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Smiles, Tears And Heartbreaks
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347 pages4 hours
Summary
After my wife passed away I found myself devoting a lot of time to writing. In quick succession I produced two books about my stint of thirty years in the Indian Army: 'Letters from The Border’, and 'A Soldier’s Journey Through Life'. This industrious activity has been quite therapeutic in helping me cope with the loss of my wife. The books aside, I discovered that I had amassed a large number of essays and short stories on observations and experiences pertaining to random happenings in my life. I am publishing them as a compilation entitled: 'Smiles, Tears & Heartbreaks'. The stories have been intentionally left unarranged, like the random events that generated them. Readers are at liberty to choose to enjoy, or to trash accordingly.
Publisher: Lakshman SinghReleased: Dec 12, 2013ISBN: 9781311129222Format: book
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Smiles, Tears And Heartbreaks - Lakshman Singh
PREFACE
October, 30, 2000, 2:30 am
THE CLOCK STRUCK 2:30 a.m. and changed my life forever. The mind went blank. Lost and unable to cope, searching for something to do, I moved from the bedroom, where the now inert Jeet, my wife, lay in eternal composure with tranquillity and peace written on her face, to the computer and started randomly hitting the keys.
Next morning with Ranjit in charge, I, still disoriented, was a mute spectator to the whirlwind of activities around. It seems, post catastrophe, I had lost control of myself, the mind became hyperactive, the ears started ringing, and I started making irrational statements to everyone’s amazement and dismay. Over time the doctors brought the physical symptoms under control and some still rational part of the brain took charge of the ‘running out of control’ and the rest of it.
The remedy to return to the semblance of a somewhat normal life, I sought solace in Jeet’s left over cache of paints, brushes, and Ranjit’s PC. I started dabbling with the leftovers, producing some passable landscapes and still-life water-colours, and sitting at the computer, writing shorts of one or two pages from memory of what I observed around that took my fancy.
Over time, the short pieces got strung into two books, Letters from The Border, published three years after Jeet’s demise in 2003, and A Soldier’s Journey Through Life in the year 2009. The stories pertaining to Smiles, Tears and Heartbreaks, randomly picked from happenings, over time have intentionally been left unarranged, just like the random events that generated them. Included also are some essays/stories, a few long and others short of the observations made and experiences felt over time. I leave it to the readers to pick and choose those of the three, according to their judgement and fancy, to enjoy or to trash.
Brig Lakshman Singh VSM (Retd)
Smiles, Tears and Heartbreaks
Preface
1. Smiles, Tears and Heartbreaks
2. Bonds of Love and Cancer
3. The General’s Wife, Me and the Bird from the Bush
4. Love Birds
5. Bald and Happy
6. Sela Pass And The Mompa Girl: May 1962
7. From the Border
8. The Moon Sneaked Into My Bedroom
9. Rollo’s Obituary: The Person with the Dog
10. The Missing Magic
11. Revenge of the Wasp
12. Love at 'Far' Site
13. Lucknow University: A Marilyn Munroe Moment
14. The Gurudwara at Anantpur Sahib and Kebabs at Chandigarh
15. Tirupati: The Temple Town (A Town that Does Not Sleep)
16. Sights and Sounds
17. The Jalebies from Mussoorie
18. Leechies from Dehra Dun
19. Shaken Not Stirred
20. Golden Jubilee 1955-2005: Making of the Family
21. The Chandigarh Family Meet
22. Trip to Amethi
23. Honeymoon Blues
24. To Dehra Dun and Back
25. The Nightmare Came True
26. ‘BUT—’
