Soon, Savita and Neeraj left for their new home in US. But not before they had firmly planted this seed of okra in our kitchen!

As years went by, my interaction with okra became more frequent due to our regular visits to Neeraj and Savita. I have improved a lot in this respect;I no longer get depressed with this item. In fact, I make it a point to buy some whenever I go out to buy vegetables. And I actually eat it without making faces. My wife is happy and our son in law is happier. He has 'converted' me to his okra ways! 

But this has led to a peculiar situation. Now friends and family are under a misconception. They think I love bhindi, I mean okra. The other day, we were invited to lunch at a friend's house. He called me on the phone and insisted that we must join them. He exulted, 'you just can not afford to miss what my wife has specially cooked for you! Your most favourite vegetable'!

Please do not ask me to name it!

My identity!

After staying almost an year with my daughter Savita, my wife and I have now shifted to my son, Mahesh's house. We do this regularly. At both places, my morning routine is to go out for walks around the block or to the nearby parks. This morning, during this activity, I met a person, who lives on the same street as Mahesh. A youngish man in his fifties he warmly greeted me. Then he said, 'you are Mahesh's dad, aren't you'? Yes, I replied and asked him as to how he knew Mahesh. He explained that for sometime he worked in Mahesh's company. Now he works at a different place. But as both live on the same street, he sees me walking past his house in the mornings. 

This reminded me of an incident of many, many years back when Mahesh and Savita were small, school going and stayed with my parents for a few years. And my wife too, thanks to my postings in border areas while serving in the army. It was a small town called Nagod in MP, India, about twenty miles from the district place, Satna. As Nagod did not have a good school, we got Mahesh and Savita admitted into a better school near Satna. They both used to commute morning and evening between Nagod and Satna by a rickety bus service. The bus belonged to a local trader known to my parents. The driver and the conductor, usually same guys, took good care of both my children. Over a period, Mahesh and Savita became well known and let me say popular with the regular passengers of the bus. Safety wise, it was a very satisfactory arrangement!

That day, I had travelled a long distance by train, coming home on leave and arrived at Satna railway station. Nagod did not have a rail line and even today, it does not. So I had to catch a bus. As luck would have it, I got into the same bus to go to Nagod in which my children travelled on every school day. Only, this trip was not the one they took as I found out soon. The bus driver and the conductor recognised me and greeted me cheerfully. As the bus got filled with passengers, some passengers remarked, 'so you are Mahesh and Savita's father'! And then, a couple of passengers and the conductor started telling me how bold they both were, travelling every day to and fro between Nagod and Satna for attending a school so far away from home. They were the only kids doing it, I was told. I sensed that they had become almost role models for many parents and others in that small town!

Coming back to my identity now, most people in Nagod knew me as son of my doctor parents to start with. Then, I was looked up to as someone who had joined the army. That was probably a sort of first first for them and the town. My dear parents actually threw a party to celebrate that. But my best identity in terms of putting some one on a pedestal was because I was the father of Mahesh and Savita, believe me!

It has been a pretty long time since, a long journey. Mahesh and Savita are happily married and settled. Once again, in a different country and in new towns, whether on Demsterk ave or Bellingham way, I am being recognised as Mahesh's or Savita's father. Allow me to say, like all parents, my wife and I are very proud of them. The time has come now to pass the baton! I suppose, Mahesh and Jignasa, Neeraj and Savita for all their accomplishments, God bless them, are also identified as parents of our grandchildren, Gattu, Bachchu and Mallika. As for my wife and myself, our identity has become more glorious;we are their Nana and Nani!

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My horse riding days!

The year of 1966 is memorable to me for two main reasons;one that my younger sister got married that year, and the other, just a month prior to that, I fell off a horse I was riding while serving in an army unit in Himachal Pradesh. And that takes me to my first posting after I was commissioned as a second lieutenant, to an AT (animal transport) unit. And that too as it's officer commanding, OC for short. In retrospect, I think I can write a mini novel of this stint which lasted for about two years from 1964 to 1966. Maybe I will do it some day. For the present, let me stick to this tale of my falling off a horse!

I will like to give you some details about horses, real horses (not the ponies one rides at hill stations!) so that you can understand some parts of this story better. I hope you will find it interesting, more than my falling which comes later!!!

I was the only officer in my unit which had close to a hundred soldiers. And it had a complement of 4 horses or rides as they are called and 96 mules. Horses were for riding by officers and NCOs for command and control of mules column while on a march in hilly terrain. The mules were meant for carrying ammunition and stores on special saddlery. The 4 horses included 1 ride A and 3 rides B. Allow me to explain this! Height of horses is measured in 'hands'. A 'hand' means a clenched human hand which is taken as equal to 4 inches. Height of a horse is measured in 'hands' form the point of withers which is just where the neck starts, to the ground level. Ride A must be a minimum of 15 hands which comes to 60 inches or 5 feet. It is meant to be ridden by an officer. Ride B is meant for NCOs and soldiers and is below 15 hands in height. Class and rank distinction? Well, sort off!

I as an officer was expected to ride the only Ride A who was named Salim as per the records. A huge chestnut colored animal, i was just a few inches taller than him at the point of his withers. Even to climb on his back fitted with a saddle was a challenge. And he was also a bit moody or so I thought. Because, other riders in my unit, NCOs and soldiers, good riders mostly Jats from Haryana, could ride him easily. To my credit, gradually, I learned to handle and ride Salim reasonably well. We all always rode in proper gear wearing breeches and riding boots. In a month or so, I became pretty confident. The horses had to be ridden and exercised every morning and evening to keep them in fit condition. Normally, I did my riding on Salim in the mornings regularly.

One fine day, my NCOs suggested that we take all the four horses a little more distance on the surrounding hills. I agreed and we started on the horse backs at a slow canter. Soon we were on top of a small hill which had a flat top of about 200 yards in radius. On top of Salim, I was leading as expected and the other three riders following me. We started taking circles of the ground at a canter. But after a few rounds, Salim took me by complete surprise and increased his speed without any signal or command from me. I kept pulling the reins but he just did not bother to my commands. And soon, he started going to the edges of that piece of ground changing to a gallop. I became very scared and realized that I had lost control of Salim. I feared that at any moment, he may just go off the ground and fall with me in the deep cliffs. And then I did something a good rider would never do! I took out my both feet from the stirrups and jumped off Salim to save my life!

As I fell on the ground with a big thud, Salim miraculously stopped running. Other riders climbed off their horses and helped me to my feet. I felt immense pain in my right forearm. It was clear that I had broken a bone. We were a few miles away from our base and the worse was, I had to sit on my horse to be able to get back and report to the military hospital. There was no other option! My fellow riders helped me to climb on Salim with some difficulty. One of them held the reins and led Salim and the rest very slowly at a snail's pace and we reached our base in a couple of hours.

In a few weeks time, I was able to attend my sister's wedding, albeit with my right arm in a huge plaster!

A love story!

The passenger train stopped at a wayside station. It was an unscheduled stop because of derailment of a goods train which had occurred a few miles ahead. It would take at least a day before the track was repaired and cleared. That meant that this train had to return to it's starting station;there was no other option. And that too will happen after a few hours before the railway authorities could sort out the mess!

