Idhar Udhar Ki Baat

"Sir, this incident clearly shows that the hierarchy is weak when it comes to standing by its own," the young man said firmly. I replied, “What exactly do you expect? That the hierarchy should give you a free hand, and you’ll go around beating up people? That’s not going to happen.” The youngster said. “With all due respect, sir, you sound timid. I doubt you’ve ever stood by your men.” I smiled. “I won’t defend myself with words. Those who’ve served under my command would have their say. But I will tell you this—things must be done with finesse . You don’t overpower; you outthink.” He nodded, trying to understand. “In fact,” I continued, “that’s what many of our protocols are based on—quiet strategy. Take the duty checking at night, for example. Do you know why an officer always takes a Duty JCO or NCO along?” “That’s the protocol?” “Yes,” I said, “but protocol has purpose. As an officer, you’ll often make decisions that your men might not like. At night, te...

  “Sir, Govt has announced merit based promotion” my Staff Officer said, with that slight smirk that suggested he thought I was the poster boy for the non-merit. And I, in my infinite wisdom, had chosen this outspoken officer as my Staff Officer—maybe I believed in social service back then. “Oh, that’s for selecting officers for higher appointments,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. But deep inside, my inner voice was already panicking: “Ab inhone naya panga daal diya hai.” Merit based search will now start trickling down like cold syrup through a cracked funnel, and eventually it’ll land on me—exposing me. He said, a bit too dramatically. “Sir, what exactly is merit?” I cleared my throat, like an old professor preparing to recite ancient scriptures. “Merit,” I declared, “is doing well on courses, getting top-notch reports, bagging courses like HC and NDC, landing sexy appointments in GS Branch, writing visionary papers, hosting grand sand models, getting the righ...

  Recently, I attended the last rites of a Fauji friend. What stood out—rather painfully—was the absence of course mates from other entries. Only those from the deceased's own entry showed up. It was a stark reminder of how deep the divisions based on entry type still run. On the way back, my mind went to an incident in Sri Lanka where a helicopter pilot refused to evacuate a casualty who had died just five minutes earlier. The rules were clear—no mortal remains could be airlifted without Ministry of Defence approval. But a conversation between the commanding officer and his old school buddy in the Air Force changed everything. Protocols were bent, if not broken, on the strength of a personal connection. This isn’t an isolated case. The military continues to suffer from the clutches of various "types"—school type, squadron type, place type, entry type, community type, regiment type…... I speak from experience in the Army, though I can’t say if the other services are a...

  “ साप्पड तैयार है ?” पापा ने चाय का खाली कप मेस बॉय को देते हुए पूछा। मैं चार साल का था , बहन तीन की। हमने एक-दूसरे को देखा — वो नज़र जो हर छोटे-छोटे भाई-बहन की टीम में होती है , जब वो किसी ‘मिशन’ पर हों। ‘ साप्पड’ नाम का कुछ खास खाने में आने वाला था। मैंने इस धरती पर उससे एक साल अधिक के अनुभव के साथ उसके कान में कहा , “ साप्पड , पापड़ से भी टेस्टी होगा।” हमारी आँखों में चमक थी , दिल में उम्मीदें — कि शायद ये कोई ऐसा खाना है जो सिर्फ आर्मी ऑफिसर्स को मिलता है। हम खुशी से उछलते-कूदते पापा के साथ मेस की ओर चल दिए। और फिर... हकीकत से टक्कर। थाली में आया — दाल-चावल। बस। “ पर साप्पड कहाँ है ?” मैंने मासूमियत से पूछा। पापा बोले , “ यही साप्पड है बेटा। तमिल में खाने को साप्पड कहते हैं।” उस दिन लगा जैसे किसी ने दिल तोड़ दिया हो। इतनी उम्मीदें सिर्फ दाल-चावल के लिए ? वैसे ये पहली बार नहीं था। मम्मी जब भी कहतीं , “ आज खिचड़ी बनेगी ,” तो मेरे मन में खीर का सपना बन जाता। और फिर जब गर्म , नमकीन खिचड़ी सामने आती... मेरा मन करता , थाली छोड़ दूँ। ऐसे ही , जब रसोई से भीनी-भीनी हलव...