27. The Endangered Species Rescued and Niazi’s Ghost
28. Romancing the Herald
29. Barring the Elderly From Driving
30. The Village Pond
31. Remote Control
32. Communication Tools as Barriers to Communication
33. The Death of the Romance of Photography
34. The Message of Life
35. Memories
36. Letters to My Wife
37. The Menace of the Mobile
38. Letters from the Border
39. The Ladder
40. The ‘Across the Road’ Movie Theatre: Then and Now
41. The Cuddle
42. Reunion
43. Journey’s End
44. Destiny’s Child
45. Magnet
46. Demise of NIMIT
47. Noida Golf Course
48. Non Practicing Hindu
49. OBC: Who Are They?
50. The Storm before the Calm
51. Commonwealth Games and After
52. Take a Good Look
53. The Compartment with the Tinted Glass Panes
54. The Old Faithful
55. The Three Friends
56. Nature’s Small Gifts: The Cold Gust of Wind
57. New Year’s Eve 2011
58. Sainik Farms: 12th March, 2011
59. The Road Travelled: Sometimes in Her Company, at Others Alone
60. My First Flight and Later
61. Nathula: Then and Now
62. The Audio Tape Spooling in the Brain
63. Terminally Ill
64. On Shaky Ground
65. Perceptions
66. The Lost Commodity
67. The Time Machine
68. The Oracle of Nathang: ‘Our Own Delphi’
69. The Plastic Soldier
70. The Comedy of Errors
71. The Child Within
72. The Single Mother
73. The Formal Dinner
74. The Paradox
75. The Raging Storm: In the Lap of Nature
76. Independence Day: Then and Now
77. The 'Shoak' Sabha
78. The Smile of Gratitude
79. Juli Aunty: An Obituary
80. Hazards of Using a Cell Phone while Driving
81. When we left Them Behind
82. Us and Them
83. The Flight to Goa
84. The Destitute
85. Something More than Human Relationship
86. City Limits
87. My Last Day at the University
88. Delhi to Bombay and Back
89. Bird Talk
90. Oncology OPD
91. The Surgeon with the Book in Hand and the Khaki shorts
92. The Journey to Dehra Dun
93. The Equation
94. A Sane Decision
95. World Telecommunication Day & High Tea
96. Sea Breeze in Greater Noida
97. Dehra Dun Revisited
98. The Lost Four Months
99. Silence
100. Quest for Self-reliance and Independence
101. The Mompa from Bengal
102. The Singing Doctor
103. Celebrating the Small Victories
104. The Room in the RR Hospital and the Ward Boy
105. The Trap is Baited
106. The Trap is Sprung
107. Rescued
108. Views from the Summit
109. Living Below the Poverty Line
110. Triggers to Memories
About the Author
One
Smiles Tears and Heartbreaks
IT WAS NOW TIME TO PART. Rosy, unescorted by any member of her family had spent the day with us, mostly with me. The rest of her family members had joined us only for tea and were now leaving.
Papaji, Rosy’s, autocratic father, as he was called, after a perfunctory ‘Sat Sri Akal’; impatient, already in the driver’s seat, Mama lingered a bit, slightly bent with both hands folded while taking her leave. Rosy casting a long and lingering look at me took her seat along with Ruby in the car, who also gave me a parting smile. Bang, bang the car doors closed, the engine started and revved up with the clutch released the rear wheels spun and slipped on the gravel, finally bit and the beige coloured Fiat 1100D shot out of the gate on to the Circular Road.
And we turned towards the main house each one wearing a smile for different reason: my brother for a difficult meeting gone on smoothly, my sister in law for having retrieved a difficult situation by her quick and deft thinking by bringing Rosy from her home for us to meet and me with my head swimming in Dopamine with a dopes smile plastered on my face in a hurry to place a LP on the turn table, jack up the volume of the amplifier to share with the world my feelings.
On the other side as the car speeded up on the narrow roads of Dalanwala with Rosy’s miffed father keeping the accelerator pressed to the floor, Circular road, Lakshmi road and it only when the car hit the slightly broader East Canal road that the three occupants of the car gave a sigh of relief.
Mama found her voice; Sardar Ji
, that is how she addressed him, How did you like the boy?
She enquired.
