IDHAR UDHAR KI BAAT 77- STARING AT WIFE - Brig PS Gothra (Retd)

   "I am not working in the Army for money," I said when the politician casually inquired about my salary, while in the waiting room near helipad.

     He smirked. "CO saab, then I pray to God that you never rise above this rank."

    "Why?" I asked, taken aback.

     I had grown up in a fauji family, where it was common to say, If you’re looking for money, don’t join the Army. It was ingrained in me. But then I had forgotten that the times had changed.

     Gone were the days when society looked up to a fauji, not just because of his patriotism and  he served in harsh terrains far from his family, but because he could treat people with a bottle of rum, hand out an odd blanket BK, an jersey woollen OG, or sometimes an overcoat. An officer or a JCO could once get village boys recruited into the Army.

     But now? That influence was gone. A fauji’s ability to "help" his fellow villagers had diminished.

     The politician leaned forward. "If you are not worldly wise, you cannot look after the interests of your subordinates."

     I frowned. "What does that mean?"

    "Your statement about money in front of people—especially politicians—only strengthens the notion that soldiers don’t need much. And if that’s the case, why not cut their pay, their perks, their privileges?"

     "I do look after my jawans," I countered. "And I will go to any length to protect their interests."

    He shrugged. "Let's not discuss this, Saab. I take my words back."

      His dismissiveness irked me. My sense of self-righteousness made me push further.

     "If you have any misgivings about my capability, please say so. I take pride in looking after my men."

     The old man smiled. "Fine, then tell me—do you know your jawans have to bribe railway clerks just to get their warrants or concession vouchers changed in a hurry? They have to catch the next train home, after all. Do you know they travel eight hours in a JKT bus (civil hired bus in J&K), where legroom is a joke, and the seats are torturous? Do you know they pay a higher insurance premium than civilians when they take home loans? And do you know the struggles of a jawan’s family when he retires?"

    I didn’t. Not about the bribes. Not about the JKT buses. Not about the insurance premiums.

    I mentally noted it. I would fix what I could. But pension—yes, at least that was solid.

    "The jawan gets a good pension when he retires," I said, confident.

    The politician shook his head, his voice turning sharp. "Very sad to see that you think so."

     He continued. "You retire a man in his prime, when his children are in school. If they study in an Army Public School, he can’t even afford their fees anymore because the education allowance stops the day he retires. There is no assurance of a stable career. After a lifetime of separation, most opt to remain separated—joining the DSC just to make ends meet."

    I had no answer to that. So I said the default officer’s line-

"They work for the country, and the country respects them and their families."

     He laughed. A dry, knowing laugh.

     "How naïve. Have you ever lived in a village?"

     "Yes, for a short duration."

     "Then you must know that half the perverts in the village dream of befriending a fauji’s wife (faujan), thinking she must be vulnerable to desires because of separation. Some even go to the extent of staring at the drain water when a faujan is bathing. And you talk about respect?"

    My blood ran cold.

     He went on. "Of course, this has stopped in my area because I got covered drains built. But tell me—haven’t you seen retired jawans working twelve-hour shifts as security guards for a pittance? Do they have a choice? Their children’s college fees won’t pay themselves."

    I was running out of things to say.

    "So they should plan their finances better," I offered weakly.

    He shook his head. "You still don’t get it. These men come from very poor families. The first five to six years of service? They’re busy building a proper home for their parents or marrying off their siblings. Only after they marry do they start saving for themselves. By the time they retire, their own family life is half-cooked."

    I exhaled. "Okay, I am wrong. But I said those words because I am not greedy."

    This time, he laughed loudly.

     "Oh, Saab, I’m very sure you are trying to get an award after this tenure. Let’s see you not applying for the incentives given to faujis when they receive awards. People even change their home state on paper just to claim higher incentives. Let’s not fool each other."

     I had no comeback.

     Then, in the distance, I heard it—the sound of the helicopter.

     Finally, the VIP had arrived. Saved by the rotors.

    As we walked to receive the guest. The old man said, “because you people are not prudent, you don’t even know how to extract the best out of vendors. The contract on buses clearly stipulates enough legroom but because of your ‘bada saab attitude’ you don’t interfere"

     I convinced myself that the old man was just trying to get under my skin. Maybe he was annoyed that I allegedly "manipulated" votes in the constituency.

     But today, when I see corporate workers crying about "70 or 90-hour work weeks" and debating about some "staring at your wife" comment, I wonder—Did I truly compensate my subordinates enough for working 24x7 on the borders, away from their families? 

    Maybe the politician was right.

    Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten my next rank.

 

Note :- Bribing railway clerk may not be there now, because of Defence Ticketing System. Terms of Insurance on loan is better when a soldier is having DSP account. Others are fleeced. Pensioners started getting CEA in 2007. About JKT I am sure the wisdom must have percolated in these two decades.

 

#IndianArmy #MilitaryLife #SoldierSacrifice #DefencePolicy #FaujiLife #RespectTheUniform #VeteransMatter #Patriotism