 Passengers cursed their fate and then got out of the train to explore the small station and the adjoining small town in search of a tea shop or such thing. He was one of them, a young man going to meet his distantly related uncle and aunt with a specific purpose. After he lost his parents some years back, they were his nearest relatives. He joined a small group of stranded passengers who found a small dhaba close by where one could buy some snacks and tea. They settled down on a couple of rickety benches. For the dhaba owner, it was a God sent!

As they waited for tea, he overheard two young women talking in low tones. One of them looked very upset with a personal issue. 'How could she do it to me' she was telling her friend. ' I do not know this man, never met him in my whole life. And my mother wants me to be engaged to him just because he is sort of related to her!' She began sobbing softly as her friend tried to console her. He felt very sorry for her, more so because she was pretty and looked so vulnerable. The woman continued her conversation with her friend. 'I am glad for this train derailment. A good excuse to postpone if not cancel the engagement. After reaching our hostel, I will call my mother to stall the event by a few days. No need to rush. Then I will see what to do!'

The tea was ready, said the dhaba man. The group had their fill and returned to the station. After a wait  of a couple of hours, the train started it's return journey and soon reached their destination. Our young man had already called his uncle the reason why he could not reach their place. He promised that he would come after a few days. His uncle replied that it was fine, he can wait considering the circumstances. He would tell him when to come. The young man used his balance of few days leave to meet and pursue the young woman he had seen during the disrupted train travel. He felt that he was in love with her!

She too liked him. She thought he was such a nice man with a good personality. He had told her that he knew of her predicament and would help her to overcome same. He explained his plan to her. She thought about it and then agreed. She would do anything to get out of her situation. How caring and thoughtful of him! She wondered what kind of man her parents want her to be engaged. In a few days, our young man was ready to travel. He apprised her of the date and other details. It was well before the new date of her engagement. She could have easily hugged him. Was he surprised that she so readily agreed!

They travelled on the due date and reached the place where her parents lived. After reaching their home, she rang the bell. Her mother opened the door. According to the plan, with a beating heart, the girl announced to her mother, 'Mom, I have married this person. Please do not be too upset. I am very sorry that now I can not get engaged to any one. Please forgive me and meet my husband'! Her mother was quickly  joined by her uncle and they both were aghast and stunned. Then her mother exclaimed ' but my dear, he is the person to whom you were supposed to be engaged in the first place and you were so unhappy about it!'

No problem, said the happy young man, nothing is lost, let us start the process, 'We are ready to be engaged today and then to be remarried any time!'

Life in these United States!

Life in these United States!

My wife and I live half the time of the year in the state of California in this great country, the United States of America simply because both our children, our son and daughter (and their families) have settled down here after they finished their education and started working. We love this country for many, many obvious reasons. Nice well maintained roads, beautiful public parks with lush greenery, disciplined traffic conditions, schools with their large playgrounds, general cleanliness, good public services, so on and so forth.

But given a choice, we still feel more happy and comfortable in our good old Pune in India! I had the occasion today to talk about this with my daughter with whom I was driving to pick up her younger son, my grandson, from a music class. And let me say, it is only when I am accompanying her or my son, son in law or daughter in law on such errands that I get to talk to them at length on any subject. Rest of the time, they are too busy for such mundane things like talking with retired seniors like me! Does not matter, let me come back to my conversation with my daughter this evening.

We were comparing life here and in India, mainly social life and interactions and were in general agreement that it is more warm, close and satisfying in India than here. Why it should be so is a matter of debate and analysis of many factors affecting people who have made this country their home. But I argued with her, what is noteworthy about India is that all your neighbours are your friends even if not very close. You can easily chat with a passerby for a few minutes on something or the other. Here, you may say hi to a dozen people every day while on walks without any real conversation. You hardly see or know your neighbours even when you have lived on the same street for decades!

In an emergency, the first thing we do in India is to knock on the doors of your neighbour. Here, the first thing you would do is to call 911 which is fine and another subject not under discussion. This is not to say that people are not helpful here. But they prefer to keep distance for reasons which perhaps also include legalities. Houses and the lawns in front are neat and tidy. You will notice a number of cars in front of the garages. But you never see anyone out except when they are getting in or out of their cars. There is simply no question of finding kids playing in the streets!

Basically, my daughter and I were talking about people, humans who appear to have taken a back seat of sorts. The small town atmosphere which is still in abundance in large parts of India is conspicuous by it's absence in the area we live in here. I was wondering if it is still there in small towns in the hinterlands of America across east, west, north and south. Is our society in developed countries, thanks to science is paying a price for too much progress, development, advances in all fields?

And that brings me to the question of what is too much progress! Is there any limit laid down anywhere by anyone? It is just not possible considering what man has achieved already. After the truly revolutionary advent of wheels ages back to flying into inner and outer space, landings on moon and Mars, we still can not fathom what is possible on our planet, the earth itself. Driverless cars is one of those things. My elder grandson who is crazy about cars responded in disgust with these words to this latest possibility; 'what is the point of having a car which you do not have the pleasure to drive! Ridiculous!'

I suppose only a child has the insight to bring the society at large to it's senses in it's senseless pursuits of progress and development, with such observations. What is scary is that in the not too distant future, human beings would become obsolete on our planet which will be run by robots!

Why me?!

Why does it always happen to me? I mean things which as if want to put me in my place with a tag of a loser. You are wondering what I am talking about. I will elaborate it with a few examples!

I have regularly observed when I am driving and approaching a road junction with lights, the green changes rather fast to orange and then red when I would have just made it. The whole system is designed to make my otherwise excellent driving a bit tedious I am convinced! Such peculiar phenomenon is extended and is manifested in other areas too. Years back, when I had to travel by the Indian railways, in spite of planning my journey well in advance, my name always appeared to be way down in the waiting list. The list would of course shorten, but will just stop when I came on the top!

When I was in college, bell bottom pants were the fashion for a few years. So I decided to buy a pair. And then I discovered that boys of my age had started discarding them and switching over to regular jeans. I bought my first T shirt when I was fifty plus, grey to be sure to merge with the surroundings. Nothing flashy or colorful! Same with graduating from old style canvass shoes to sneakers, always behind my generation. That brings me to my 'hair' story!

My hair started greying at an early age. My friends were luckier;they got them at a reasonable age and then quickly started coloring them. Smart fellows! I was too shy to follow suit, mainly because I realized that I should have done it much earlier. Now I had reached a stage when my head was more white than black and it would have been a big leap. So I bravely continued in my state and did not join the crowd. And at this stage of my wise resolution, who else but my young daughter should arrive on the scene, visiting us during her college summer break. She (and my dear wife) conspired and brain washed me into doing the unthinkable;coloring my hair black! 'Dad, you will look so young'!

 At that point of time, I was an instructor at a training school in the army in Mumbai. My first hour used to be my prepared lecture to a class of about twenty student officers on a given subject. I was pretty good in my job. But that Monday morning, I was not very confident for a reason you can easily guess. With my heart pumping at an alarming rate, I entered the class room with my full black hairdo. The students, all officers and some senior to me in rank, stood up as was the custom. And were they stunned?! That would be an understatement of sorts. They looked at me, forgot to say the usual 'good morning sir';they just stared and stared as if saying who is this man! Needless to say, I went through my lecture with pauses at all wrong places and quickly went back to my office.