Silence
"Han Ji?’ she prompted.
How could you approve of him? He hissed, anger written on his face.
He has no manners, no respect for elders. Haven’t they taught him to respect elders? He is unfit to marry my daughter," he decreed.
The charged atmosphere in the car ignited and exploded leaving everyone stunned. Rosy seeing her new world collapsing even before it had seen the first dawn, broke into silent tears. Ruby, who had acquiesced to the relationship and was, trying to hold on to her status of the decision maker of the family, did not know how to react.
Mama too was taken aback but she was well aware of her husbands pressure points started planning the strategy as how to mollify his hurt feelings and bruised ego.
EC Road or Eucalyptus Road then Rajpur road, finally the car turned in to the gate of their house. Breaking hard he brought it to a screeching halt. Slamming his door, he hurried towards his room, with mama meekly following, to his bottle of rum, with the other two characters scurrying to their own corners with their own confused thoughts.
It was a clash of culture feudal versus urban and rural: one still tied to the past the other trying to break from the past. The whole crisis was due to the fact that I had not touched his feet: De rigour in their family and a taboo in ours. He took to his bottle, his incoherent ramblings growing with each glass that he downed, that only Mama could follow and understand. Her pleadings and cajoling were to no avail nor did her streaming tears have any effect. He calmed down only when she agreed to gain some time, to break the engagement.
Rosy could not sleep, twisting and turning in the bed, struggling with the storm brewing inside her. Was it a mirage, she wondered? It was unsettling and confusing to her young mind, the positive impression I had created on her, the ‘know each other’ stage was yet come, the mild attraction combined with a rising desire for my company was a strange new feeling difficult to cope with and love was yet to bloom but not too far away. All these new unfamiliar and strange feelings combined with the fear of the whole dream collapsing, especially being aware as to how difficult and resolute her father was, creating havoc inside her. Somehow, the mother and the daughter prevailed and assuaged the hurt feelings of the old man and cajoled him to give-up his opposition to the proposal. But that is a different story, sad and sordid better left untold.
Unaware of what had transpired on the other side of Dehra Dun in the last 24 hours, every thing appeared normal to us when we landed at their place the next afternoon. Even Rosy came and sat next to me, proud of her new status. I still shudder to think as to what would have happened to me if the wishes of the peeved father had prevailed. Possibly no tears would have shed by me but I would have been saddled, without doubt, with a permanently un-mandible broken heart.
Two
Bonds of Love and Cancer
I FELL IN LOVE WITH the perceived image of Jeet, even before I saw her. I had been sent a small, black and white 2 ¼ x 2 ¼ print of all the seven sisters jostling for space besides their mother. Travelling all the way from Jalandhar to Dehra Dun, I was trying desperately to solve the riddle of identifying my prospective bride. I had been given no clue in the accompanying letter about her identity. Anyway, I saw her and was conquered on the spot.
SMILES: Our parents also decided to make the love bond stronger and made us take the vows twice in 12 hours by having two separate and different religious ceremonies. The Army also helped as in those days it firmly believed in the adage: ‘Separation makes the Love Bond Stronger’ and promptly posted me to a field station far away from her, where even letters took ten days or so to reach. In due course the children followed making the bond even stronger.
TEARS: Nature also decided to join in and one day the sky fell on us, her biopsy result came out positive. That started our long fight, lasting for more than 8 years with the most dreaded enemy one can have: Cancer. She bravely fought the disease while I did so with patience. Many battles were won and lost by both of us over the period. We became even closer to each other, the love bond becoming stronger. She worried of my future without her and I fearful of losing the battle, held her hand tight to prevent it slipping away.
HEARTBREAK: Alas, one day the hand did slip away, leaving her frail body in my arms, both of us speechless, she permanently with just a half shed tear hanging precariously to the eyelid. Was there a last unspoken message in the tear for me?
