From Grandmother's Diary Part - 4

 Hey kiddos dinner done, now quickly brush your teeth, change to night suit and come to bed.

After first call, I have to call them two times more. Finally after 30 minutes they are on bed after saying good night to their parents. Bedtime prayers done, now comes story time. 3 pairs of eyes and six hands folded silently imploring and I understand what they want. Nothing serious I tell them and a collective yayyy shout comes, and I know their parents must be rolling their eyes in other room 🤣. What a fun.

OK. I say and start off. Remember I told you all of the L or Z shape trenches which were dug up in our backyard during war with Pakistan in 1965 and 1971 ? Well once war over they became dysfunctional. My parents started using them as compost pit, but we children had better idea. 

After 1971 war in December when Holi festival came in March the trench was half filled with kitchen and garden waste. In the morning of Holi day we friends brought different water colors of Holi, mixed them up and sprinkled that brownish looking color powder on the rotting garbage and filled it with water, covered it with mixture of grass and soil. It looked like a bald patch of land. Nothing suspicious, elders thought we are playing with colors. Inside the pit was slushy, dark colored smelly mushy mass. 

People started arriving by 10.30 am to wish happy Holi. Front garden was ladies domain, where they applied colored tilak in very civil manner and wished each other, followed by partaking of gujiya, Gulabjamun, Aloo gutuk and piping hot tea. But the backyard was reserved for children and gentlemen, who were racous, riotous and rough in playing Holi. In the garb of serving sweets and splashing colors on uncles, we made sure they shifted towards the cleverly covered trench. 

One step on the edge and plop plop plop four or five uncles fell in the ditch. They heaved themselves up overed in dark colored slush,while all of us children were laughing and shouting बुरा ना मानो होली है। 

All boys ran away laughing and shouting Holi Hai ji Holi hai, I was, the only girl in group, unsure of what to do now. 

I was, asked to clean the slush off from uncles by garden hose, all the time enduring the harsh gaze of my father. 

Needless to say after bath the red color on my and my brother's cheeks and bums was of Holi splashes or slap thrashes no one could make out except us. It hurt a lot, yet the prank was a great fun and worth the beating we both got. 

I love Holi festival (for the colors you dumbos not for the memory of the beating in 1972 Holi day🤣🤣) 

From Grandmother's Diary Part - 3

Myself with my friend Nirmala and our dog Gypsy 

 As sunsets thoughts of my  grandchildren eager to listen to bedtime stories, six quizical eyes looking at me stubbornly refusing to lie down till I narrate some of my adventures. Memories start surfacing like bubbles from can of of a fizzy drink. 

Now I do not want to give more ideas to these already naughty kids, so that they repeat my mischievous activities, rationalising them by telling their parent "arey your mother told us she used to have fun doing it" , quite comfortably forgetting about whacking I got as a reward 😅

So tonight my sweeties I am going to tell you all about my experience during war with China and Pakistan. 

After independence India had to fight off the enemies from our eastern and western border both. 

I remember least of war with China in 1962, as I was just 6yr of age, studying in second standard. Only thing I remember is that we were in Delhi, black outs, sirens and my parents huddled around radio (sigh you have not seen radio which was the only mean of news and entertainment,  apart from news paper and books). 

But I vividly remember  1965 war with Pakistan. Soldiers in camouflage  marching to Frontline  in foliage covered vehicles. We  as small children could do only one thing that is to cheer them by waving our Tricolor and shouting with loudest voice "Vande Matarm". "पाकिस्तानियों को हरा कर जल्दी वापस आना". They used to wave back to us and that moment used to be most emotionally charged moment. I get gooose bumps yet remembering it. 

They came victorious, bringing Patton tank and other armory of Pakistanis (of course all made in America.), putting all victory bounty for display. The Patton tank was biggest war Trophy. We children used to have fun climbing in and out of the captured tanks and shouting "Pakistan murdabad, Hindustan Jindabad". At that age I hardly understood what it meant exactly. But nevertheless I shouted the loudest. 

By the time  Bangladesh war was fought in 1971, I was already in 12th standard, preparing for my pre board exams. 

Our house was as always in cantonment near main Military hospital. We were in Kanpur. 

The urge to be a contributing factor in those difficult time made me opt for crash course /training in first aid in our school. 

Boys used to make sure black outs timings are strictly adhered with. Elders said it is unsafe for girls to go around the huge campus, house to house making sure not a single light ray escapes out from any house. 

So what do you think I did? Hmm? Well The Florence Nightingale in me started stirring and I begged to my father to let me go to MH and look after the wounded soldiers (Due to heavy inflow of wounded soldiers MH required some helping hands. Someone who could read and write letters, read newspaper to those who were incapacitated). Military jeep would pick us from our door steps and drop back. 

Permission granted. So I along with my friends used to go every day for 15 days till my pre board started. Help putting slings, bandaging, cleaning small wounds before doctors would do the needful, running around to bring medical supplies from store, or to just be around the brave hearts assuring them "सब ठीक हो जाएगा हम सब आपके साथ हैं".  

What I saw there shook my soul. Our brave hearts had suffered with loss of limbs, gashes all over the body, some had lost vision , bones broken but their spirit was not broken. They were smiling even in excruciating pain, because they had fought the enemy valiantly which ultimately led to victory over Pakistan. 

Now you will say "but what did you do there? 

I read the letters for those who due to being in direct line of attack from Pakis were so badly wounded that they were unable to use their eyes or both hands. Omitting any part which could bring them mental agony without them finding out was a skilful act. 