No big deal, I did not lose anything worthwhile you might say and you would be right I suppose. But much before this time when I was a young man, I missed something or somebody worthwhile, or so I thought! I had a friend, a girl about whom I was serious. As was my nature, I was diffident and took my own time to come to the point. She too took her own time when another young man appeared on the scene. He was smart, much smarter and faster than me. Some other factors also came into play. I would not like to bore you with all that. What mattered was that he won the competition if ever there was one! I had missed the bus as the saying goes. But not really!

In retrospect, that was a lucky miss. In fact, I was very fortunate! Because, there was another girl who was patiently waiting for me. I am happily married to her for more than fifty years!

Hanging and marrying go by destiny!

This post is about a true incident which happened many years back when I was serving in the army. It is about an officer who served with me in a battalion at a semi field area where families were not permitted. It is also about the fickleness of men and tenacity of women in certain circumstances. As they say, life is stranger than fiction! I found this true in this particular story I am about to narrate.

Let me use a fictitious name for this officer for the sake of anonymity. I will call him Capt Yaad. He was an officer of medium height and build, very average. He had two weaknesses namely wine and women. I suppose all men have them to varying degrees. But he was pretty ahead and would beat the rest by a mile. This landed him in all sorts of trouble. According to his service records, he was married. But we had never met his wife. She was supposed to be living in his village he came from. 

Capt Yaad was also remarkable for his voice and his fluency in Hindi language. He came from the gangetic belt in the north and had the ability to hold your attention when he spoke. When sober, he was simply fascinating, just like Amitabh Bacchan! But when he was under the effect of alcohol, he became a sheer nuisance. Inevitably, he got into many physical fracas and got beaten up on some occasions. Alcohol and such scuffles took their toll. Therefore, he was never in good shape or medical category A,  a prerequisite for getting posted in forward areas. He mostly remained in peace stations which suited him in any case. You can easily guess that he was least bothered about his career prospects. Further, he also had to be admitted in military hospitals for periodic review or medical treatment from time to time. Somehow, his condition did not result in his permanent discharge from the army which was a pity. He carried on gamely!

This brings me back to his ability to charm people when sober. It is said that women in particular are vulnerable to men with an evil streak. There is some truth in that belief I feel. Good men are so boring! It was common knowledge that in his every stay at the military hospitals which were frequent, he would strike friendship with pretty nurses. He would pose as a bachelor. Many of those unsuspecting women just could not resist him and fell victim to his guiles. He used to have his good time, depart with false promises of marriage and then rejoin his unit unscathed. Once again, one fine day, he was required to get admitted in a army hospital for medical reasons. As a standard practice, our office issued him with a movement order and a railway warrant to proceed. He went to the army hospital, got admitted and after a week or so, he was discharged to return to our base. We came to know of this only because a copy of his return movement order issued by the hospital reached us by post. 

But there was no sign of Capt Yaad! It was just half a day's travel by train. Where was he, we wondered! We waited for another day and then got very concerned. Did he meet with an accident? Our commanding officer, a Lt Col, rang up the hospital and got a confirmation that Capt Yaad was indeed discharged two days back. It became a mystery as there were no reports of any mishap from police or other authorities. We waited another week or so and then as per the army law, our commanding officer considered him as AWOL, meaning absent without leave and decided to declare him a deserter. An apprehensive roll was issued for apprehending him wherever he was. In all such cases, copies of apprehensive roll are sent to police authorities of the town to which such person belongs, and to the district authorities. As and when they find him, they are supposed to arrest him and bring him to his army unit. In the army, there can not be a worse fate than being declared a deserter! We waited for the process to take it's due course and soon forgot about this guy as a lost case and a bad egg!

After about two months, as we were getting ready to go for lunch in our officers mess, we suddenly noticed an army truck stopping in the front. And who else but our missing Capt Yaad getting down from the front seat! To say that we were shocked would be an understatement. More so when we saw him helping a young woman to come out of the vehicle. After unloading their baggage from the rear of the truck, they approached us and he introduced the woman as his wife. We continued to be speechless as the plot thickened;she did not appear to be a person from his village, we thought. But well, we had to accept her as his wife, a lady wife deserving a civilised greeting. Our commanding officer welcomed her in to the mess along with her husband who had been declared a deserter!

There was not much talk about anything during the lunch with due consideration for the lady. But soon after, our commanding officer took Capt Yaad on one side and told him that families were not permitted in that area in any army unit. So he had to arrange some accommodation in the town nearby for his wife. More importantly, he himself was a declared deserter and would be confined to a room with soldiers as guards. Rest of the day was used to meet these requirements with the help of a couple of young officers. Next day, the stage was set for disciplinary proceedings against Capt Yaad for his offence of desertion!

A court of inquiry followed by summary of evidence according to army rules was arranged. This was followed in due course with a court martial. Finally, Capt Yaad was awarded civil imprisonment of some years and automatic dismissal from the army. It was a sad day for the officers cadre of the army! But he fully deserved it!

But this is not the end of this story. After about three years or so, I visited an army installation with many officers as part of a training course. It was commanded by a smart officer of the rank of a major. In the evening, we were invited to his residence for a dinner party. And who do you think was his lady wife who welcomed us with a smile and without batting an eyelid?

The same Mrs Yaad whom I had met three years back!

A tale of siblings!

TIME magazine brought out a very informative issue about siblings, 'The science of siblings' which deals with the most enduring relationship in any family. All other relationships, wives, husbands, children, parents, lovers and friends are all unique it says. However, there is no relationship which is as deep or long as those among siblings, it argues.

And this brings me to my two sisters, both younger than me. One is just a couple of years younger, the other is almost a decade. This post is about the first with whom I had the good fortune to spend many years when we both were in school, the same school in a small town in Maharashtra. We both were less than ten years of age then and lived with our maternal grandparents. My parents, both doctors served in Govt hospitals in the north and were transferred every two years or so. Therefore, they decided to keep us with our grandparents for the sake of continuity in our schooling and education.

I still remember those years. Being two years senior, I was ahead of my sister in the school. But she was the one who was better known and lauded for her good behavior and matching performance. On the other hand, I was pretty indifferent in my studies to put it mildly! And this created quite a few 'problems' for me. My sister, by sheer dint of hard work and sincerity, constantly maintained her high ranking in her class. And I was generally average which resulted in the inevitable comparison between us by the teachers concerned. The standard comment used to be, 'you are Nirmala's brother. How come you are not as good!' Or words to that effect. I call her Nima, by the way!

As you can easily guess, this situation was hardly conducive to any 'friendly' relations between myself and my sister, at least from my side, you get it?! And if this was not bad enough, at home too, she was admired for her quiet and submissive nature. Very obedient to elders, she was a role model. Regardless, I treated her with my big brother attitude, telling her to run errands, do things for me, warning her NEVER to speak to me in the school and things like that. You get the picture? But I must admit, she always took care of me and protected me if I was found guilty of some mischief or misdemeanor. Once, when I broke an expensive table lamp and was scared that elders in the house would really let me have it, my dear sister told them that she was the one who accidentally broke it. Her excellent reputation spared her from any scolding. No wonder, she was the favorite child of our grandparents, uncle and aunt who had their own kids younger to us.

Then there were times couple of years later when we were teenagers, I would sneak out of the house with my friends to watch the late night second show at the only movie theater in the town. She knew this and was concerned about me. She kept a sort of vigil;she would know when I went and when I returned. But she never, NEVER let out the secret to any one in the house. In due course of time, we both graduated from our school. I got above average marks, managed to enter college at Gwalior. Nima passed out with distinction and secured admission at the prestigious Benares Hindu university, and deservedly so. She continued her success story by getting into the well known Lady Hardinge Medical college at Delhi and became a doctor. Got married to a doctor and eventually moved to America.