We lost the battle but possibly won the war because of the love, concern and empathy for each other, proving that these are equally important to a terminally ill, possibly more, as is appropriate medical care. A combination of the two does make a formidable and powerful weapon in the fight against Cancer irrespective of the fact that one wins or loses the fight.
Three
The General’s Wife, Me and the Bird from the Bush
THE ROVER, IS A COMMANDER’S wireless link to the world when he is away from his Headquarters. I had the opportunity to be the rover detachment commander for the Chief of the Army Staff, General Thimayya, holidaying at Manali in October 1957. It was the high point of my service life as junior officer, a Lieutenant with just two years of service.
Although I was independent administratively, I was fortunate to be invited, rather ordered to sit at the table with the General, his gracious wife and vivacious daughter. Also present were his Military Assistant and the ADC.
I had the privilege of see his many-faceted personality at close quarters. His compassion for a junior officer, the pretended hen-pecked husband, the obviously doting father, enjoying being the butt of jokes from the two of them and that same person changing to the steel main of a Chief of the Army Staff, the moment we arrived back at Pathankot, where he was to address the Garrison troops, the aura of the personality, so visible that I felt the impact even from afar. Seeing him now, from such a distance I felt lost, having been so to say, part of the family for a fortnight.
How I got inducted in the family deserves telling. On way to Manali the General’s caravan stopped for tea. Each one of us selects a boulder on the banks of the fast flowing Beas to seat ourselves. Naturally I had selected the one farthest from the General’s group. Possibly that was the reason he noticed me, the only officer present who was not part of his group. He beckoned and as I approached him, shot a question at me: Was I in contact with SPUTNIK?
meaning the Russian satellite, launched a few days earlier and now the talk of the town, as it orbited round the earth. I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, Sir, you provide me with the frequency and I will make contact.
Mrs Thimayya kindly offered me a couple of sandwiches, with what I thought were Tomato fillings. A few bites later, being a vegetarian, I realized that it tasted different. Though I was not aware as to how ham tasted, I did realize that it tasted different. Totally confused with the turn of events I just did not know what to do and the best course appeared to somehow gulp them down. The Generals wife, being a perceptive lady had sensed my predicament and throughout our stay at Manali she ensured that there was a dish for the vegetarian on the table.
On the return journey, we once again stopped on the banks of River Bias, this time for lunch. Now it was Mrs Thimayya’s turn to feel embarrassed, for the packed lunch consisted of roast chicken and potatoes. However, by now I had been fully domesticated and was quite happy picking at the roast potatoes and only gingerly from the chicken somehow pushing them down, one at a time, at the same time managing not to show my dilemma. This was the least I could do for all the consideration shown to me all these days.
This was my last and only willing encounter with non-vegetarian food. Some how, I have managed to remain a vegetarian during 30 years in the Army, even at times when I was with-out food for days together especially during the Sino -Indian conflict in 1962.Possibly there was no General’s wife to offer me the Khichari prepared by my Jawans to which they had added a bird from a near-by bush.
Four
Love Birds
THEY WOULD CALL US love birds, since I would be holding her hand more often than not. It was love indeed that made me hold her hand, but it was probably the fear of it slipping away that made me hold it tight. When we were flying from Delhi to Bombay, together, in foul weather with nothing but dark clouds visible from the window, she was holding my hand tight, no clenching all the way was it fear, love companionship, joy of being together alone, though in a chock full aircraft cabin?
Five
Bald and Happy
I WAS BLESSED WITH a head of thick hair. So thick, it was that the barber, many times prior to using his other instruments of torture: the scissors, the clipper and the frightening cut-throat of a razor, would break the comb in two during the initial combing itself.
Possibly the thick mop, so prominent in the photo, that had preceded me to my future in-laws, had caught the eyes of my bride-to-be and I must have passed muster.
Jeet also had a lovely mane of hair, one of her major assets. However, we both lost our hair; I, progressively, she, suddenly.
