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.