We used to write letters to their loved ones. Even letter to their wife which they dictated. Words fail me to express the feeling I used to get while reading and writing the letters. I was asked to be discreet, so I used to remain expression less while they would pour their heart out. Just write. My vision would blurr due to tears when I was told to write "बस थोड़ा घायल हुआ हूँ, जल्दी ठीक हो कर भारत माता की जय बोलते जीत का झंडा फहराते घर आऊँगा". No mention of pain, broken bones, split head etc. Why? Because their spirit was not broken, rest all is repairable (they said). 

In their words "बेटा ये तो कुछ भी नहीं, सब ठीक हो जाएगा, हमारा मनोबल कोई नहीं तोड़ सकता, हम भारतीय सेना हैं "

Yes I really did tell lies to them. Sometimes letters used to be about child falling sick, not doing good in studies, crops failing due to nature's vagaries. I used to tell them exactly opposite. They required positivity around them. But it was not easy. Sometimes I would breakdown on our way back home.

 Why? Was it due to soldiers physical condition, mental toughness, their family facing daily challenges alone or my telling them lies that all is well at home front, I could never make out. 

But I did feel proud and strangely satisfying to be there with them even if just for two hours.

 

Reading paper, telling them of our school and friends, playing ludo, cards (court piece), or singing songs with them used to cheer them up. 

"चलत मुसाफ़िर मोह लियो रे पिंजरे वालि मुनिया " was favorite of one jawan so it was sung daily. 

सब बेसुरे होते थे पर खूब मजा आता था सबको। 

Because of our and MH safety we were asked to keep our MH visits to ourselves. So no gossiping in school. 

Those were the days we were supposed to do our duty without photo ops and expectation of rewards /certification etc. Just a pat in back and a toffee daily by doctor was huge reward for us. 

Patriotism was enculcated and embedded deep into our heart by parents at home and teachers at school. 

I wish the Florence Nightingale in me remains alive . 

By the time I finished they were emotional and touched, soon they fell asleep but not before telling me impishly "Not so serious next time". 

Good night my darlings till next time. 

From Grandmother's Diary Part - 2

With my three munchkins 

Recounting the incidents of my childhood to my grandchildren and reliving those carefree days. 

Can you imagine your grandmother up on a tree, enjoying raw mango, berries and then getting from her mother (ija) two tight slaps and punishment of standing in corner holding ears.

Yes! That was indeed the best thing I enjoyed in my summer breaks. No no my naughties, not the punishment and slaps by ija but juicy tangy raw mangoes, sweet ber and mulberries 😋. 

I was an avid tree climber. We stayed in huge government bungalows (courtesy her father, your great grandfather) having huge kitchen garden in backyard and front garden with lawn and flower beds. I was more tomboyish. It was between 1964-1967  my father was posted in Meerut. Since my father's MES was attached to Rajput regiment he was alloted bungalow in the outskirts of city, in cantonment area near the regiment.

It was huge British era bungalow divided into two halves. I still remember it was bungalow number 10, near last checkpoint (चौकी) of city. One half was our's and in other half stayed his colleague.  Both owner's of that bungalow had three children. Elder son then two daughters. The youngest sibling was too small to be involved in our adventures. Your grandmother (jyoti), her brother (guddu), neibhours son Ashok and daughter Babli used to look forward to summer break like no one else, reason being those green raw mangoes on tree, green and purple mulberry, raw and ripe jujube (बेर) and oh so sweet juicy Jamun 😋 in our compound.

I learnt climbing tree in bunlow no. 10 at the age of 8/9 year.

Well children you have not experienced summers of northern part of India. It is intense and people don't venture out in afternoon in May /June until unless it is must. In that scrotching heat we four used to be out scouting around for tree to climb. 

We used to carry salt in  piece of paper usually torn from our note books (old or new it did not matter while ripping it off) , later when mother found out it was altogether different matter 😜.

Climbing a tree with salt packet secured in fist (boys were lucky to have pockets, we had no pockets in frocks) was perfected without getting any cuts and lacerations or spilling our precious salt. 

While mother slept in her room, she and her brother oblivious to the parents crept out of house with other naughty pair of neighbor and climbed either of the tree and plucked fresh fruit and enjoyed them sitting on tree branch. Oh they were so yummy, Tangy raw mango, sweet mulberry and Jamun, sweet and little sour ber.

But the juices erupting from the freshly plucked fruit oozed on our clothes leaving indelible marks on them. Raw mango when plucked from tree oozes sticky corrosive fluid and as exotic modern art it makes on cloth worse than that it makes on edges of lips as it concentrates there while we take a satiating bite. Oh it used to hurt later. 

Ber tree had big thorns which invariably tore our cloths. 

Once we had had our fill we would compete who can climb highest and then climb down first. I used to go as up as possible then Thwack I would be first on ground, bruising my knees and palms (I  jumped from high branches my dear children. Got it.). 

Once done we would quietly wash our hands and face, open our books and start holiday home work, thinking ija (you very well know who ija is, isn't it?) would not find. We were gullible as simple as that, and it was obvious by what followed. Whacking, slapping, scolding and punishment. 

But we were brave soldiers of summers. Undettered our afternoon jaunt continued till sore throat /tonsillitis / upset stomach put a full stop to it. 

Evey year after our final results were declared on 25 th May, followed by summer vacation till 7th July. In those 40 days of bliss, hanging fruits on tree kept beckoning us, and our expertise on climbing trees as well as enduring punishment kept increasing. 

Finally my father got posted to Shillong and we had to bid adieu to our friends and trees with tears in our eyes and fondest memories in our heart and mind. 

But lo and behold there were plum trees to climb upon in our central school campus in Shillong. Plums were more juicier and sweeter than the bitterness of punishment at school and home. 😂. Even today I yearn for a tree to climb pluck the fruit rub them clean on my dress and chomp chomp chomp. 

OK enough for tonight time to go to bed. Good night Dear Vir, Miku and Ajay.