It is more than fifty years since. She and her doctor husband have retired from work. As luck would have it, we all have settled down with our respective families in the same country, USA. She and her husband, my brother in law, visited us recently. We were meeting after more than five years. What is most remarkable about my sister Nima is that she has just not changed over the years. She remains the same person what she was in her school days, very simple, gullible and very trusting and believing in nature. You can easily fool her by keeping a straight face. There is no guile about her. In many ways, she is a misfit in today's world of 'smart' people. But, most importantly, she is a very good person and that is what really matters. I am very proud of her!

Musical Evening.

Practically every weekend, thanks to my children and my grandchildren, we have a get together for some reason or other. There are numerous birthdays and anniversaries, occasions galore or just spontaneous getting together to enjoy a drink followed by dinner. But there is one particular weekend, generally the second Saturday of the month which is allotted for a musical meet. Not serious music but full of music and song nevertheless where barring a few exceptions, every one just lets go. And it is strictly for the amateurs, certainly not for the condescending highbrows! At the same time, let me say that this group of people have some really gifted singers we all look forward to hear. It is sheer pleasure!

For this occasion, everyone practices and practices to sing a song of one's choice. It could be a song from a favorite singer or a movie or a non filmi ghazal. All of enthusiasts (including me!) wait for their turn, patiently or impatiently, for their moment of glory, just for those few dedicated minutes behind a mike and in company of that wonderful karaoke which gives tailor made music to the song. Above all, this day also serves as an occasion for friends and families to meet socially without formality. All contribute to drinks and dinner by bringing in food and wine, an invariable part of this exciting evening!

Last Saturday, we had the pleasure of this musical evening at my daughter's place. It was heartening to see the house overflowing with people, young and old, all looking forward to singing their numbers with gusto. As usual, some good and confident participants took the lead to kickstart the event. As the evening wore off, it was the turn of grandkids to take stage. And they were simply delightful! Their confidence in handling the computer, searching for the karaoke of their song and just getting on, was amazing. This in my view is another welcome facet of this evening where kids get an opportunity to perform in front of adults and build their own personality positively. And when a teenager sings with his mom in perfect harmony, the bond between them is so palpable!

Noteworthy among this group is the presence of a few couples who are keen to sing together. We look forward more to their duets which give double pleasure to listeners in some ways. One of them is their playful and naughty looks they give each other giving more meaning to the lyrics of the song! You know what I mean! All said and done, a few really good singers, men and women command more attention and give more joy to all discerning music lovers because of their sheer talent. This is undeniable!

And this brings me to an elderly old fashioned gentleman who attended this musical evening with his daughter. Most of us were meeting him for the first time. So very few knew that he was a keen singer. In due course, he was introduced and then he proceeded to sing. As he started, it struck all of us how well he sang! He sounded like a professional! Most expectedly, he was requested to sing one more time which he did gracefully. And I was very moved to see his young daughter taking a video of her father singing!

Postman's wife!

Postman's wife!

He was the regular postman in the area where he delivered mail, house to house. Very cheerful, smiling and immaculate in his bright clothes and a hat, he barely saw the names on the addresses. He focussed on the house numbers while dropping mail in the mail boxes. He hardly observed the residents who mostly were out to work in any case. But he was seen unknown to him by a few who were indoors, from the kitchen or study windows who thought he was very likeable, even handsome. It was an upscale locality and he could not care less as they say!

Our this postman met and befriended a woman in the park in the small town a few miles away where he lived with his two small kids. He had lost his wife recently, so his kids, a boy and a girl would always accompany him. The woman liked him for his openness and his cheery disposition. And he was handsome too! She found him very attractive and a nice person. At the same time, she rarely shared any details about herself. She was pretty secretive for reasons best known to her. He too did not probe too much. He found her rather serious in nature and guessed that she had sad memories. But he had gathered this much that she was unattached. 

As their friendship grew, he started liking her more and more. He suspected that she was a cut above him in social status. But she was very nice to him. He knew that he was falling in love with her. One fine evening, he gathered courage and proposed to her. Will she marry him? She took it rather sportingly and to his utter joy, she agreed. But only on one condition, she said, which was that they marry in another city after a month or so. Accordingly, after about a month, he took a week's leave. He married his girl friend in another city, had their honeymoon and then he returned with his new wife to the middle class locality of the town where he had his home.

He joined his duty In a few days in the same upscale area where he had his beat. One day while on his round of distributing mail, he found a new family moving into one of the houses. He casually enquired and came to know that the previous owner had sold her property about a month back. None of his business, rich people did it all the time, he thought! But he could not help overhearing some conversation between two women, one the newcomer and the other, a neighbour. 'You would not believe it! The previous owner, she fell in love with a postman, eloped and actually married him'! 

He came home in the evening and excitedly shared the news with his wife. 'You would not believe it! The postman who was my relief when we got married, the fellow got married to a rich woman in the locality where I distribute mail. Fast worker I must say. And he never told me! I must check with him. Wonder who was this crazy woman marrying a postman like me. And I never noticed her!'

 His wife smiled and replied enigmatically. 'You never notice anything! That is part of your charm. But think about the woman whom you call crazy. Maybe, she noticed him and fell for him. And love is blind as they say! Do not embarrass him or pry into his personal matters. Promise?'

My days in Datia!

Datia is a district town in Madhya Pradesh, about 400 kms south of Delhi located on the main rail link of Indian railways. It iboasts of many temples and lakes. It used to be a princely state founded in the sixteenth century by a Bundela King. The town has many palaces and is walled with huge gates which of course now remain open all 24 hours. The town has expanded beyond the ancient walls with Govt offices and residential colonies coming up.

My parents, both doctors were posted in Datia while I was studying in college in another city. Naturally, I regularly kept returning there during vacations. Datia is very memorable to me for two more reasons. One, that I got married there. And the other is that our son was born there. In those days late in the fifties, my father was in charge of the hospital. Under him, there used to be a working staff of few persons for day to day running of the hospital. It included two men servants whose main job was to bring water from the wells most of the working hours. There was no piped water supply then. Outside hospital working hours, these two guys worked in our house for which my father paid them separately. Their main work was cleaning utensils and washing clothes and linen. As you must have guessed, there were no dish washers or laundry machines in those days. Both these men were in their early thirties. This post is about one of them. And it is a true story!

His name was Pilloo. For a man servant, he was always properly dressed. I thought he was quite good looking too as compared to the other servant. And he spoke and behaved differently, better than those of his class. I was quite intrigued by him sometimes. Whenever I came home during vacations, I liked talking to him. Soon after, in the evenings, I started taking him with me  for walks which made him very happy. We used to go out of the town, across the rail tracks, visiting temples, hills and other scenic spots. He behaved like a professional guide explaining to me the significance and history of those places. He being more than ten years elder to me, always took care of me and treated me like his younger brother. For that hour of our outings together, we both almost forgot that he was a servant in our pay!

