Idhar Udhar Ki Baat

       Once upon a time, deep in the forest, there lived a Tiger. He was a rebel, always criticizing the King Lion. The Tiger wooed the masses by proclaiming that he would lead a simple, no-frills life after winning the elections. And so, he won—but only to rule a minuscule part of the forest.      Soon enough, he forgot his grand promises of shunning luxuries like Ghoda Gadi. Just like everyone else, he indulged. Power brought him privileges, and privileges brought him haughtiness. He criticized the Lion even more.      Sensing a threat, the King Lion called his chief jaasoos (spy) and tasked him with digging up dirt on the Tiger. The jaasoos came back with an unexpected revelation.      "Boss, the Tiger’s ultimate weakness is his royal toilet seat!"      And this wasn’t just any toilet seat. It was a state-of-the-art, custom-fitted, hot-and-cold-jet-equipped throne that even made the monkeys jea...

  "Sir, are you from the Army?" a teenage girl asked, her eyes wide with curiosity after witnessing the change of guard ceremony at the War Memorial. "Yes," I replied, mildly surprised. "But how did you know? I’m not wearing anything that screams 'ex-serviceman.'" She smiled knowingly. "It’s the way you stood—upright and proud. Anyone could tell you're a Fauji ." Her words warmed my heart. Praise is rare after retirement, and for a moment, I basked in it. But my moment of pride was cut short when she followed up with, “Why were the Navy and Army soldiers standing together for a while?” “Oh, that was for the handing and taking over of guard duties,” I explained. “But they barely spoke to each other! All I heard were some loud, clipped commands. It didn’t look like much of a handover,” she said, her tone skeptical. I chuckled. “Ah, that’s the ceremonial part. The actual handover happens beforehand. What you saw is more abo...

  “Ki haal hai, Kalu Seth? (How are you, Mr. Dark Complexioned?)” said the man from my maternal village, flashing a toothy grin. I didn’t appreciate being addressed by my complexion, but I had been taught to respect elders. So, I mustered a polite smile and replied, “I’m fine, Mamaji.”      On the way back from the village, I turned to my mother and declared, “I’m never going back to your village.”        She chuckled and said, “Beta, yeh to mama-bhanja teasing hai, Punjabi culture ka hissa hai (Son, this uncle-nephew banter is part of Punjabi culture). Don’t take it seriously. In fact, it’s totally acceptable to give it back.”        That was all the encouragement I needed. The next time someone called me " Kalu ," I was ready with my retorts:   " Khurki Mama " (Itchy Uncle), " Langda Mama " (Lame Uncle), or " Kana Mama " (One-eyed Uncle).   Within two days, my mother received a soft complaint:   " Munda j...

  “Look, half left in the middle distance, on the ridge, you can see two slightly raised features, the left one is a little higher than the one on the right, call them tits.” Life of a fauji (soldier) is a mix of grit, adventure, and a lot of heart. Rugged boots, disciplined routines, and endless treks through tough terrain—these are their everyday companions. But in the middle of all that hardship, there’s a lighter side too. When faujis are surrounded by the vast wilderness, their imaginations run wild. And trust me, when you add a pinch of longing and a dollop of their humour, you get some truly unforgettable moments. Take a walk (or rather a breathless climb) through any army post, and you’ll see something unique. Those towering peaks and ridges? They aren’t just rocks or landmarks. They have names. Special names. “Sarla,” “Hema,” “Tanuja,” “Sharmila” or even “Benazir”—these could be someone’s childhood crush, a lost love, or even just a favourite Bollywood actress. F...