Idhar Udhar Ki Baat

“There is no future for Manjinder in the Army. I believe he has disobeyed an order. That too in operational area." remarked an officer casually one evening. The words hit me like a punch. I spent the evening wondering what Manjinder had done. It was 1988. We were in Batticaloa, Sri Lanka. The following day I met Manjinder at Nala Junction. “What happened?” I asked. He looked at me for a few seconds and then shrugged. “You remember Rajiv Sandhu's column was ambushed three days ago?” I nodded. “Rajiv had fought bravely. He was grievously wounded. I organised first aid, evacuated the wounded and arranged helicopter evacuation for the casualties. Rajiv died on the way to the hospital. That night a captured LTTE cadre was sent to me. I was told to finish him at the ambush site to give a message to the LTTE,” said Manjinder. “And?” “I refused.” The answer came without drama. Without anger. Without self-righteousness. Just a statement of fact. “I thought about it...

“Aaj CMP aa raha hai, Saab!” Sepoy Ravi's face was glowing with happiness. For a moment I thought some senior officer from the Corps of Military Police was visiting our cut-off post. I later realised that CMP was not a military policeman. It was the chicken. More specifically, those old layer hens with a bright red comb on its head that resembled the red beret of the Corps of Military Police. The live chicken was being brought to the post for dinner. And that was enough to make the entire post cheerful. That day I learnt something important. Indian soldiers find happiness in the smallest of things. A kheer-papad in a Barakhana. A plate of chai-pakora after a long patrol in rain and slush. A bright sunny day after a week of snowfall so that clothes can finally dry. A rainy morning accompanied by the magical announcement: “ Aaj PT nahin hai! ” Wearing civil clothes on the administration day. An extra peg in the rum issue. A volleyball match against the neighbouring unit that be...

“Sir, gas pass kiya?”The nurse asked me the question in her unmistakable Malayali accent on the morning after my appendicitis operation. In my sixty years of life, I had always considered this a somewhat indecent question. Among friends, it was usually asked only when someone was accused of poisoning the atmosphere. Naturally, my defensive instincts took over. “No,” I replied. The nurse looked worried. Half an hour earlier, a nursing assistant had asked me exactly the same question and had displayed the same concern at my answer. At that time, I had assumed they had planted some sensors. Now a second person was asking. The matter was clearly becoming serious. Fifteen minutes later, the surgeon arrived. His first question was also, “Have you passed gas?” At this point, I became curious. Instead of answering, I asked him why the question was so important. The surgeon patiently explained that after abdominal surgery, the return of bowel function is an important indicator of recovery and g...