During one such vacation when I was home, I resumed my evening walks with Pilloo. I still remember that evening when we decided to visit a small temple located on a hill. It was about two miles from the town across the railway line. There were at least a hundred steps to climb to reach the temple. After we visited the temple and paid our respects to the idol of God or goddess, we decided to sit down on the steps for a little while to rest and catch our breath. And then I asked him if he ever went to school and tried to study. He would have done much better in life as compared to what he was doing then. He did not reply immediately and was quiet for a minute or so. And then he came out with the story of his life for which I was least prepared. Following is the gist of what he narrated! Quote'

Bhaiya (brother), you are so nice and good to me, it makes me very happy. I feel very peaceful. Believe me, I look forward to your visits and these evening walks. Today, I feel like telling you my life story for whatever worth it is. But I request you not to share it with any one else. (He paused and then resumed) . Many things which I am about to tell you, I came to know from my mother and my close relatives after I reached the age of seventeen or so.  My father also worked in this hospital where I am employed now. That was more than thirty years back when I was not even born. He was a peon or something like that. And my mother worked as a maid in the house of the doctor in charge. My father was much elder to my mother. My parents did not have a child for many years after their marriage.

And then one fine day, my mother found herself pregnant. In due course of time, I was born. There were the usual celebrations. When I was about four years, my father suddenly left home without telling anyone. He just disappeared without caring for his job in the hospital, or for my mother and myself. It must have been so shocking to all. For my poor mother, it was a disaster! With no proper job and no financial support from anyone, she was going through very hard times.

At this critical juncture, the doctor who was in charge of the hospital stepped in. He took interest in my growing up as a child. He arranged to get me admitted in the primary school. And he paid for whatever were expenses on my account. His wife was a nice lady. They had no children. She took care of me and my mother in whatever way she could. Life went on as smoothly as was possible under the circumstances . But a strange twist to this journey was slowly manifesting. The doctor and his wife began to have frequent arguments for the smallest of reasons. Day by day, this worsened. The doctor, it was learnt, asked for immediate transfer to another station. And within two months, he got the orders to move which he did with his wife, and bag and baggage. It was so sudden, the hospital staff was thrown into a sort of disarray. Of course, another doctor, and elderly man arrived in time to take charge and things were restored to normalcy. But it was a blow for my mother and myself to have been deprived of the valuable support we had been getting from the previous doctor!

My poor mother continued to work as a maid. But she could not meet the additional expenses on account of my schooling, books and stationery, proper clothes and such things. Very soon, I dropped out from the school and started helping her in small ways as my age will allow. Many more years passed. My mother, now getting old missed my father and so did I. On many occasions, I asked her as to why he went away like that never to return. One day, I was more insistent. 'Do you want to know the truth?' She asked. Yes, of course, I replied. 'He left because of me' she replied. What happened between you two, I asked. 'I will tell you if you promise that you will forgive me', she responded. I promise! I said.

'Beta, my dear son, he is not your real father'. Then who is my real father? 'You are the son of a doctor' she continued with great difficulty. 'The same doctor who took such great care of you and then had to move suddenly to another station is your real father. Your father guessed it very soon and could not bear the shame and humiliation. So he went away. I do not blame him. But I pray daily for his well being'! I was so stunned to hear what my dear mother said, I did not know what to do. It was a shock for me, you can imagine. Then I tried to console her. After all, she is my mother. She led a hard life for my sake. She fell to a temptation  no doubt. But I am the result of it. It is she who taught me many good things, simple things of life. If you think that I am better and different than others of my class, it is entirely due to her. I will always take good care of her!

 Now I have got this job in the same place, same hospital. And I am happily married. Our first baby is on the way. And my mother is happy with us. She has retired. What more does one want in life? It appears that there is a divine hand in this scheme of things!' Unquote!

I was stunned as well as spell bound. Not just because of what he told me, but because this simple man shared his most confidential part of life with me with trust and faith and affection for me. I was too young to comprehend the full meaning of his narrative. I felt deeply honoured!

Badarwas where I started my working life!

Down the memory lane wondering how time passes so fast, I woke up today in our small cottage so lovingly made for me and my wife by my dear daughter. I went back in time to those days when I was in my early twenties. I lived then in a small room much smaller than our present cottage, devoid of all amenities. I was a bachelor then, just out of college, starting my first job as a veterinary doctor and was posted at a small village called Badarwas in MP, India in a block development office established for rural development.

There was no electricity there in those days. We had generators for our offices which were run for a few hours. No housing for us and so I and my staff had to hunt for one in that cluster of mostly huts made out of mud, straw and such things covered with roof of typical country made tiles as protection from sun and rain!

But lucky me, I found this small 10 feet by 10 feet room made out of brick and mortar for a pricey rent of Rs 12/- per month. I took it promptly lest some other guy snatches it. It was just right for me. My status also went up in the eyes of my staff if I may say so, believe me!

Located right next to a small road side dhaba, it was also at the so called bus stand where the only single bus coming from Gwalior, a big town hundred miles away, would be parked for the night. It would return next morning to Gwalior and then back to Badarwas in the evening. The driver and the conductor of the bus slept in the bus for the night and soon became my friends. I would often ask them to get some fancy non veg dish like chicken tandoor from Gwalior and then invite them to my room to share the same.

The dhaba was run by a man who was dark, with a big moustache and rather mysterious eyes. Looked scary to many who suspected that he had a 'past'! The dhaba and the owner looked rather spooky in the night in the shadows cast by a solitary petromax light. He did not speak much, but I had no problem with him. Many times in the evenings, he would send across my dinner to my room with his assistant. His main evening sweet dish was thick kheer made out of rice and milk. Very delicious! I was his most regular and privileged customer. His other clientele consisted mostly of drivers of trucks passing by. Personally, under the circumstances, life was pretty satisfying for me!

And then, one fine day after the bus had left early morning for Gwalior, I stepped out to go to my office, I noticed that the ramshackle dhaba looked rather deserted. There was no activity going on. I decided to wait and watch. In the evening, I returned to my room and soon after, the bus arrived from Gwalior. It was dusk. Still there was no activity in the dhaba and no dinner for me!

I stepped out in the dark and called the driver-conductor duo of the bus who were getting ready to have their own pack dinners. I spoke to them about this dhaba guy. The driver was surprised. 'Sir, you do not know? He went away to Gwalior bag and baggage. He travelled in our bus only, carrying his meagre stuff. He did not say much. But we suspect that the law had caught up with him. He was running away!'

August 30, 1964!

August 30 is a very special day for me for two reasons;first, it happens to be my son's birthday and second, on this date way back in 1964, I passed out from the Indian Military Academy, Dehradun, as a commissioned officer of the army. 

I can never forget those days of August 64, the last month of our training when we practiced in sweltering heat for the final passing out parade of August 30. It is ceremonial where cadets March in formation in full uniform with their rifles and had to be precise and faultless. We practiced on the sacred 'drill square' ground just behind the famous Chetwode Hall of the academy. We drilled every day in full uniform of a cadet, carrying a rifle, doing all the motions of marching under the strict commands of the instructional staff. This staff consisted of selected professional soldiers drawn mostly Jats, Sikhs and Rajputs from the infantry and posted at the academy to train us cadets as future officers. 

To say that these guys gave us a hard time would be an understatement. They literally gave us hell!

The training at the academy was so rigorous, we cadets literally counted every day. All because of these instructors whom we referred to as 'ustaads'!They were all lean, mean and very fit, we hated them as well as marvelled at them! When they shouted their commands, they also freely cursed us on our 'civilian' ways. They will punish a defaulting cadet at the drop of the hat, asking him to do a full run of the grounds with the rifle up in both hands. Real task masters, they did well to train us in all aspects of military training which included weapons training, physical fitness and efficiency, field craft and last but not the least, drill. 