In my case, the tell-tale signs of what lay in future soon became apparent at a relatively young age. It was one day after a haircut, when the barber stood behind me holding a mirror up reflecting his artistry. To my horror I saw reflected, a patch of incipient baldness which grew and grew over time.
A stage soon arrived when I gingerly asked Jeet, Shall I buy a wig?
No!
she replied, rather empathically, I like you as you are!
The ‘No’ not only acted as a balm to my bruised ego but also saved me a couple of hundred rupees and prevented me from living a life of guilt and deceit, hiding my baldness.
In her case the loss of hair was tragic, sudden, and traumatic. Post her cancer operation she was prescribed a course of chemotherapy; a cure worse than the disease. The chemo may or may not kill the virulent cancer cells but would definitely destroy the healthy ones. But before that it would make the hair fall and so it did, in bunches, along with her unshed tears. She, brave as ever, would tie a silk scarf on her now bald head, and live life valiantly, ignoring the prying eyes and whisperings. Fortunately for her, the hair grew quickly thick and fast once the effects of the chemo wore off. She soon had her head of thick brown hair back.
I remained happy, completely oblivious of my baldness as ever.
Six
Sela Pass and the Mompa Girl
May 1962
THIS IS HOW A FABLE becomes fact, and falsehood a legend. I am referring to an article in the souvenir issued on the occasion of the wreath-laying ceremony at the ‘Shaheed Smarak’, Noida recently. The article: ‘Tawang remembers its ’62 war heroes’, by Rahul Karmakar, lifted bodily from OUTLOOK ‘Travel’, published some time back, wherein the author has attributed the name ‘Sela’ given to the pass due to the bravery of some local Mompa girl who had helped soldier Jaswant Singh in holding the Chinese army for 72 hours in 1962. Some Mompa girl may or may not have helped Jaswant Singh, however, there were no Chinese near or about Sela, in as far back as May 1962 when I drove across the pass, still and then known as ‘Sela’, to Tawang. Chinese if any came to Sela only in November 1962.
The lady names ‘Sela’ has thus become a legend and Army lore thanks to OUTLOOK and the Publisher of the Shaheed Samarak Souvenir.
Seven
From The Border
EARLY ON THE MORNING of the 9th May 1962, I left Misamari to take charge of my new command that of 7 Infantry Brigade Signal Section, then located at Towang. An hour's drive brought me to the foothills, the inner line of NEFA (North East Frontier Agency), now Arunachal. No one except for army personnel could cross it without a political officer’s authorization, from where the climb started for the six-hour torturous drive to Tengavalley via Doimara, Chako, and Eagles Nest.
At Chako, just short of Bomdila, the driver brought the Jeep to a halt. I assumed that he wanted to give the vehicle a bit of rest for the over-heated engine to cool down after the steep climb. We had stopped near a Teashop being run by two pretty girls of indeterminate race. It was later discovered that they were Chinese spies complete with a wireless-set; the transmitter antenna was hidden and well camouflaged in the tall Bamboo-poles replete with the ubiquitous prayer flags, symbols of piece, fluttering gently in the cold mountain breeze. It was a strategic location for their task, ideal for a tea break and for stretching cramped muscles and chit-chat with girls. The girls, more than the tea served in the shop, acted as the proverbial magnet pulling the soldiers and officers alike. The light banter exchanged while sipping the tea providing all the intelligence on the troop composition and their deployment.
Our stop for the night was at an Army unit near the Dirang Dzong village. Leaving after the overnight stay to continue on my way to Towang, I was soon forced to break the journey en route, short of Sela Pass. Due to some road building activity going on up ahead the road had been shut down. The small hut allotted to me was perched on the very edge of the narrow road, which climbed steeply towards Sela Pass. Just at the rear of the hut was a deep gorge clearly visible from the window. The view of the setting sun, the shadows slowly creeping over the valley was beautiful, breathtaking and picture perfect. The sight
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