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!