Drill in particular inculcates discipline and obedience. It teaches as to how to walk like a soldier. We very soon forgot all the slouching and lazy ways of our civilian life we had left behind the day we entered the premises of the Academy. We had to  be perfect in drill, how to march, how to salute, how to march past the podium, the saluting base where the VIP will take the salute. 

Needless to say, this had to be perfected for the day we would be passing out. And how we were made to practice for that final day by our 'ustaads', only we knew! No dropping of rifles even if we were exhausted which was common. They warned us that it simply must not happen!

On the night of August 29, we could barely sleep. Tense as well as excited, we prayed that the passing out parade next morning should go off smoothly. No mistake would be pardoned and short of hanging, any thing can befall defaulters so we all thought! Only heavens could intervene if any cadet commits the sin of even a mis-step! And that is what exactly happened!

After an almost sleepless night, when we woke up early on the morning of August 30, to our utter disbelief, we saw that it was raining cats and dogs!All the preparations, paint work, decorations and such things which had gone into making the 'drill square' a shining area specially for the parade and for the VIP, were washed out. Holding of the passing out parade outside at 9 am as planned was simply not possible!

Our commissioning ceremony had to held on the due date, August 30th. And this was done by the Commandant of the Academy, indoors inside the Chetwode hall with due solemnity and no fanfare. In retrospect, it was a big disappointment for all of us. Our big day had been a fiasco!

But my heart went out most to our 'ustaads' who had worked so hard to transform us civilians into soldiers but did not get to see the fruits of their labour!

1965, a story of an air raid!

This is about an evening way back in September 1965 when the short India Pakistan war had just broken out. I was posted in an army unit near the scenic town called Dharamshala in Himachal Pradesh. Our camp was about three thousand feet overlooking the town. It was dusk and I had just returned after horse riding, a daily activity in my unit which was an animal transport unit comprising of about a hundred mules and a few horses.

I was removing my riding boots and breeches and my orderly, a soldier by name Sripat Waje, I still remember him, was helping me. Suddenly he remarked, 'Saab, there is sound of an aeroplane flying above'.

I rushed out to the veranda of our house followed by him, my wife and my two kids barely two years old. It was getting dark now and as the sky was cloudy, it was difficult to spot the plane. the town below, we could see was blazing with busy street lights. In a moment, we saw a flash in the clouds followed by three huge explosions close to the town. Obviously, the place was being bombed by an enemy plane!

Air raid sirens started blaring out, power was shut off and we all ran to the trenches near our house in complete darkness. We could also hear the sirens of ambulances and movement of vehicles rushing to meet the emergent situation in the town. I could only imagine as to how many innocent people must lose their lives because of this cowardly action of bombing civilian areas by the enemy. We would get the full picture tomorrow in day light was my thought.

After about half an hour, all clear siren was heard and we returned to our normal activity. Of course, there will be no power during the night, we knew. We got ready for a candle light dinner minus the romance associated with it! Next morning, I joined the morning PT (physical training) parade with the men. Instead of doing the usual jog in our camp area, I decided to take them for a longer run to the town and visit the bombed area to get full picture of loss of lives and property because of the previous night's bombing.

As it turned out to our utter relief, the bombs had completely missed the town and had fallen in the dry river bed adjoining the area. They managed to kill a few sheep and one old man who must have been the shepherd. Even this loss was very regrettable but was nothing as compared to what would have been a much bigger tragedy if the bombs had fallen on the town itself.

We collected a few pieces of the splintered and exploded bombs as souvenirs and returned to our camp.

A few days later, it was learnt that the enemy plane had been shot down by our fighter planes. And another story circulated that the pilot of the enemy plane had deliberately dropped his bombs in the dry river bed so that there was no loss of innocent civilians and their property. The hearsay theory behind this noble deed was that the pilot's family hailed from this very town, Dharamshala before partition;how could he kill his own people!

Empty mind - a devil's workshop!

He is a nice fellow, sensible and intelligent if i may say so! Happily married and now retired, he also has a nice group of friends. His wife too has her own group of friends. They both are leading a pretty active social life for their age in their housing society. They both are fine from health point of view, no major issues. But for his silly habit of being overly imaginative!

His mind is at it's peak of imagining things in early morning waking hours when his dear wife is still sleeping. As they say, empty mind is a devil's workshop. The main problem is, he mostly has unusual or weird thoughts which go berserk for no reason. And that too about people whom he loves most and cares for!

 For instance, the other day when he woke up early, he started thinking about his one friend who in his opinion was not keeping good health. Careless fellow, I must ask him to get all basic medical tests done he decided. This nice fellow also feels that his another friend is a bad driver. One early morning, he imagined that his friend could meet with an accident if he does not take some driving classes to improve his driving skills. He must suggest this to him!

His favorite area is matrimonial match making. He keeps thinking of those single boys and girls whom he knows, who he thinks are taking too much time to go forward and find their life partners. He would bother his wife on this when she wakes up. He would suggest pairing them off. His wife would retort, 'tumko kuch aur kaam nahi hai? Do you not have any thing else to do? Please do not bore me!'

But what took cake was when he began thinking of retired elderly men and women who had lost their respective spouses in the recent past. They must be feeling so lonely! Even in this old age, they need company. Why can not so and so think of tying a knot with so and so, he wondered. Nothing wrong in this in the present times!

One fine (?) morning, he started thinking about himself. What will happen to his wife if he suddenly passes away! How will she manage? She does not do anything herself. She does not know how to even withdraw money at the ATM! She never visits our bank;I am doing everything. How will she manage, poor thing? He decided to train her in all these things straightaway. And then, another thought struck him;she may get remarried!

She must make a proper choice if she really does that! And his mind started doing a google search. That retired General XYZ who is a widower and keeps talking to many elderly women in the society, is not a bad chap all said and done. He is in good health too. Only, he appears too friendly with a certain widow who happens to be my wife's friend. Her name is Ms Pinto. She would be a problem!

 But the real problem in his mind was that he could not imagine his dear wife getting married to anyone, period!

By this time, his wife had woken up and as is their common habit, she was looking at her mails. Suddenly, she turned to him and said,'what do you know, there is good news! Ms Pinto has sent a personal mail to me.She says, General XYZ has proposed to her and she intends to say yes!'

He hugged his wife a little too forcefully. What is the matter with you? She said. 'Nothing really' he replied. 'But let us celebrate the good news your friend has shared' he added!

What a relief, he thanked his stars!

Dance of democracy!

Today, India is charged with the electrifying 'dance of democracy' as they say. So it is not surprising that most common people are affected by the current three front runners, their ideologies, speeches and posturing. No guesses needed who these three musketeers are, Narendra Modi of the BJP, Arvind Kejariwal of AAP and Rahul Gandhi of the Congress. Good time to be in India at this juncture, I must say!

Let me share with you my experiences of the last three days in this regard.

Two days back, I was standing in a line in our army CSD stores to pay for the items I had purchased. In front of me was a senior like me who was sporting a beard. He introduced himself saying he was ex Navy. I said I thought as much because Navy guys usually keep a beard. He replied, no, no, it is nothing to do with the Naval tradition. Then he confided,' I have decided not to shave till Narendra Modi becomes the next PM of India'. I was taken a back but also impressed by his loyalty to NaMo. I wished him all the best.

Then yesterday, as I was walking out of our society for an evening walk, I met another retired army officer who requested me to give a couple of minutes of my time. When I agreed, he took out a noting pad with some columns and signatures. He wanted me to sign the same in support of a well known personality in Pune who was opting to join the AAP of Arvind Kejariwal. As he explained, it was a technicality to be followed by the aspirant. I had hard time explaining to him that I could not do it simply because I did not support AAP. Whom do you support, he asked me. I have not made up my mind as yet, I replied and then continued on my walk.

This morning, I went to our Laughter Club of which I am a member. After we had finished our exercises and Yoga etc, there was the usual chattering by quite a few on assorted subjects, but mainly politics on expected lines. One senior lady came out strongly in favour of Rahul Gandhi. A couple of members responded with their opposing views, the usual ones, citing the recent TV interview given by him. To that, she curtly replied, 'do not give me all that nonsense! So what, she asked! At least, he looks so young and good looking, a far cry from your Modi and that ever coughing Kejariwal. Why does not he consult a doctor?' And then she walked off in a huff!

Everyone to his or her poison, I thought! But the last thought I had was, 'May God bless our people and their freedom to say or do anything as long as they do not violate the laws of the land. And let anyone come to power as long as this freedom is protected and sustained!'

Let India be truly 'मेरा Bharat mahaan'!

Price of progress!

Price or cost of progress is often not anticipated. By progress, I mean progress in material terms. For me, the most striking example which comes to my mind is the installation of a lift in our block in Pune. When it was not there, we all climbed up or down while coming in or going out. It was a bit inconvenient for the residents but had it's own plus point;we occasionally met our neighbours even without visiting them. Though very briefly, we paused to say 'how are you doing?'  and exchanged bits of conversation. Some of us even extended invitations like 'do drop in for a cup of tea or a drink'. New friendships appeared to be just a couple of steps away. With the advent of a lift, the staircase looks so deserted! The promising friendships have taken a few steps backwards it seems!

We live here in US with our children in a fairly upscale neighbourhood. Nice houses, well maintained gardens and every house boasting of 2 to 3 cars parked in front. But very few people seen out chatting on the roads except when they whizz past in their cars. Everyone is very, very busy. And rightly so if they have to sustain their lifestyle. So what is my problem?

My problem is that I am a part of that big global population who are above the age of 65 years. Economists' leading article says that it is close to 10% of world's population. It predicts that it will rise to 13% in the coming 25 years. This phenomenon is the direct result of our material progress where due to improved medical science and better living and working conditions, people are living much longer than before.

Another fall out of this situation is that a good percentage of those 65 plus population are skilled people who are still a part of the workforce. That affects the lives of younger people, skilled or not, who may not find employment when they need it most. It is a vicious process which can not be reversed. It is a complicated situation indeed.

But the most critical and damaging effect of this progress on the lives of people is that they are losing touch with the human aspect. You may meet each other at the week end parties. But you do not really meet! There is no meeting of minds and thoughts. There is no time for it. More often, people 'meet' on the Facebook and on the internet chats where we know that they are likely to fall off with each other. I read it somewhere that Facebook is one of the major reasons of divorces among married people.

The only advantage if it can be so described, is that you may get bashed up on the FB, but not physically as sometimes happened to some people in the pre FB era. Rejoice! For my part, I do become nostalgic of my good old young days when a new bicycle bought for me by my parents was the ultimate prize, albeit material!

Leela Mavshi (Mansi)!

This is about my mother in law! Well almost, because she was her younger sister by a few years. She passed away on August 15 when she was about to reach 94 years of ripe age. May God bless her soul!

We called her 'Leela Mavshi or Mausi as in Hindi. When she was a young woman in her twenties, I am told that she was very beautiful. She did not study beyond a couple of years in college, but was intelligent and well informed for her times. Did her looks and intelligence work in her favour in matrimonial matters? Not really, because she became very finicky in her choices and soon missed the bus as they say! Did she?

Well, time passed on and by a stroke of destiny, when she was in her forties, she got married to an elderly widower from a respected family. As luck would have it, her husband's son from his first marriage fell in love with her niece and as expected, they tied the knot. This niece, Vijaya happens to be my dear wife, Vinodini's younger sister. They all lived happily as one family for many,many years in Pune.

By a cruel quirk of fate, Leela Mavshi and Vijaya both lost their husbands in succession. Time moved on, I retired from my army service and my wife and I chose Pune to settle down. That is where I came in close touch with Leela Mavshi.

As I soon found out, Leela Mavshi was full of zest for life. Because of her health problems, she was bound to a wheel chair in her later years. But her love for life was very infectious. We visited her and Vijaya almost every week. Though not an expert, I had the privilege of teaching both these ladies the basic knowledge of bridge and soon they both became ardent bridge players. My wife and I both enjoyed playing with this duo of Mavshi and her niece and looked forward to it.

As you can guess, we were not playing any high standard bridge. But importantly, we enjoyed it, especially Leela Mavshi. She was really smart the way she picked up the game, system of calling and the points. For her age, it was truly remarkable! Thanks to her enthusiasm, we became eager bridge foursome. We met at her place at least twice a week for this game which were easily our high spots in our dwindling social life.

Let me also share another interesting thing about my interaction with Leela Mavshi, she unfailingly gave me the status and respect of a son in law in which she exceeded my late mother in law who had passed away many years back. In her eyes, I could do no wrong. I was always moved by her this gesture!

Now that she is gone for ever, I personally miss her so much! When we visit Vijaya  now, I almost visualise Leela Mavshi quickly wheeling in their living room with a cheery smile and eager anticipation for a session of bridge.

May God bless her wherever she has gone, I will always remember her most as my bridge sparring adversary!

My friend Dubey!

ये बात बहुत पुरानी यादों की है जब मैं college में पढ़ता था। a friend from those days called today to wish us a very happy Diwali. As we chatted happily about those wonderful bygone years, he mentioned the name of another dear friend, Dubey whom I had neither met or spoken to for more than last fifty years. I learnt that he lives in Indore, a city in MP. He was doing well with his family, children and grandchildren. I asked for his phone number which this friend gave me and I just could not wait to call him!

To give you some idea of my friendship with Dubey, let me admit that he, myself and one more guy formed a sort of troika given to the addiction of missing class of one particularly boring professor. (As if others were not!) We and the professor simply riled each other for no particular reason. So, as soon as his class used to start after the due attendance call, we will sneak out from the rear. You see, we took care of sitting in the last row, close to the getaway stairs! And the best part was that the sporting professor knew about this;after the attendance, he will often murmur, 'Dubey to dubega, Rajput ko bhi le kar dubega'!

More about Dubey! He was simply crazy about getting himself photographed. In those days, I had the privilege of owning a small brownie camera which took those now forgotten black and white film rolls. If we wanted Dubey to do something for us, we simply bribed him with a promise of clicking his picture. For this, we could ask him to take any pose, even the most ridiculous! And he will oblige only after quickly combing his luxurious hair for which he had a small pocket comb always handy in his back pocket. He used to be such a simple guy, never doubting that we sometimes made fun of him behind his back!

Dubey was such a soft spoken person, he never picked up even a moderate discussion about anything. He was the least aggressive in our group. He always carried that trademark side hanging bag commonly carried by many students. We made use of his bag while going to the town, for keeping our small things as if it was common property. But he never minded!

All these memories came flooding back to my mind as I started dialling his number. As he answered and asked as to who was calling, I told him that it was one of his very old friends. When he asked me to give my name, I in turn asked him to make three guesses of his very close, old friends from college days. He waited for a few seconds and then said, 'is it Basant Kumar Rajput?'! Need I say that he made my day!

Marital happiness!

What is on my mind, the Facebook wants to know! Well, this has been on my mind for a long time, really long, almost for the last thirty years when I suppose there was no Facebook. A tricky subject, certainly not for the faint hearted as far as men are concerned. And it is, how come no one thought of designing a meter to measure marital happiness!

There are meters galore, the commonest being the thermometer which is used to read your body temperature. But that is a wrong example, I know. It deals with the physical thing. We are talking about something abstract but very vital for the married folks, especially those who are into this great, even if fading institution (in the west), matrimony for let us say more than ten years. How does one measure or grade a happy marriage!

Of course, in all popular magazines for men and women, almost in every issue, there will be some article, questionnaire or a quiz which deals with this subject, it's challenges and gives out some guidelines if not solutions, to all married couples. What I have in mind is a little different, a set of questions which you need to ask yourself and answer honestly after every social get together you take part in at your own home or outside. These are as follows:-

1. Do you openly support your spouse in any discussion if you agreed with him/ her?

2. If you do not agree, do you go out of your way to oppose and criticise to make it uncomfortable?

3. Do you appreciate your spouse the way he/she was dressed in a gathering?

4. Or do you mentally compare him/her with others and and make your disappointment obvious?

5. If the party is held at your own house, do you make it a point to express your appreciation for doing his/her part so well?

6. Or you show your exasperation for something which did not go as planned?

7. We all have our handicaps, some obvious, some hidden. Do you consciously make an effort not to draw others' attention to his/her such thing?

8. Or just because you were a bit cheesed off with something, you do exactly the opposite?

9. Do you feel happy that he/she gets more attention in a gathering because of some strong point or reason? Especially if it is from the other sex!

10. Or does it make you a bit jealous and unhappy even if it is very fleeting?

If you get positive answers to all the above questions, I feel you will get a reading of a 100 % meaning a very, very happy marriage. But that will be too optimistic. So let us settle for three positive answers and declare it a happy marriage! 

Regardless, I am very happily married;just ask my dear wife!

Shopping groceries for the wife!

I wish to share some of my woos with my friends, other husbands, those like me who have to deal with the daily chore of going out to buy vegetables and groceries. Why me you may wonder! This happens with me very often, just because my dear wife is too busy with work at home or may be because it is time for her to watch her favourite TV serial. So she very amiably asks me to write down a list of things to be purchased. And she gives me the precise items and quantities so that I do not get confused. Yes, she is very considerate knowing how dull or dumb I am even now after years of doing this ever since I retired from my main job!

With all the preventive measures she takes, I nevertheless still manage to make a few mistakes and then have to face her music. You understand what I mean?!

You see, this seemingly simple chore of buying vegetables and groceries is full of many pitfalls. If let us say, bananas are on the list, it is very easy. I know my bananas and how many to buy. But if the fruit happens to be a papaya, then it is a bit complicated for me. One papaya, but how big? And it has to be ripe enough but not too ripe! How do I know that in the face of the determined seller who assures me, 'Saab, ekdum theek hai'. In good faith, I buy it and sure enough, my wife rejects the item when I return home!

Generally, I do not make mistakes while buying vegetables;I mean take one or two. I know the tomatoes, onions and potatoes so simple to buy and also my favourites. But walk in brinjals or eggplants and I am tormented by their different sizes, shapes and colours. I simply love palak that is spinach and I am flawless with it. But others in the group like methi or dhania, coriander make me a bit tense. I recognise them but am not sure about their quality!

I am generally clueless about other vegetables like beans and rest of the stuff. I am OK with cabbage and cauliflower  but can survive without them. I also do not care about the popular bhindi that is ladies fingers which my son-in law Neeraj simply loves. When he visited us soon after he and my daughter Savita got married, he accompanied me to buy vegetables. To my dismay, the first item he chose was bhindi. I told the seller to weigh a quarter of a kilo of the stuff. Neeraj was baffled! Why so little he asked and then quickly raised the quantity to one kilo! This reminds me of my son Mahesh who is so much like me! He and I keep things simple;we are staunch non-veggies! We have this conviction that vegetables make life complicated for no reason!

Today, my shopping list contained peanuts with which I am quite familiar. I came home with with three bags full of shopping, very confident that I have missed nothing, slipped nowhere! My wife opened the bags, looked quite satisfied till she noticed the packet of peanuts. 'You have brought the wrong peanuts. I asked you bring plain peanuts and you got the salted ones' she remarked haughtily!

Buying rice is really tough for me. A few days back,  my wife asked me to buy basmati rice, one kilo, along with some other items. Till some years back, it was easy to buy basmati. Now, there are so many varieties of this brand, I am pretty nervous about it if my if my wife forgets to mention the exact brand!

By now, you must have realised that one can not be too complacent even in such innocuous activities like shopping vegetables and groceries. You need to be on guard, eternally vigilant  lest you meet your Waterloo with some peas!

With this aim in view and also to placate my most annoyed wife, I suggested a sort of truce with a simple system;every time I return from such shopping, she should examine the things I bought and then grade me. Like they do in schools and colleges! If I got nine things right out of ten, she should award me 90% marks which would be like outstanding! If I get eight things right, I get 80% marks which is equivalent to excellent. And if I manage to get seven items right, I get 70% which is still a first class!

What do you say folks? If you are with me on this, please pass on this system to your wives and let me know their feedback. As far as my wife is concerned, she gave me a look meaning 'have you lost your mind?' Or something like that!

My country, my children!

Now that I am old, really old, I often wonder whom do I love most! Do not get me wrong, I am not thinking about romantic attachments though they meant a lot to me when I was a teenager and then in my twenties. It was ages back when my heart went racing at the very thought of the very idea of love at first sight. Will it happen, when will it happen? It did happen but was not first in the real sense. So many such 'firsts' followed, I have lost count of them. And mostly these encounters were one sided, you know what I mean!

I am talking about my thoughts of today, Jan 26. It gave me real goosebumps when I witnessed the Republic Day parade on the TV. My country India, my people, the majestic tricolour, our marching soldiers, I simply loved them. I know we have our faults like the rest of the world. But I am sure we will overcome!

The very thought of India including the crowds, the bustling day to day activity, the noise and even the dirt makes me long for it. Morning walks with friends, meeting neighbours on the staircase and be able to have a conversation, talking politics, cricket and Bollywood, or just walk down to the society shops to buy vegetables and groceries has it's own pleasures! People have enough time for such mundane things and a morning seems to have more hours there than here, in the west. Maybe, I have spent too much time in the sterile and antiseptic world of America and it is time for me to go back because all said and done, I love my country!

Easier said than done though because after my country, I love my grandkids the most. 

Jan 26 also happens to be my youngest grandkid Akshay 's birthday. We cut the birthday cake early this morning. A party will follow on the weekend.

This also reminds me of my grand daughter Mallika and my eldest grandson Avinash who are as dear to me. Only, I suppose Akshay has that extra edge just because his birthday coincides with that of the Republic of India. 

God bless my dear grandchildren!

It is a different matter that they have barely any time for me. Koi baat nahin, I forgive them!